Susannah Erwin - Wanted - Billionaire's Wife

“You’re the search expert, not me,” he said in a low, controlled voice. “But common sense dictates looking further afield than the client is able to do on his own is a prerequisite for the job.”

“You—” she began.

Then she stopped and considered his words.

He was right.

She had overlooked a basic step in conducting a search: assess which candidates had already been rejected before she came on board. And yes, he could have explained the problem with her list in a timelier, if not infinitely more tactful, manner. But if he had, he wouldn’t be Luke Dallas.

Her gaze fell. His shirt was open at the collar, revealing a triangle of sun-bronzed skin. A pulse leaped at the side of his neck, and for a split second she wanted to rest her lips there and see if he tasted as good as he smelled.

“You...” she started again. “You’re right. I’m sorry. If you still want me to work on the search, I’ll compile a better list.” She snuck a glance at him from under her eyelashes. She expected chilly disdain, but there was something warm and contemplative deep in his eyes. A hot spark kindled in her chest as their gazes tangled.

“I only hire people who perform well at their tasks. You’re still on the search. But I expect better results.” He sat back down in his chair, taking his appealing scent with him. She stifled her disappointment.

“And you will get them. I promise.” She turned to leave the room.

“Have dinner with me.”

“What?” She whirled around so quickly she nearly caused self-induced whiplash.

He put down his tablet and looked up at her, leaning back in his seat. “I haven’t given this project the specialized attention it needs. It’s clear you don’t have the necessary inputs to make correct assessments. I don’t have time to remedy that right now. But I do have to eat later, so you might as well eat with me.”

His words doused the spark’s last flickers. “When you put it that way, how can I refuse?”

“I’ll text you the address. I trust going into the city isn’t a problem for you?” His tone made it clear it was a rhetorical question.

San Francisco was almost an hour each way on Caltrain, depending on the train schedules, and her exhausted brain was already looking forward to putting on pajamas and binging on reality TV with her roommate, Mai. She gave him her best, if forced, smile. “No. Not a problem.”

“Good. I have a commitment beforehand, so I’ll meet you there.” His attention returned to his tablet and he became absorbed in whatever he was reading. She fled before the tiger could realize the prey had left the room.

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