Captivated by the Tycoon (The Whittakers #4)(5)
Author: Anna DePalo

She was not going to be intimidated by him, she told herself for the umpteenth time. She’d handled high-powered prosecutors and corporate titans without being unnerved.

“Let’s look at your closets next,” she heard herself say. “Then maybe we can take the shopping trip we discussed as a possibility for this afternoon.”

On to his bedroom. She was about to discover what lay at the end of the long hallway in front of her.

His bedroom was huge, easily the size of half her modest apartment. A king-size bed dominated, and the furniture had a contemporary look—dark with clean lines and brushed metal knobs. A master bath was visible through one open door, and a fireplace occupied the wall facing the bed.

She took a deep breath. The room was as imposing as its occupant, but she was a professional. At least as far as matchmaking went, she qualified to herself.

She looked at the closet on the far wall. “May I?”

“Go right ahead.”

When she threw open the double doors, she was confronted by expensive shirts and conservative business suits hanging in neat rows. Everything was a variation on a theme.

“Where’s the casual clothing?” She looked at him, then raised a hand to stop him before he could answer. “No, don’t tell me. You live in suits most of the time.”

He cocked his head. “Very perceptive of you.”

“We’ll have to fix that.”

His look was sardonic. “Do you subject your female clients to this treatment?”

“Absolutely. It’s not about becoming someone you’re not, but about creating a better you.”

“So what do you recommend to the women?”

“Now if I told you, I’d be letting you in on the secret handshake.”

“My lips are sealed.”

She sighed. “I’ll share only because I think you’ll put this information to good use.”

A smile played at his mouth. “I’m all ears.”

“Well, I recommend that with clothing, they start with the basics, which never go out of fashion. A little black dress, a suit, a pair of jeans, a white shirt, nude color high heels, and a pair of sneakers. As far as jewelry, a watch and pearls.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Why would I joke?” she asked. “The basics are just that. They can be mixed and matched to take you from morning to evening, casual to formal.”

“Okay, I have to ask. Why nude on the heels?”

“It’s sexy,” she said simply. “It draws the eye away from the feet and upward, which makes a woman appear taller, and is particularly important if she’s—” she paused, as she belatedly realized how much she was revealing, and finished lamely “—ah, petite.”

He gave her a look of mock gravity. “You’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Naturally.” He could make fun all he wanted, but she had a nice little business going—and he’d been the one to seek out her help.

He raked her with his eyes, from the faux pearls set off by her scoop-neck sweater and the black jeans hugging her curves to her wedge sandals.

She shifted self-consciously, then gave herself a mental shake.

She was his matchmaker, and she was going to get him married off to some appropriate socialite or wannabe—even if she had to custom order a woman from Mattel with mythical characteristics to match a Barbie doll’s mythical proportions.

She was going to make him Ideal Match’s biggest success story to date, even if it dredged up every single best-forgotten memory in her.

“I suppose the pearls can be fake?” he queried.

“Of course. Everyone knows it’s nearly impossible to tell the difference between real and faux pearls by sight alone.”

“It’s nice to know your 12-step plan is accessible to the masses.”

She began flipping through the clothes hanging in his closet. “If you’re going to mock it, this exercise isn’t going to work.”

“Don’t worry. I’m taking it very seriously.” He paused. “So what basics do you advise men to take to a deserted island with them?”

“Prince Charming doesn’t need a list of essentials,” she said, matching his irreverent tone, “because for men, fashion is all about the basics. You know, suits, ties…a tux.”

“Great. Looks like I already have it covered.”

“Yes, but a pair of jeans would be useful,” she said, glancing back at him. “Men have the opposite problem from women, and that’s an inability to move beyond the essentials.”

“I own a pair of jeans.”

“That are how old—?”

He eyed her. “Nothing much escapes you, I can tell.”

She gave him a modest smile. “You hired me, you get the full extent of my expertise.”

“All right, how about this?” he countered. “I like my jeans, even if I don’t get to wear them much these days.”

“Yes, I know. Because you do a lot of business travel. We’ll need to do something about that. In the meantime, let’s get you into something your old college buddies won’t recognize.”

Lauren hoped if she kept concentrating on the task at hand, she’d keep illicit thoughts at bay. Authority and male power clung to him like a second skin, and she felt diminutive and feminine in contrast.

He looked at her bemusedly. “You know, I don’t let just anyone talk to me this way. Those who work for me never do, and even my business rivals know better.”

His look turned thoughtful. “This isn’t how I remember you.”

“Things can change in a few years,” she forced herself to say. She’d vowed never again to be so vulnerable…so naive.

“I can see that.”

They were drifting into dangerous territory, so she faced the closet again and tapped her lips with her index finger. “I’m thinking Helmut Lang on the jeans.”

“No way.”

She glanced at him. “If you were a denim fanatic, I’d suggest Japanese jeans made from organic cotton and natural dyes.”

“What’s wrong with Levi’s?”

“Nothing. It depends on the message you want to send.” The thought of him filling out a formfitting pair of Levi’s sent a wave of heat through her. “Actually, it wouldn’t hurt to inject an element of everyman into your image. It might be a nice balance, particularly if what you said in our interview is true and you’re looking for a down-to-earth woman.”