Книга - Her Boss by Arrangement

Her Boss by Arrangement
Teresa Carpenter






His mouth cut her off, his kiss a hard slant of his lips over hers.

The shock of his action threw her off stride. She placed her hands on his chest, intending to push him away. Then he softened the kiss, stealing her ability to think. She sank against him, opening her mouth under his.

In the next instant she was teetering on her own feet while he strode to lean against the mantel.

Not trusting her legs to hold her, she perched on the bench of his weight equipment. She glared at him. “That was unprofessional. We’re in a professional relationship. It would complicate things unnecessarily to inject a personal element into the situation.”

She blinked up into his silver gaze …


Her Boss by Arrangement

Teresa Carpenter






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


TERESA CARPENTER believes in the power of unconditional love, and that there’s no better place to find it than between the pages of a romance novel. Reading is a passion for Teresa—a passion that led to a calling. She began writing more than twenty years ago, and marks the sale of her first book as one of her happiest memories. Teresa gives back to her craft by volunteering her time to Romance Writers of America on a local and national level.

A fifth generation Californian, she lives in San Diego, within miles of her extensive family, and knows that with their help she can accomplish anything. She takes particular joy and pride in her nieces and nephews, who are all bright, fit, shining stars of the future. If she’s not at a family event you’ll usually find her at home—reading, writing, or playing with her adopted Chihuahua, Jefe.


Dedicated to my twin nieces, Michelle and Gabrielle.

They call themselves wombmates and they turn twenty-one this year.

Thanks for the inspiration. I love you both.

And may the world beware.


Contents

Cover (#u94a4eac0-1881-590e-85cd-74188baa49df)

Introduction (#u411a763f-ff2a-5046-b106-609dfac75fd4)

Title Page (#u15a6dadb-4bb3-5e76-9001-d6661fa1f64a)

About the Author (#u7754675c-d3e4-5c4f-8344-01d9185d492b)

Dedication (#ub900a21c-4e47-5580-985d-3db3b4d2ddc8)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_c92b8ffc-324f-552c-8241-aacbe8165141)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_9248682b-b55d-5193-b3e7-b265d258f084)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_7d6b84b1-5e11-53a0-9c99-e7e527194230)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_a03a6cea-3db3-545b-9798-8cdc8cffdf9b)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_361c2593-9bdf-5aa7-8d09-a8e54bf2fce5)

“PARKING, CODE BLUE.” Tori Randall heard the request for assistance from the valet station through her headset. They usually had three valets for an event of this size but one of their regulars had called in sick at the last minute, leaving them shorthanded. They were one short in the kitchen, as well. The darn flu was killing them.

“En route,” she responded and caught her twin sister’s gaze across the open expanse of the living room from where she stood just outside on the top level of the terraced patio. Lauren nodded subtly, indicating she’d heard.

“Hey, do you see the spark between those two?” Tori gestured to a stunt coordinator and a production assistant seated on the patio, chairs pulled close so their heads nearly touched. “Love is blossoming.”

Lauren’s gaze touched the couple and Tori knew her twin felt it, too, the sense of knowing when two people were meant to be. It was a talent they shared.

“No meddling,” Lauren cautioned, though her eyes softened. She was a sucker for true love. For everyone but herself. “We agreed to focus on the business.”

“We don’t meddle,” Tori protested. “We introduce. I don’t think we’re needed in any case.”

“No,” Lauren agreed. “They’ve found each other all on their own.”

“The buffet has been refreshed and new appetizers are circulating.” Tori gave Lauren an update on the food. This was their first event for one of Hollywood’s top directors, Ray Donovan. Everything needed to be perfect. “We’re past the witching hour, so desserts are coming out in a half hour. I can use a bit of fresh air.”

“Keep an eye out for Garrett Black,” Lauren said.

“Are you still expecting him to show? Give it up, Lauren, he’s not coming. As usual.” The new head of Obsidian Studios was the newest “it” guy everyone wanted at their event. But the man was refusing to play. No surprise. He had a rep for being antisocial as a director and producer. Why should running the show make any difference?

Their company, By Arrangement, had landed a coveted contract with Obsidian Studios to organize their events at the Hollywood Hills Film Festival starting in six weeks. Lauren hoped for an opportunity for them to introduce themselves to the top dog.

“Midnight is young by Hollywood standards. My source said he was planning to attend. He and Donovan go back.”

“Right.” Tori rolled her eyes. But the truth was Lauren’s infamous sources were uncannily correct. “I’ll keep a lookout.”

She still doubted they’d see the elusive Black tonight. Injured in the car accident that killed his father eleven months ago and left him as head of the fifth biggest studio in Hollywood, Garrett had been conducting business from his Santa Barbara home. Until a month ago. Gossip now had him appearing at the studio daily.

