Emmie Dark - Cassie's Grand Plan

Her stomach twisted into ever-tighter knots.

“Sure, Ronan.” Melanie lowered her voice to say his name, as if it were sacred. Her eyes didn’t leave the man’s face as she asked, “Cassie, can I get you another one?”

Cassie could only nod, even as the coffee she’d already consumed that morning curdled in her belly. She figured she was going to need every bit of help she could muster to get through this day and more caffeine was a good start.

The fragile balloon of self-confidence she’d tried to pump up last night was rapidly deflating. In all the scenarios she’d pictured, she’d been imagining herself answering to a bow tie–wearing nerd. She honestly had been expecting some gray-haired, button-down bore. Not the kind of man who’d make most women think of beds instead of budgets. Of sex instead of stock levels.

And she’d expected to have more time to prepare. Not get caught out in the middle of a delivery blunder, dusty and hot and annoyed. She swallowed again, resisting her tickly throat that still urged her to cough.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” Melanie seemed to have recovered from her little swoon and was back to her normal efficient self. “I’ve set up the conference room for you both. All the documents you requested are in there, Cassie, and I even found an adaptor so you can plug your laptop in, too, Ronan.” Again, that sexy tone when she said his name.

“Why, thank you, Melanie.”

No. Oh, God. Had he winked again?

When he turned back to Cassie, his face was all business. Cassie refused to feel disappointed. “After you, ma’am.”

Without another word, Cassie led him into the warehouse and through the side doorway that led into the office area and the conference room.

“Conference room” was a grand title for the space that they used for staff meetings and big client pitches, but it was the most presentable part of the building. It had also allowed Cassie to exercise her passion for interior design—a passion that had played no small part in her success. Predicting trends and designing merchandising schemes were her favorite parts of the job.

Cassie had furnished the space as if it were a provincial dining room; instead of the typical imposing boardroom table surrounded by black leather swivel chairs, she’d brought in a large, whitewashed-timber dining table, plush dining chairs and a kitchen sideboard for storage. Audiovisual equipment was stored away in a large wooden trunk and dresser, while a kitchenette gave the impression of a family space ready to prepare an evening meal. The view of the loading dock from the window was the only thing that broke the illusion that the visitor had stepped into a country home.

It was one of Cassie’s favorite hideaways and she managed to take her first deep breath of the morning as she walked in. A measure of calm settled over her jangled nerves. Whether it was the fact that she had designed it herself, or that it was just the kind of room she dreamed of having in her own home one day, she didn’t know. She just knew that on those frequent late nights at work, she often left her office and came in here to soak up the comfort the room offered. Then she could pretend that she was finishing up her work at home, her family tucked up safe in bed, a lovely, soft, gentle man offering her a nightcap.

Soft and gentle was what she wanted, not sculpted and swoon worthy, she reminded herself as she took another sideways glance at Ronan McGuire. He was looking at her, an openly appraising expression on his face. Cassie swallowed hard. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he liked what he saw.

She quickly looked away. “We’re all set up in here,” she said needlessly, gesturing to the table.

“Interesting choice of furnishings, ma’am,” he said as he pulled out a chair and opened his briefcase. A hint of Southern twang to his accent stopped his “ma’am” from being smarmy—but only just. Cassie wanted to say something witty and cutting, but reminded herself of what was at risk. Besides, witty and cutting—especially in front of a hot guy who had apparently just been checking her out—had never been her forte.

Cassie sucked in another deep breath before answering. “It’s used for commercial clients and supplier meetings,” she said crisply. “It allows us to show off the Country Style look and range. Why should we buy boring gray office furniture when we have these beautiful pieces at our fingertips?”

She could hear the defensiveness in her own voice and scolded herself. It was crucial to get control of her nerves! If she was going to gain this guy’s confidence and win him over to the idea of her as CEO of Country Style, sounding bitter and defensive wasn’t the way to go about it. She had to sound like a leader. Calm. Absolutely in control.

“I understand why you’d use your own furniture range, ma’am,” he said, his tone betraying no hint of a reaction to her aggression. “Makes perfect sense.”

Cassie’s frayed nerves shredded. “Stop calling me ‘ma’am’!” Oops. She was pretty sure snapping at him didn’t count as either calm or controlled.

“Okay, I just—”

“I’m not a ma’am, I’m a miss. But don’t call me that, either,” Cassie added, flustered. How had she managed to get off on the wrong foot so quickly? She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly before continuing. “I don’t know if it’s different in America, but in Australia we’re quite informal, even in business. So Cassie will do. Just plain Cassie.”

Those sky-blue eyes of his swept over her, and the hardness melted away, just for a moment. A lazy seductiveness took over as his eyes did a slow sweep of her body. “Oh, I don’t think there’s anything plain about you, Cassie Hartman.” One corner of his mouth crooked up in a ghost of a smile before his eyes shuttered with the professional reserve she’d noticed earlier. “Now, shall we get to work?”

Cassie felt her stomach clench, not sure if she was furious, pleased or simply confused by his approach. Perhaps this was what he did—he got people unsettled, all the better to manipulate them so he could find what he wanted.

All she knew was that she had to be on her guard every moment he was around.

He got under her skin.

CHAPTER TWO

CASSIE WAS BARELY AWARE of the time passing until Melanie knocked on the door and walked in, interrupting them with lunch.

After that initial flirty comment, something in Ronan McGuire’s demeanor seemed to change, as though he’d flicked a switch, and from then on it had been strictly business. He delved straight into the work in front of them, polite, friendly, but entirely businesslike. It was as if the spreadsheets in front of him called to him like sirens, more attractive than any real woman. Especially plain old Cassie.

Which was fine by her. It was a relief, actually. Gave her time to pull herself together after the deep unease she’d felt at his arrival. It wasn’t just nerves about the ordeal ahead of her—something about him resonated deep within her. Was it his eyes? His accent? His smell? She put it down to the potential impact he could have on her life and tried to remember her little internal pep talk. Behave like a true leader. Calm. In control.

Once they got down to business, things were easier. When she was talking about Country Style, Cassie was in her element, and her agitation slipped away. Country Style was her baby, her home, her life. She loved her work; it was the only place that had offered her stability, security and a chance to prove herself. As she’d worked these past weeks on her proposal for Graham, she’d felt a new sense of motivation, imagined a new picture of what her life might be like. Shoring up her job at Country Style was Part One of her Plan-with-a-capital-P.