Roxanne St. Claire - The Ashtons - Paige, Grant & Trace

But he had to. He just had to.

She sailed past the security guard with the claim of a meeting with Matt Camberlane. But as soon as a no-nonsense, slightly overweight administrative assistant hustled into the lobby of Symphonics, Inc., Paige knew she was about to get the brush-off.

“I’m Eleanor Bradford, Mr. Camberlane’s assistant.” She held out her hand in greeting but wore a frown and backed it up with a gentle shake of her head. You don’t have an appointment, her body language screamed.

“Paige Ashton.”

Her eyes widened a bit and she leaned back in a not-so-subtle reappraisal. “Are you one of the Ashton Winery family members?”

Fame had its privileges, Paige supposed. “Yes. Mr. Camberlane and I arranged this meeting over the weekend.” She gave Eleanor her very best business-school-confident tilt of her head. “He’s expecting me.”

“He is?” The woman looked unconvinced. No doubt Mr. Camberlane, multizillionaire boy wonder and world-class flirt, had his share of young women with faux appointments. Eleanor was just doing her job as gatekeeper.

Eleanor’s expression changed from confusion to understanding. “Oh, I know what happened. You didn’t receive the fax I sent this morning.”

Oh, yes, she did. “The fax?” Paige worked to sound perplexed.

“I’m afraid Mr. Camberlane had to nullify the contract he’d signed. So that would cancel your meeting today. Why don’t you wait here while I go grab a copy for you?”

Paige never changed the expression on her face as her mind whirled with options. “That’s a pity.” Should she demand to see him? No. She wanted the element of surprise on her side. She wanted to see his face when he wasn’t expecting her. “Do you mind if I come with you and use the ladies’ room, then? It was a long drive from Napa.”

Eleanor hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Of course. There’s one by my desk.” Indicating for Paige to follow her, she leaned closer and added, “I was sorry to hear about your father’s, uh, passing.”

Paige nodded politely. “Thank you.”

“Any progress on the investigation?”

Gossip would buy her access and maybe even time to linger near Matt’s office, but she didn’t relish the idea of using her father’s death and the headlines about the family to get what she wanted. Especially when what she wanted was…a man.

“They’re looking at every possible angle,” she said, coolly enough to stop the casual interrogation.

Eleanor used a key card to open a door that led to a maze of shoulder-high cubicle walls, giving Paige an occasional glimpse at various techie-types at computers or around small tables having meetings. The Symphonics employees were all as young and hip as the music that blared from various computers and sound systems, most of them wearing the standard Silicon Valley uniform of jeans and slogan-covered T-shirts.

Would Matt be dressed like that? Paige tried to swallow at the thought of seeing him again, refusing to fall back into the doubt and introspection that had kept her awake all night.

She’d made up her mind. She’d thought this thing through. She wasn’t backing down. His response to her was real. And her response to him? Oh, that was very, very real.

Real enough for her to want an explanation for his sudden change in behavior. And real enough for her to want more. That’s what she wanted. Him. In the most primal, physical way.

Around a corner and through another set of doors, they approached a spacious sitting area surrounded by offices instead of cubicles. While Eleanor ambled over to her L-shaped desk, Paige was drawn to the velvety voice of Sinatra coming from the corner office.

Adrenaline and anticipation sluiced through her veins. That had to be Matt’s office. But a feminine chortle of laughter coming from the same place caught Paige off guard.

“The ladies’ room is down that hall to your left,” Eleanor instructed as she riffled through papers, evidently unfazed by the sound of a woman laughing and Frank Sinatra singing in the middle of a Monday morning. “I’ll find that contract by the time you get back.”

The hall was in the opposite direction of the office that beckoned her. Ignoring Eleanor’s instructions, Paige moved forward, getting a glimpse of the corner of his desk, a large window that faced a pond and trees, and part of a leather sofa that lined one wall.

And what was on that leather sofa stopped Paige cold. From her vantage point, all she could see were two long, bare, gorgeous legs finished off by a pair of slinky cream pumps.

The legs uncrossed and crossed again, accompanied by another throaty laugh.

“I can handle anything, and you know that.” One leg slid over the other again, very slowly this time. “Better than anyone.”

“I just need you to handle an event, Tessa.” The baritone of his voice easily overpowered the soft music, but not the sudden rush of blood in Paige’s ears.

“It’ll be no problem, Matty.” Matty? “I’m sure your guests will be happy not to have to stay home and hand out candy to brats all night, anyway. I’ll start researching possible venues this morning.”

Eleanor turned from her desk and slid her gaze pointedly toward the hall. “Down there, Miss Ashton. To the left.”

Was that a warning to run or a reminder that the possible venues no longer included Ashton Estate Winery? Either way, Paige was just seconds and inches away from a most embarrassing encounter. Not only had she defied the fax she’d received at eight that morning and ignored the chilly voice mail message Matt had left her, now she was face-to-face with the competition who’d gotten the job. And by the looks of those flip-flopping legs, the competition who’d get Matt, too.

Turning on her heel, Paige headed toward the ladies’ room with enough speed that Eleanor probably thought she was about to have an accident.

Inside, she put both hands on the counter and stared in the mirror. She hadn’t seen the woman’s face, but did she have to? She’d be tall, blond, svelte, perfect. She had a sexy snicker and legs that could stop traffic.

And now she had Paige’s event and a month of attention from “Matty.”

Damn.

No, Paige told herself, shaking her head at her own image as if she could rattle some sense into it. Had she worked all night last night and driven all the way down to San Francisco just to be outmaneuvered by a pair of legs?

She wrinkled her nose at herself, trying to see past her too-small chin, too-nondescript eyes, her too-mouse-brown hair, and way-too-boyish figure.

Megan said her face was delicate. Her mother said a small chin is a sign of good breeding. Her hairstylist did her best to add a few highlights to that brown. And her figure? She ran her hands over the apricot knit dress she’d carefully selected because it was professional but definitely feminine.

Her figure certainly didn’t seem too boyish to Matt Camberlane when he’d explored it yesterday.

“I’m not giving up,” she whispered to her reflection. “I’m not leaving without finding out what spooked him yesterday.” She’d do what she had to do to get the answers she wanted, and if she managed to pull in the contract in the process, wonderful. Megan would be delighted. “Ashtons don’t give up,” she reminded herself.

The door whooshed open and with one glance at the familiar pumps, Paige knew exactly who’d entered. Okay, not blond. Brunette. But tall, svelte and flawless just the same.

The woman’s ebony eyes danced with mirth, and a confident, secret smile played on her lips.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Twenty-two years under the tutelage of Spencer Ashton had at least taught her that much.