Page 95 of His Ultimate Prize

‘The bull stag is the alpha of its herd. He calls the shots. And he gets his pick of the females.’

‘Ah, I see. If you’re going to display such a monstrosity on your wall, only the best will do?’

He slanted her a wry glance. ‘That’s the general thinking, yes.’

‘Ugh.’

He caught her shudder and his smile widened.

Warmth exploded in her chest, encompassed her whole body and made her breathless. Sasha found she didn’t care. The need to bask in the stunning warmth of his smile trumped the need for oxygen. Even when another voice intruded she couldn’t look away.

When Tom’s voice came again she roused herself with difficulty from the drugging race of her pulse, carefully skirted a coffee table festooned with piles of books, and approached the desk as the screen came to life.

‘Hello? Can you hear me, Sasha?’ Tom’s voice held its usual touch of impatience, and his features were pinched.

Marco’s smile disappeared.

Sasha mourned the loss of it and moved closer to the screen. ‘I’m here, Tom.’

He huffed in response, then his eyes swung over her shoulder and widened.

‘Sit down,’ Marco said from behind her, pushing the massive chair towards her.

She sat. He reached over her shoulder and adjusted the screen. Then he remained behind her—a heavy, dominating presence.

Tom cleared his throat. ‘Uh, I didn’t know you’d be joining us, Mr de Cervantes.’

‘A last-minute decision. Carry on,’ Marco instructed.

‘Um...okay...’

She’d never seen Tom flounder, and she bit the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling.

‘Sasha, you have a Q&A on the team’s website next Friday. I’ve e-mailed the questions to you. I’ll need it back by Wednesday, to proofread and get it approved by the lawyers. On Friday night you have the Children of Bravery awards in London. Tuesday is the Strut footwear shoot, followed by the Linear Watches shoot in Barcelona. On Sun— Is there a problem?’ he asked testily when she shook her head.

‘That’s not going to work. I can’t take all that time off just for sponsorship events.’

‘This is the schedule I’ve planned. You’ll have to deal with it.’

‘Seriously, I think it makes more sense to group everything together and get it done in the shortest possible time—’

‘I’m in charge of your schedule. Let me work out what makes sense.’

‘Miss Fleming is right.’ Marco’s deep voice sounded from behind her shoulder. ‘You have several events spaced out over the period of a week. That’s a lot of time wasted travelling. Do you not agree?’

‘But the sponsors—’

‘The sponsors need to work around her schedule, not the other way round. They can have Thursday to Saturday next week. Otherwise they’ll have to wait until the end of the month. Miss Fleming gets Sundays off. Your job is to manage her time properly. Make it happen.’

Marco reached past Sasha and disconnected the link. Although it was a rare treat to see Tom get his comeuppance, a large part of her tightened with irritation.

‘I’m perfectly capable of arranging my own schedule, thank you very much.’

‘It didn’t seem that way.’

‘Only because you didn’t give me half a chance.’ She craned her neck to gaze up at him, feeling at a severe disadvantage.

His head went back as he glared down his arrogant nose at her. ‘I didn’t like the way he spoke to you,’ he declared.

Her heart lurched, then swung into a dive as a wave of warmth oozed through her. Sasha berated herself for the foolish feeling, but as much as she tried to push it away it grew stronger.

Despite the alien feeling zinging through her, she tried for a casual shrug. ‘I don’t think he likes me very much.’

A frown creased his forehead. ‘Why not?’

Her bitter laugh escaped before she could curb it. Rising, she padded several steps away, breathing easier. ‘Probably for the same reasons you don’t. He doesn’t think I have any business being a racing driver. He believes I’ve made him a laughing stock by association.’

‘Because of your gender or because of your past indiscretions?’

‘According to you they’re one and the same, aren’t they?’ she retorted.

The hands gripping the back of the chair tightened. ‘I told you in Budapest your gender had nothing to do with my decision to fire you. Your talent as a full-time racing driver is yet to be seen. Prove yourself as the talented racing driver you claim to be and you’ll earn your seat. Until then I reserve my judgement.’

‘You reserve your judgement professionally, but you’re judge, jury and executioner when it comes to my personal life?’

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