Michele Dunaway - Catching The Corporate Playboy

“If that was acting, girl, then you get an Oscar.”

Darci laughed. Then, for a moment, uncertainty crept in. When Cameron O’Brien had grabbed her hand a sensation had ricocheted through her, and it wasn’t one she was familiar with. But Cameron’s type was one she’d learned to handle, so at that thought her confidence bolstered again.

“So,” Val said, “what’s the scoop?”

“I’m leaving with him to go watch the sunrise.”

“Ooh-ee.”

Darci bristled. “Stop saying that. It’s not like that at all. I’ve got to convince him I’m an uncultured hick, and then pretend I don’t know he’s trying to culture me. And I have to do it all without him figuring it out. So forgive me if I pretend to fall at his feet just a little bit. He’d find it strange if I didn’t. He thinks he’s irresistible, as if he’s God’s gift to women. My actions are only for show, believe me.”

“Oh, I do, girl. I’m glad you’re not going after me. You’re a mean one. Anyway, your shift’s over. Enjoy the sunrise.”

Darci nodded. “That’ll be the best part of all this I’m sure.” She reached into her apron and handed all of her tips to Val. “Leave this where Wanda won’t suspect.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Good.” With that Darci strode out to face her new nemesis. She dropped her eyes to her feet and then looked up at him, her smile wary. “Look, this isn’t really necessary.”

He glanced up from his coffee. “Yes, it is.” When he smiled at her Darci had to calm her fluttering heart. Boy, he could probably charm snakes out of the grass. She bit back her anger at that thought. She could control this. He was using her to win a bet, and he didn’t know that she knew. Piece of cake.

“Really.” Darci made her voice shake with uncertainty. “I should just go home.”

“Not an option.” Cameron stood suddenly, topping her five-foot-six figure by only four inches. No, definitely not her type. She liked them tall, dark, and handsome. Cameron didn’t fit the bill. Not at less than six feet with sandy-blond hair and the palest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

At obvious ease in his polo shirt and khaki shorts, he brushed some lint off his shoulder. “Do you need to change clothes?”

“This is all I have with me.” She smoothed the food-covered apron. “I had planned on going home. Look, Mr. O’Brien, I’m not dressed to be seen with you. This is a bad idea.”

“It’s a good idea, and please call me Cameron. Mr. O’Brien makes me sound like my father.” He gestured toward the restaurant door, and with a slight bow of her head she acknowledged his gesture and led the way.

Surprisingly, Cameron didn’t say anything about her unsightly appearance as he followed her from the restaurant. “Val told me you’d only been working three days. How’s it been getting accustomed to the graveyard shift?”

“Fine.” Being a night owl she actually preferred to sleep longer during the day and work longer at night. Of course, that would change when she moved back to the corporate office in some position much higher than a clerk in the mailroom.

“Great,” he replied. “Would it sound presumptuous if I asked you back to my hotel? It’s a suite, complete with a living area that has a fantastic balcony. I’ve got a great view of not only the Arch, but also the river.”

Play along, Darci, she told herself. “Um, I don’t know about that.” The hesitation in her voice added a bit of a breathless quality to it. Boy, was she good.

“It’ll be innocent. Trust me. If not, the press would hang me out to dry.”

“You get a lot of press?”

“Nah.” He sounded so innocent, but Darci knew he’d just lied outright. One of America’s most eligible bachelors didn’t get any press. Yeah, right. Mr. I’m-Really-a-Nice-Guy probably graced the New York tabloids on a daily basis.

“So, my suite?” One of his blond eyebrows arched up with his query.

Boy, was he smooth. At least she knew he didn’t want to take her to bed, unlike those popular boys in her senior year of high school. That made it slightly better, but despite that, it hurt to know that he was using her because he did want something. He wanted to win his bet.

“Okay, but just for the sunrise,” she told him. “If you even attempt anything else I’m going to knee you in the groin and have you arrested. Comprende?”

His eyes widened at her vicious verbal assault. “Got it.”

“Good.” Darci paused and scanned the restaurant’s parking lot. “Where’s your car?”

“Over here.” He led her to a jet-black convertible. “Do you have one?”

“A Mercedes? No.”

She had to admit he was handsome when he laughed. Dimples formed and his eyes twinkled. “I meant a car. Parked somewhere near here.”

“Oh.” She fought for control and smiled vaguely. He didn’t know that her Porsche Boxter was safely ensconced behind Grandpa Joe’s in the private lot. Being that Grandpa Joe’s remained open twenty-four hours a day, her one indulgence wouldn’t be bothered behind the locked security gate.

“No. I don’t have a car,” she lied brightly. Two could play the lying game. “I usually take the bus. They start running pretty early. I never have to wait too long.”

“Well, I’m old-fashioned enough to see my dates to their door so I’ll take you directly home afterward. No bus for you today.”

He didn’t add “and won’t that be a rare treat” although Darci knew it had to have crossed his mind. The man infuriated her. In order to control her temper, she clenched her fist. “Okay,” she gave him a bright smile as she began the next lie. “I’ll let you drive me home.”

She slid into his car and waited while he closed her door. As he got in she ventured brightly, “Does the top go down?”

Somehow she managed to suppress her laughter when a look of sheer panic and disbelief crossed his face before he masked it. “You want the top down? I’m at the Adam’s Mark. It’s only a few blocks away.”

“I’ve never been in a Mercedes before. Put the top down and let’s go for a drive! I’ll take you to the best place to watch the sunrise. It’s a park on the south side. Take 55 South. Besides, I’d feel much safer if we went there. I’m not dressed for the Adam’s Mark. Is it nice? I’ve never been inside.”

“It’s great, as is your idea to go to a park.” The car roared to life and Darci leaned back against the seat and bit back another grin. She’d always been one to figure out the solutions to problems, and right now the solution was to play Cameron O’Brien like a piano concerto. Given his ego, it was turning out to be easier than she’d ever have thought.

He now had her pegged as a stereotypical blond bimbo. Dumber than a stump, nothing but fluff upstairs, and too idiotic to do much else besides wait tables in a diner.

She chuckled. “Oh, how wrong you are.”

“Did you say something?”

“No.” She shrugged and smiled.

He put the top down and began backing up. Darci stuck her hands straight up and waved at a passerby. The man waved back. “Wow! This is great. I’ve never been in a convertible.”

“Really?” he asked, keeping his gaze on the road.

“Really. Ma always had junk heaps, if her car ran at all.”

His voice sounded noncommittal. “I see.”

They were passing the domed football stadium and Darci studied the billboards circling the top in order to hide her grin. She hoped she wasn’t laying it on too thick. She didn’t want to overdo her story too much. They passed the exit for the Adam’s Mark, and drove past the hotel itself.

“Ma wasn’t big on knowing about cars. One time the man at the garage told her she’d ruined the engine by not changing her oil for over two years. She told him she didn’t know you were supposed to do that.”