Lori Borrill - The Personal Touch

He rose. “Stop worrying. If I wasn’t sure I’d get my money’s worth, I wouldn’t have made the offer.”

Her smile was laced with trepidation, but he had a sense that the next time he saw her—after she’d had a chance to think this through and come up with an action plan—the sharp and confident Margot Roth would make a grand return. In fact, he’d almost bet on it.

When she pushed from her chair, he offered his hand. “Call me when you’ve got a contract and we can discuss next steps.”

MARGOT TOOK THE HAND of the tall, sexy man who had waltzed into her office and turned her afternoon on end. She could tell by his casual ease that this meeting was simply another stop in an average day for Clint Hilton. Rarely did he walk away without closing a deal, she presumed, and she had to admit, he was good. He’d pushed all the right buttons to have her lapping out of his hands. And as he said his goodbyes and made his way out of her office, she felt she’d just witnessed a master at work.

What had she done? For a woman who worked off strict principles, who believed in demonstrating the same ethics she expected of her clients, she’d somehow managed to throw it all out the window by something as basic as money and charm.

But oh, did Clint Hilton have charm. That sexy look alone nearly had her going along before he’d sunk the eight ball by quintupling her salary. She’d practically felt his fingers running all over her as he’d demonstrated “the vibe.” Heck, she might have offered her services at half price if he’d done it again, and it amazed her that something so primal could hold so much power.

For someone who thought she knew everything about dating, that look was one for the record books. She lowered back to her chair and reached for her water, wishing it was something stronger.

“And what did tall, rich and handsome want from you?”

Margot looked up to see Alan standing in her doorway. He was a tall, tanned man with a voice smooth as syrup and a calming manner that always put her at ease. Except today, it would take more than her business partner to shake the effects of Clint Hilton from her nerves. And only when she spoke and heard the trembling in her own voice did she realize the ramifications of what she’d done.

“I think I just agreed to be his girlfriend.”

MARGOT SPENT the bulk of her afternoon drawing up a contract for Clint after consulting with Alan and running the details by her lawyer. Though she could have e-mailed the final document to Clint’s office before leaving for the day, she decided to sleep on it instead. Not only did she want to give the ad hoc contract a fresh read-through in the morning, she also didn’t want to look too eager in Clint’s eyes.

That had been Alan’s suggestion, and one of the first things he’d schooled her on when they’d gone into business together five years ago. When it came to people with money, never look like you need their business.

As a military brat who’d grown up entirely middle-class, Margot never once scoffed at Alan’s advice on L.A.’s upper crust. And she’d done well for it. She wasn’t going to start ignoring him now.

“Well, I’m off to spend a quiet evening with the girls,” Alan announced from her doorway. The “girls” were the twin beagles, Lucy and Ethel, that Alan shared with his life partner, Gene.

“Gene’s not back from his conference?” she asked.

“No, and it’s still raining in Boston. He called this morning to say he was freezing his ass off.”

“You didn’t tell him about our heat wave, did you?”

Alan chuckled. “He’d already heard. Anyway, I’m off. You’ll lock up?”

“Yes, and thanks again for your advice today. It really helped having someone else to brainstorm this contract with.”

“I don’t suppose it’s every day you’re contracting yourself out as a fake girlfriend.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “For five times my regular fee.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t repeat that in too many circles,” Alan replied, chuckling. “People will get the wrong impression about what we’re selling here at Intimates.”

Margot snorted. “I don’t think anyone would mistake me for a high-priced hooker. I don’t have the legs for it.” Then she looked down her chest. “Or the rack.”

“I’m sure Rob would disagree.”

The mention of her boyfriend doused the smile on her face. “Gosh, Rob, I forgot all about him. I really should call and make sure he doesn’t have a problem with this.”

“Why would he?”

Margot couldn’t think of a reason. She was certain he’d be fine with what, for all intents and purposes, was a few casual business dinners. But she and Rob had barely been dating a month, and with her feelings for him growing stronger by the minute, she didn’t want any misunderstandings interfering with their budding relationship.

“I’m sure he won’t,” she agreed. “But I’ll call just the same.”

When Alan said his goodbyes and left, she locked the door behind him and made the call.

“Sloan Enterprises,” she heard Rob say.

She put on her lowest and most breathy voice. “Hey, sexy.”

The line fell silent for an instant before he finally replied, “Margot?”

“Yes, silly. Who else would it be?”

“Uh, I don’t know.”

“Don’t tell me your mother calls you sexy because that would be kind of weird, and I’ve already had enough weirdness today.”

The befuddled tone in his voice relaxed and he laughed. “Hardly, babe. You’re the only one who talks dirty to me.”

“You sound distracted. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, not at all. What’s up?”

Sitting back in her chair, she kicked off her shoes and told him about her day and the new client she’d taken on. It felt good relaxing like this and reflecting over the day’s events with someone like Rob. It reminded her of her parents, how the two had always unwound in the evenings while her mother cooked dinner and her father went through the mail. They were comfortable and easy together. Two partners in the business of running a family and sharing their lives. Margot had always wanted a relationship like that, and had been smart and patient enough to wait for the right man to come along. And when she’d met Rob, she’d known he was the one.

She’d taken notice when they’d met at a charity function the month before. The two had been seated next to each other at a dinner to raise money for the women’s shelter where she volunteered and had hit it off before the salads were served. In the span of the two-hour dinner, they’d discovered the same tastes in movies, music, books and sports. They were both raised in similar households, their families traveling often due to Rob’s father’s career in sales and Margot’s life as the daughter of a Marine. They were the middle children in their respective families and shared that special understanding of life stuck between the firstborn and the baby.

It seemed the list went on and on—similar career aspirations, ideas about family and friends, politics and religion. On paper, she and Rob were about as perfect as they came. And in the weeks since that first date, Margot had become almost certain she’d met that ideal life partner she’d been waiting for.

“I think that’s great,” Rob said when she’d finished her story about Clint.

“So you don’t have a problem with me pretending to be another man’s girlfriend for the next few weeks?”

“Of course not.”

A smile spread across her lips. She loved his faith and trust in her, and it underscored the feeling that she’d found her Mr. Right.

From the time Margot and her friends had entered their teen years, Margot had good instincts when it came to putting men and women together. So much so that by the time she’d graduated high school, she’d known her future was in matchmaking.