Billionaire's Contract Engagement (Kings of the Boardroom #3)(2)

She glanced up to see Evan threading his way through the throng of people. “Don’t look now, but he’s headed our way. Maybe you should take Elle and go dance or something.”

As quickly as he’d approached, Brock turned and melted back into the crowd.

Celia sipped at her wine and practiced nonchalance as she literally felt Evan close in. It was impossible to miss him. Her body always seemed to heat up about five degrees whenever he was anywhere near.

And his smell. Even amid the hustle and bustle of the crowded room, the mix of so many feminine perfumes, she could pick out his unique scent. Rough. Masculine and mouthwateringly sexy. It made no sense to her, but she was attuned to his every nuance, and that had nothing to do with all the studying up she’d done on him and his company.

“Celia,” he murmured.

She turned with a welcoming smile. “Hello, Evan. Enjoying the evening?”

“I think you know I’m not.”

She raised one eyebrow and stared at him over the rim of her glass. “Do I?”

Evan snagged a flute from a passing waiter and turned his attention fully on her. It was all she could do not to gasp under his heated scrutiny. It was as if he undressed her right then and there in front of a roomful of people. Her blood simmered and pooled low in her belly. He had beautiful eyes, and they were currently devouring her, delving beneath the modest evening gown she’d chosen. He made it seem like she wore the most scanty, revealing dress imaginable. She felt nude and vulnerable under his searing gaze.

“Tell me something, Celia. Why aren’t you over with the rest of the piranhas convincing me that your ad agency will take Reese Enterprises straight to the top?”

Her lips curved upward into a smile. “Because you already are at the top?”

“You’re such a tease.”

At that her smile faded. He was right. She was flirting, and it was the last thing she wanted to do.

She glanced across the room to where the other ad execs stood staring holes through her and Evan.

“I’m not desperate, Evan. I know I’m good. I know my ideas for your ad campaign are spectacular.

Does that make me arrogant? Maybe. But I don’t need to sell you on a load of malarkey. All I need is the time to show you what Maddox Communications can do for you.”

“Whatyou can do for me, Celia.”

Her eyes widened in surprise at the blatant innuendo. And then he went on to correct the errant assumption she’d just made.

“If the ideas are yours and are as brilliant as you say, I’d hardly be taking on Maddox and what the agency could do for me. I’d be hiring you.”

She frowned and hated that she suddenly felt at a disadvantage. Her fingers curled a little tighter around the glass, and she prayed they wouldn’t shake and betray her unease.

He studied her curiously, having obviously picked up on her discomfort.

“It wasn’t a proposition, Celia. Believe me, you’d know the difference.”

In a daring move, he reached a finger out and traced a line down the bare skin of her arm. She was unable to call back the shiver, or the sprinkling of chill bumps that danced over her flesh.

“I only meant that if you wow me with a pitch and I sign on with Maddox, you won’t pawn me off to some junior executive. I’d expect you to oversee the campaign at every level.”

“And do you anticipate signing with Maddox Communications?” she asked huskily.

There was a gleam of amusement in his green eyes. He took a measured sip of his wine and then regarded her lazily. “If your pitch is good enough. Golden Gate has some good ideas. I’m considering them.”

Her lips tightened. “Only because you haven’t seen mine yet.”

He smiled again. “I like confidence. I don’t like false modesty. I look forward to seeing what you have in mind, Celia Taylor. I have a feeling you put every bit of that passion I see burning in your eyes into your work. Brock Maddox is a lucky man to have such a fierce employee. I wonder if he knows it.”

“Are we moving into the appointment phase?” she asked lightly. “I have to admit, I’ve enjoyed watching you surrounded by the piranhas as you call them.”

He put his glass down on a nearby table. “Dance with me and we’ll discuss appointment times.”

Her eyes narrowed.

He lifted one finely constructed eyebrow into what looked like a challenge.

“I’ve also danced with female ad executives from Golden Gate, Primrose, San Fran Media—”

She held up her hand. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re making your selection on who’s the best dance partner.”

He threw back his head and laughed. Several people around them turned to stare, and she had to resist the strong urge to flee the room. She hated the attention that Evan seemed to have no issue with whatsoever. How nice it must be not to have to worry what people thought about you. To have your reputation intact and not have suffered the stupidity and vindictiveness of others. But then men rarely suffered in cases like hers. It was always the woman. The vilified other woman.

Knowing no graceful way to bow out of the dance, she set down her own glass and allowed Evan to lead her onto the ballroom floor.

To her relief, he held her loosely. To anyone looking on, they could find no fault or impropriety. She and Evan didn’t look like lovers, but she knew the thought was present in both their minds. She could see the desire in his eyes and knew he could probably see it in hers.