Cara Colter - Swept Into The Tycoon's World

“Of course,” Chelsea said smoothly.

“I’m sure they will be planning some kind of midnight snack or party favor,” Brand said. “Have you a card? I’ll give it to my event planner, and she’ll be in touch.”

Being around him was a roller-coaster ride, Bree thought, as she turned, flustered, to get him her business card. For a stunning moment she had thought he was showing interest in her. He’d quickly doused that by saying his event planner would be in touch.

This kind of opportunity was exactly why she was at this event, Bree reminded herself firmly, turning with a bright, hopefully professional, smile to give him the card.

He slipped the card into his inside jacket pocket, and popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth. It drew her attention, unfortunately, to the rather sensuous curve of his lips as he chewed.

“Do you want to go for a quick coffee?” he asked her.

A roller-coaster ride!

The invitation seemed to take him by surprise as much as it did her.

“R-right now?” she stammered. “Things are just about to begin. See? People are going through to the auditorium. The program said Crystal Silvers is going to sing first.”

“I don’t care about that.”

One of the most sought-after performers in the Western world, and he didn’t care about that? He cared more about having coffee with her?

This was dangerous territory indeed.

Bree gestured helplessly at her display. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”

“You’re going for coffee,” insisted Chelsea, who had never had a stubborn moment in her life—she was certainly changing things up tonight. Her tone was firm, brooking no argument.

“No.” Bree aimed her best who-is-the-boss-here? look at her assistant.

Chelsea ignored it. “Go, I can handle this.”

“No, I—”

“Go!” Chelsea said, and then, under her breath, she added, “Live dangerously, for Pete’s sake.”

“Unless your husband would object,” Brand said smoothly.

Chelsea snorted in a most unflattering way.

Brand’s gaze slid to Bree’s ring finger. She wanted to hide it behind her back as if its nakedness heralded some kind of failure.

“Boyfriend, then.”

Chelsea rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

She was as oblivious to the daggered look Bree gave her as she had been to the who-is-the-boss-here? look.

“The last guy she met on e-Us was a loser.”

Since Chelsea was so adept at ignoring Bree’s looks, dancing happily with insubordination, Bree managed to step hard on her foot before she could elaborate on the e-Us thing. Chelsea gave her a sulky look, but clamped her mouth shut.

Even so, damage had been done. Bree could see him registering what e-Us was.

One thing that was obvious about someone like Brand Wallace? He’d never been on a site like e-Us in his life.

“We’ll just go around the corner,” he said persuasively. “Two old friends catching up.”

“Old friends,” Chelsea breathed. “Do you have, uh, a significant other, Mr. Wallace?”

“Does my dog count?”

Chelsea gave Bree a not-so-subtle nudge on her shoulder.

“I don’t think—” Bree began.

“I’m interested in your business. You’ll be back in half an hour,” he assured Bree. “The first set will have hardly started. These things never go off quite on time.”

Meaning he was very familiar with these things . Big surprise.

“I’ll have you back before intermission.”

“I bet he won’t stick you with the bill, either,” Chelsea said helpfully, sidling out of the way before Bree could get her foot again.

The firm line of his mouth registered disapproval as he registered that morsel of information about the sad state of Bree’s dating life.

“Your young assistant looks more than capable of finishing the setup here.” His voice was suave.

Chelsea preened. “More than capable,” she said, and flipped her hair.

It would seem churlish to refuse. It would seem like she was afraid of him, and life and surprises and the very thing she tried to bake into all her cookies.

Magic.

It was that magical thinking that always got her in trouble, Bree reminded herself. He had mentioned business. She was not in a position to turn down this kind of connection to the business world.

“All right,” she said, resigned. “A quick coffee.”

Bree came face-to-face with her truth. She was terrified of believing in good things.

And terrified especially to believe in the happily-ever-after that men like him had made women like her yearn for since the beginning of time.

“For goodness sake,” Chelsea said in an undertone, “lose the apron. And do something with your hair.”

She ran a hand through it, and followed Brand, tilting her chin at him when he held the door open for her.

It was a beautiful spring evening in Vancouver, and Bree was aware her senses felt oddly heightened. The air smelled good from a recent rain, and plump crystal droplets fell from the blossom-laden branches of the ornamental cherry trees that lined the sidewalk.

There were two coffee places around the corner from the concert hall, and Bree liked it that Brand chose the independent shop, Perks, rather than the one that was part of a big chain.

It was cozy inside, with mismatched sofas and scarred old tables with brightly painted chairs clustered around them. It smelled heavenly, of coffee and exotic spices.

“Have you been here before?” he asked her.

“Just to introduce them to Kookies. They passed.”

“Fools.”

Brand said it with such genuine indignation. It was going to be hard to keep her defenses about her. But she had known that when she was trying to refuse his invitation.

“Thank you for saying so. But it wasn’t personal. They already had a contract with someone.”

“Humph.”

She had managed to get rid of her apron, but remembered Chelsea’s instruction to do something with her hair. “If you’ll excuse me for just a sec, I’ll go freshen up.”

“What can I get you?”

She was going to say hot chocolate; coffee was out at this time of evening. But in the spirit of living dangerously and allowing life to astonish her, she didn’t. “Surprise me,” she said.

“Oh. That sounds fun.”

Somehow, she was not at all sure he was talking about beverage selection! She excused herself hastily before he could see the blush moving up her neck.

She found the washroom, slipped inside and looked at herself in the mirror. What she saw was so ordinary as to be discouraging. Her light brown hair, average at the best of times, was pulled into a tight bun—even worse. She had gone very light on the makeup, so faint freckles stood out on her nose. She had on no lipstick, and she had worn glasses tonight instead of her contacts. A wholesome, old-fashioned look was exactly what she wanted when she was behind the table giving out cookie samples.

To have coffee with an old crush—who could coax a blush out of her with a turn of phrase—not so much!

She pulled her hair out of the bun. It fell, stick-straight, to her shoulders. She rummaged in her purse for a brush and added a touch of lip gloss.

It was an improvement, but she was aware she still felt very ordinary, the kind of workaday girl who was virtually invisible.

“Not in his league,” she told herself. But then she saw the plus side of that: she could just relax. It was just old friends catching up, after all. Nothing would ever come of it, except maybe a beneficial business connection.

She went back out into the main room. He had chosen two love seats facing each other with a round coffee table in between. She walked over and sat opposite him.