Lori Borrill - The Personal Touch

Ten years later, she was doing exactly that. She had a solid list of clients and a growing list of success stories. And now that she’d met Rob, she could count herself among them.

“I have to confess, I have reservations about accepting the fee he’s offering,” she told Rob. “It seems excessive, even for someone who can afford it.”

“I disagree. I think what he’s paying is just. I mean, think about what you’re providing. For one, you’re making house calls. And two, he’s expecting you to find his mother a date with one hand tied behind your back. That’s definitely worth the bump in pay.”

She hadn’t thought of it that way.

“It’s going to be a challenge,” she admitted.

“And you’ll rise to it, I’m sure. You’re very competent, Margot. I think you’ll have fun trying to figure out how to hook this woman up without thinking she’s using a matchmaker.”

Her heart swelled with his assurance. “Thank you.”

“You’ll do fine. Instead of worrying, you should celebrate your new client.”

“That’s a great idea. How about we have dinner tonight? You might even coax me into cooking.” Which would keep him at her place for who knew what afterward.

“I’d love to, babe, but I’ve got plans.”

She waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t she resisted the urge to pry. “Well, tomorrow maybe.”

“Yeah, give me a call.” She heard papers shuffling before he added, “And speaking of plans, I need to take off now, but I’m glad you called. Congratulations. I’m proud of you, babe.”

“Thanks.”

She wanted to say something more, but she didn’t know what, so she opted for a simple goodbye before hanging up the phone. Though her sensible side told her to keep taking things one day at a time, she had to admit a sense of anxiousness when it came to their relationship. She was so sure of their future together, of him being the ideal man for her in every way, she wished they could skip the formalities of dating and go straight to the altar.

Of course, that went against every rational word of caution she handed out to her friends and clients. She’d never felt that rushing a relationship was prudent, and she intended to heed her own advice. But having some permanence and formality between them would certainly be nice, especially when she considered having to deal with men like Clint Hilton.

Clint’s musky scent still hung in her office, taking her mind back to their meeting this afternoon. She recalled the silky way his gaze had slid over her when he’d demonstrated the vibe. Remnants of that look still tingled in her insides, calling to her in forbidden temptation. Now that she’d seen the man in action, she didn’t doubt all the stories Carmen had told her about him—the womanizing, the playboy vacations in every party spot on the globe. The man had the “It” factor and knew how to use it, which made him dangerous to any woman who didn’t watch herself. Margot had to admit that when he’d caressed that smooth gaze over her body, she’d felt naked and unguarded. Even a little aroused. An engagement ring would make a nice safeguard against a man like Clint. Because while Margot had her preferences set firmly in mind, she had no doubt Clint Hilton could turn a woman stupid with the wink of one crystal blue eye.

Blinking away the thought, she gathered her things and shut the lights in the office. While Clint might have touched her lustful side, her good senses reminded her that Rob was her future, and she’d simply keep that in mind as she played this phony courtship.

But as she locked the door behind her and headed for her car, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it might be easier said than done.

“TELL ME AGAIN where you met this woman?” Jillian asked as Clint dropped four bags of groceries on the stone counter in his kitchen.

“Capras. It’s a deli down on 4th.” He stepped over to his wine rack and pulled off two bottles of cabernet.

“Hmm, you don’t waste time, I’ll give you that. It was barely a week ago that treacherous blonde stormed out of here and you’ve already found someone new.”

He would have moved a lot sooner if work hadn’t kept him so busy this week. But now that he considered it, it probably ended up for the better. It would have looked strange suddenly bringing Margot around if he’d just had another date two nights before.

He winked. “Have you ever known me to beat around the bush?”

She gave him a wry smile. “I suppose not.”

She began helping him unload groceries, surveying every item in the bags as though she could size up his intentions based on his shopping list. Eyeing a small can of imported caviar that cost nearly as much as the blue sapphires on her ears, she stated, “My, you’re putting on quite a spread tonight. Are you sure you want me to stay and join you?”

The comment was made under the guise of a considerate gesture, but Clint knew damn well his mother would hold it against him if he asked her to take a hike for the night. It was a little game they’d been playing for years. She made polite offerings and he had to figure out which ones were sincere. Like the time he’d inadvertently made plans on a Sunday that ended up being Mother’s Day. His mother insisted he keep his reservations and swore that it would be perfectly fine to celebrate Mother’s Day two days early. So he’d believed her and went on his trip, only to spend the next three years hearing about that one disappointing Mother’s Day where she didn’t have both sons with her.

That was when Clint discovered that what his mother said and what she expected were two different things.

“Absolutely not. This is your home, and you are joining Margot and me for dinner.”

She tried to keep a poker face, but he didn’t miss the twinkle of pleasure in her eye.

“Really, it’s your first date and you obviously want to impress her.” She held up a bottle of finely aged balsamic vinegar. “I’d be a third wheel.”

“You’ll be pleasant company.” Then he shoved a bunch of garlic chives in her hand and asked her to chop them.

Round one; advantage Clint.

For the next hour the two worked together in the kitchen, preparing one of the many meals he’d learned to cook from his father. Cooking had been one of Jerald Hilton’s hobbies that had grown out of necessity when he was a young college student at UCLA. Unlike Jillian, who was born into wealth and had staff to take care of the family’s basic necessities, Jerald had worked his way to the top. Of course, the rich relations he’d married into hadn’t hurt his career, but at his core, Jerry Hilton was part of the working class who took pride in the things he could create with his own hands, a superbly crafted meal being one of them.

“This is nice, cooking with you,” Jillian said as she whisked together a vinaigrette for the salads that sat chilling in the fridge. “It reminds me of the early days with your father.” Then she looked around his high-tech kitchen. “Although the accommodations are quite a bit better than the tiny apartment we had when we were first married.”

The tiny apartment she referred to was the two-thousand-square-foot penthouse three blocks off Wilshire Boulevard her parents had bought the young couple as a wedding present.

“You know, your father cooked a meal like this for me on our first date,” she added. “It’s how I knew he was serious about me.”

She threw him a glance that asked if the same significance applied to Margot.

“I like Margot,” he said. “As far as being serious about her, it’s a bit premature to say at this point.”

The look on her face said she knew he was lying, and that was okay. As long as she didn’t know why Margot was special, she could think what she wanted. In fact, it was probably best his mother presumed he had serious intentions. She might open up more freely if she thought she was conversing with a future daughter-in-law instead of another one of Clint’s casual flings.