Cathy Yardley - One Night Standards

She smiled. “We do go crazy. Mom’s a bit of an absentminded professor,” she said, and her expression was soft, unguarded. “Lydia’s a creative type. She’s younger by only about ten months…a total ‘oops’ baby. She acts like she’s older, though.”

Mark nodded, encouraging. “And you’re not the creative type?”

“I’m the business type,” she said. “Numbers, strategy, you name it. That’s what I—” She stopped short, as if she realized that they were, indeed, having a conversation about her company. “I must be boring you, with all this talk,” she demurred.

He gritted his teeth. He’d need to try another tack.

She shifted in her seat to face him. “Listen, can I be blunt?”

“Please,” he replied easily, shifting gears. Whatever it took to keep her talking.

“I know who you work for. It’s right there on your product boxes.” She crossed her arms. “You’re my competition. You know that.”

Now he did sigh. He doubted she would have missed that, but he didn’t know that she’d put together that they were competitors. “Well, yeah. But that doesn’t mean we can’t, you know, talk.”

“Actually,” she pointed out, “it does. At least, it means I can’t talk to you, about business.”

“It’s not like we’re even in the same league,” he replied. “No offense intended.”

“None taken,” she said, her words edged in ice.

“I mean, Trimera is huge. Global. From the sounds of it, your company…What’s the name of it, anyway?”

“Diva Nation.”

Good name, he thought absently. “It’s a small start-up. You’re too small for us to be worried about.”

“Really?” she said sweetly. “And I suppose mentioning the Marion & Co. meeting did nothing to cause you concern.”

She had him there.

“You can’t honestly tell me that you’re asking about my company out of the kindness of your heart,” she added. “I mean, you seem nice enough, but you’ve been trying to pump me for information since you got on the road. Don’t kid a kidder. I used to work for a big company, too. Nothing’s too small to be a threat. You’re looking for an angle.” Her voice was bitter. “I remember what it’s like.”

He realized she was right—and her comment made him feel ever so slightly slimy. “It was just business,” he said, knowing it was a lame defense.

She shook her head, her curls twitching in response. “It always is,” she murmured.

“How old are you?” he asked.

She blinked in surprise. “Twenty-nine,” she responded. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I just thought—you’re awfully young to be that jaded.”

She sighed. “You’re right. But I’ve had some bad experiences.”

“Why don’t you tell me about them?”

“What are you, a bartender?”

He chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me about your business now, if you think it’ll compromise you,” he said. “But you could tell me about your old job, right?”

Glancing over, he saw she was staring at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you trying to soften me up?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, and was rewarded when she laughed. “But I am interested.”

“Know thy enemy, huh?”

“We’ve got another five hours ahead of us, at least,” he said. “I don’t want to be stuck feeling like a spy or a criminal just because we happen to work in the same industry.” He winked at her. “Besides…I like you.”

That seemed to catch her by surprise. “Why?”

“You’ve got guts,” he said. “And lord, you’re persistent. I half thought you were going to hit me on the head and steal my car if I didn’t give in!”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” She laughed again, and slowly, he felt the tension in the car recede. “So, what do you want to know?”

He looked at her. “Why don’t you tell me about your old job,” he said, “and we’ll take it from there.”

Sophie revealed her past as an account executive at a cutthroat apparel company, talking about hellish bosses and asinine corporate policies that had finally caused her to quit. The stories, while crazy, were also funny, at least the way she told them. “So that’s why I decided to work for my family,” she said. “What about you? What caused you to work for cosmetics?”

“I used to be—don’t laugh,” he cautioned. “I was a male model.”

She didn’t laugh. “I can see that,” she said instead, and he could’ve sworn that there was a tone of admiration in her voice. Warmth expanded from the pit of his stomach in response, and he focused on her next question to distract himself. “But why cosmetics?”

“I ran into a lot of cosmetics people working,” he said. “They knew a lot of cosmetics sales reps, and I wound up interviewing with one of them when I decided to go into business. It was a friend of a friend. Besides, I understood how the products worked on the women I worked with,” he added. But that sounded defensive. “I figure, it’s been a good experience.”

“Huh. We’re a pair, aren’t we?” She leaned back, stretching, and he got a glimpse of her breasts pressing against the straining cloth of her blouse.

“How do you mean?”

“We’ve both got something to prove,” she said. “I’m trying to prove that you can make it in business without being heartless. You’re trying to prove that you’re more than just a pretty face.”

He stared at the road, momentarily stunned. She’d summed up his life in one sentence, and realized what people he’d been working with for years hadn’t seemed to grasp.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “That was blunt, again, wasn’t it?”

“No, it’s fine,” he said.

“I know you’re more than just your looks, though,” she added.

“Really?” He sneaked a quick look at her face. “How can you tell?”

“You heard me talk about my meeting, and you jumped on it,” she said. “You’ve been persuasive, without being a pest. And you listened to my old business stories and asked really good questions. You obviously know your stuff.”

He couldn’t help it. He grinned with pride. “Thanks.”

“You’re going to be a tough competitor to beat.”

He laughed. “Damn, I like you.”

She smiled in response. “I like you, too.”

“Let’s stop talking about business,” he said. “I want to know more about you. The real you.”

She laughed, a bit nervously. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything,” he said softly. “Everything.”

For a moment, it was as if they were frozen in time. Then she cleared her throat.

“I always wanted to live in Paris.”

He smiled. It might not help him get the promotion, but as he listened to her talk about her dreams and fears, he admitted that he felt better than he ever had, at any sales meeting or business function. And she was, technically, the enemy. After this car ride, they’d probably never see each other again, except the odd mention in a trade bulletin.

Too bad she’s a competitor, he thought, putting his ambition aside for a moment as he listened to her musical voice.

Because I sure would like to get closer to this woman.

“WE’RE FINALLY HERE,” Mark said, his voice sounding slightly disappointed.

Sophie could hardly believe it. It was eleven o’clock when they rolled into the Bedingfield Arms, and yet the hours had flown by. Considering they’d both avoided talking business, she was surprised at how much they did have to talk about. But he’d traveled around the world, to many of the same cities she’d loved. And they liked a lot of the same movies, the same books, the same music. And while she was exhausted, she was sorry that the trip had to end.