The Billionaire Bad Boys Club(33)
Author: Emma Holly

She wasn’t married to what she was proposing. Trey’s mind had trouble processing that plainly. “I want your ideas. I’d be wasting your expertise otherwise.”

They slid into the booth at almost the same moment—and with very similar awkwardness. Trey’s legs were longer and his foot ended up against hers. He pulled it back, but the contact rattled her as well. She fumbled over opening her computer, a hot red tide rising up her cheeks.

He wanted to lick the color, or maybe just f**k her senseless over the tabletop. He was so hard he hurt, his prick a fricking missile seeking the heat of her.

Sheesh, he thought. I’m a maniac.

The remainder of their discussion unrolled along the same road. Being this close to her might have been easier if he hadn’t known she wanted him too. Because he did, it took twice as long to rough out a menu, considering they weren’t at odds over it. Rebecca’s vision of classic Boston favorites given a luxury twist was very much what he’d had in mind.

He noticed the longer they sat, the tighter she pressed her knees together. When she crossed them under the table, he wanted to break into tears. Truly, he deserved industrial strength credit for the sacrifice of not chasing her.

“I, uh, need to put the word out,” she said. “But I should be able to pull a crew together within the next two weeks.”

“You’re going to steal some line cooks from your old employer.”

Her sly smile was a welcome break from tension. “A couple. But they already told me they’d follow me to a new place.”

He grinned back, and a small silence fell. Rebecca stroked the edge of her computer like it was something else. Trey tried not to get any harder at the unconsciously sexy movements of her fingers. Wrenching his eyes to her face didn’t improve matters. Her lips were so tempting . . . and her eyes . . . and that delicate stubborn jaw . . .

“Uh,” he said, his voice unavoidably husky. “We should plan on a dress rehearsal, after you’ve got the staff up to speed.”

She’d stopped fondling her tablet, but seemed to be staring at his mouth. “Right. You’ll want to invite local celebrities and press.”

“Friendly ones. That way we can get buzz started off on the right foot.”

“I’m not afraid of critics. Not if I’ve got a good team. Your special guests and their taste buds won’t know what hit them.”

He loved her confidence . . . and agreed with it.

“Rebecca—” he said just as she blurted out his name.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Trey didn’t know what he’d been about to say. Something crazy, chances were. Please strip na**d or where would you like to honeymoon? “That’s all right. What did you want to tell me?”

“Only that . . . I’ll shop.”

She said it like someone else would have promised to see a dentist. “You’ll shop?”

“For clothes. That I can wear to greet VIPs. Your signing bonus was generous. It’s fair for you to expect me to look like a top-drawer chef.”

God, she amused him, enough that his chest warmed with it. “Do you hate it that much?”

“I don’t hate it exactly. I worry I’ll buy the wrong thing.”

Worry ought to be her middle name. He wanted to take her shopping in the worst way. He would have loved to watch her change into or out of anything.

“I know a stylist,” he said instead. “She’s not a bully so much as a guide. I’m sure she’d be happy to work with you.”

Sybil would be perfect. She shopped for Trey and Zane when they were short of time. She knew how to pinch a penny or empty out a mint—as her clients preferred.

Trey tried to look reassuring, but Rebecca hesitated. “Could I get back to you maybe? I might have someone I can ask.”

He was more miffed than was rational. She had someone she could ask? Why would she when he had the ideal answer? Evidently, if he couldn’t sleep with her, he really wanted to help her out.

“Sure,” he said, doing his best to hide his annoyance. “I’ll have Elaine email you the stylist’s info, in case you change your mind.”

“Great,” she said.

It might have been Trey’s imagination, but she sounded miffed then too.

~

The call was close, but Rebecca escaped The Bad Boys Lounge without jumping Trey Hayworth’s bones.

He’s your boss, she repeated. Sleeping with your employer is asking for trouble.

Too bad she wanted to ask for trouble. And ask and ask and—

“Shut up,” she snapped to her rearview mirror. As she pulled her car into traffic, her face was hot—not merely from arousal but also annoyance.

Trey would have Elaine forward his stylist’s info? The man couldn’t peck one email with his own fingertips?

Oh Lord, what was her problem? An email wasn’t a lock of hair. And she didn’t need a memento of her non-relationship with him. Maybe most absurd, because she’d refused Trey’s referral of a stylist, now she was hoping Zane would call her. It was tomorrow. Twelve hours into it, to be precise.

Stopped by a red light, she glared at her shoulder bag, which she’d thrown on the right-hand seat. Her cell phone was in there, and it wasn’t ringing.

She could ask the twins for fashion advice, but they wouldn’t be as useful as Zane. He’d founded a magazine around what people ought to buy. He must know his Gucci from his Dior.

“You are so transparent,” she muttered. How could it be a good idea to fight her attraction to one man with her yen for another? Trey and Zane were friends. The phrase sailing close to the wind was invented for this sort of thing.

When her cell phone buzzed, she jumped a foot in the air. Knowing better than to talk and drive, she swung her car into a miraculously open spot at the curb. She dug the phone out before it stopped buzzing.

“Yes,” she said.

“You’re there,” came Zane’s voice. “And you’re answering.”

She wasn’t coy enough to pretend she didn’t recognize him. “Hi, Zane,” she said as her ni**les tightened and her panties dampened yet again. “How are you doing?”

“Hopeful,” he said, his charm apparent even through the phone speaker. “Could I tempt you to a picnic on my boat? The skies are supposed to be clear tonight, and I anticipate a breeze.”

Rebecca squeezed her temples. “That sounds—” ridiculously romantic? her girly side suggested “—really nice, but I sort of need to ask a favor.”