She stepped outside and breathed in the salt-tinged air. Malibu was one of her favorite places in the world. She scanned the driveway filled with world-class vehicles. All was quiet. She continued down the front steps to the valet station.

“Hey, Matt, what’s the problem?” She rubbed her bare arms. The fresh ocean air was heavenly but a bit crisp in early November and the black dress she’d chosen for tonight had a halter neck, leaving her arms bare to the elements.

“Sorry, Boss, I need a quick restroom break and John is taking a car down to the church.” The driveway and garage held a good number of vehicles, but for the overflow they’d made arrangements to use a church parking lot down the hill.

Matt had been out with the flu last week and looked a little pale. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, just not pushing my luck right now.”

Shivering, she nodded. “No problem. I’ll cover. Go ahead.”

“Thanks. It’s slowed down a lot so maybe no one will come along.” He shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her. “Here. I’ll try to be quick.” And he ran up the drive and around back to the service entrance.

She shrugged into the jacket, which was oversize but not too bad, Matt being on the smaller side. Crossing her arms, she rocked on her three-inch heels, deciding in that moment to allow the valets to use stools. What she wouldn’t give to sit for a minute.

With no one around she slipped out of her black pumps. What Lauren didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Against Tori’s protests, Lauren demanded they wear the punishing shoes for evening events. Of course Lauren wore the spiked torture devices for hours without flinching.

Tori flexed her sore toes. She preferred no shoes at all. The cold of the stone step felt good.

The rumble of a powerful engine filled the night and a Maserati Spider turned into the drive. Tori forgot all about shoes as the beautiful machine pulled to a stop in front of her. She clasped her hands behind her back to keep from rubbing them together at the prospect of driving the Italian muscle car.

“Thank you, sir.” Focused on the car, she paid little attention to the driver until he refused to release the keys, and then she looked up into pale gray eyes ripe with irritation.

He looked familiar but she couldn’t quite place him. When he’d stepped out of the car, he’d turned so his features were shadowed. He wore an ill-fitting black suit over a black sweater. And from the little she saw, he didn’t look in the mood to party. His square jaw was clenched, his fine features drawn into harsh lines.

One thing for certain, this guy was no wannabe, not with this car, and it bothered her that she couldn’t bring a name to mind.

He towered over her, a belated reminder she’d forgotten to put her shoes back on. When she wore the thee-inch heels, it made her five-seven, but even at that height, he’d top her by several inches.

She smiled all the brighter, hoping he wouldn’t notice. She tugged on the keys. “I’ll take good care of your vehicle, sir.”

The brooding gaze he ran over her disabused her of that notion. She had the feeling he missed little. “What do you drive?” he demanded in a gruff voice.

Now that was just rude. “A Mustang 500GT.”

“Huh,” he grunted but still held possession of the keys. “Is there a male attendant?”

“In the restroom.” She took delight in informing him.

“Be polite,” Lauren warned in her ear.

His thin lips took a downward turn. “Park it close by,” he ordered as if he knew of her longing to put the car through its paces on the downhill trip to the church. “I won’t be long.”

The keys dropped into her palm and she nearly danced on her pink-tipped toes. She half expected him to inspect the car so he’d know if she added any dings to his beauty. But then he probably didn’t have to.

She moved into the V of the open door.

“Miss.” She glanced up at him. He’d stopped halfway up the steps to pick up her shoes. “I prefer you to use these.”

“Of course.” Skipping up the wide steps, she reached his side and accepted the black pumps shoved at her. She bent and placed them on the ground, putting her headset on Mute as she did so. “Thank you. Let’s just keep this part between the two of us.”

“Worried for your job?” he mocked, his lack of sympathy obvious. Up close he took her breath away. Well-defined features and shadowed eyes were framed by a square jaw and broad brow. Too masculine to be pretty, he was a beautiful man.

“Worse, a lecture.” She teetered a bit and a suit-clad elbow was thrust at her. She shot him an appreciative glance that did nothing to soften his stern demeanor and used his arm to steady her as she slipped into the heels.

Hard muscles flexed under her fingers, triggering a feminine response, which flat-out annoyed her. She refused to be attracted to a jerk. Ignoring her protesting toes, she released him as soon as she had her feet encased in leather. Flipping her blond ponytail over her shoulder, she reengaged her headset.

“Enjoy your party, sir.” She gave him another bright smile and turned back to the car, tugging Matt’s jacket down around her hips as she went.

In the car she adjusted the seat. The interior smelled delicious, of rich leather, linseed oil and a hint of spicy cologne that must belong to Mr. Rude. She turned over the motor and it purred like a lion. She bit her lip, half tempted to take the beast down the hill after all. But she reigned in her impulsive side and pulled the lovely car into an open slot in the garage. Penance for being seen without her shoes.

Not that Lauren would see it that way.

When Tori reached the front of the house, both Matt and John were there. She gave Matt his jacket and the keys to the Maserati, told him where it was parked and made her way inside.

Lauren was waiting for her. “You went off-line. What was the problem?”

“Really?” Tori tapped her headset. “It must be a short.” She gave a quick look around but her brooding combatant was nowhere to be seen. “Did you see a big guy in an oversize suit come in?” She’d hoped for a better view of him in the light to help her place him.

At least that was her story and she was sticking to it.

“No. You shouldn’t lie, Tori. You’re not good at it. What did he want you to use?” Lauren’s honey-brown eyes, identical to her own, narrowed. “Tell me you didn’t take off your shoes.”

“I didn’t take off my shoes.”

Her sister’s hands went to her hips. “We talked about this.”

“And as long as you require me to wear these stilts, we’ll be talking about it again.”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“No one was around,” she protested.

“Except for the big guy in the oversize suit.”

“Who drives a Maserati.” She couldn’t hide her awe. “OMG, Lauren, it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever driven. I lost my head for a few minutes.” She confessed.

Lauren drew her down the hall toward the kitchen and away from the crowded front room. “I suppose you already tagged Dad.”

“I may have texted him a picture.”

“Tori, this is an important event. We can’t afford for anything to go wrong.”

“Relax, Lauren. The event is already a success.” Two waitresses passed them carrying trays of delectable sweets. “There go the desserts. After I put out the candy table, it’s all smooth sailing.” Hoping to avoid further lecturing, she swung toward the kitchen.

“Black drives a Maserati.”

Surprise spun Tori back around. “What?”

“Garrett Black. Drives. A. Maserati.”

“Well, fudge sticks.” With the name, the familiarity fell into place. Garrett Black. She’d been thrown off because he’d cut his hair and lost weight, which explained the oversized suit. Of course the shadows hadn’t helped. “We may want to put off the introductions to another time.”

* * *

“Garrett, my friend, you made it.” Ray Donovan broke away from a small group near the terrace and met Garrett halfway across the room. They shook hands and Ray pulled Garrett into a full body hug.

“You threatened to pull your next movie if I didn’t.” Resigned, he squeezed back and then stepped away, creating the distance he preferred. “I’m no fool.”

Ray laughed. “You’re all kinds of a fool, but you’re not stupid.”

Garrett shrugged. There was no arguing with the truth.

“Let’s get you some food.” Ray led him to the dining room and the table spread with a diverse array of dishes, pretty, elegant dishes that probably appealed to the many starlets drifting about.

“I’m not really hungry.”

“My friend, you’ve got to eat, you’re wasting away. Get your nose out of the air. Just because food is beautiful doesn’t mean it should be dismissed. This is the best food I’ve ever had at a party. Try the bacon-wrapped meatballs and the chipped beef poofs. I particularly like the spaghetti stuffed garlic bites.” He tossed a bite-size nugget into his mouth.

“So I lost some weight. I had a broken jaw if you’ll remember.” Along with a crushed left leg and shattered collarbone. All compliments of an SUV crashing broadside into the car he was traveling in. He’d lived through it. His father hadn’t.

Garrett felt a pinch at his lack of grief.

“Some? That suit is hanging on you, buddy.”

Garrett glanced down. “So?”

“So, you’re the head of the studio now. You need to dress the part. Here—” Ray picked up the plate of spaghetti bites, tossed on a few mushroom caps and assorted other items “—let’s take this upstairs and you can tell me how you’re doing. Oh, whoa.” An attendant walked by with a plate of chocolate cupcakes. “Diane, be a doll and give that plate to my friend, would you.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Donovan.” The attendant handed Garrett the plate with a smile.

Ray took his booty and walked around the corner to a spiral staircase that took them to a loft overlooking the living area below. A wall of windows offered a spectacular vista of the ocean during the day. Tonight the view consisted of the dancing on the patio below. A four-foot-high glass balcony wall ran the length of the loft.

Garrett sat down in a cream leather armchair and set the plate down on a black glass table. Ray set the food on the ottoman and Garrett took a chipped beef poof. Kudos to Ray. The food was the best he’d had since the accident. He reached for another.

“How’s the leg?” Ray asked.

“Better. Therapist says it’s at 90 percent.”

“Wow, that’s great.” Ray went to the bar. “You were pretty messed up when I visited you in the hospital. So they put a pin in?”

“Several. Total reconstruction of my thigh and knee.” Four surgeries kept him in and out of the hospital for eight months. It’s only during the past two months he’d felt like he got his feet under him again. “Just call me Robo Director.”

“Robo CEO. You’re head of the studio now.”

“There’s something I never expected.” He accepted a Scotch, took a small sip, and set the cup down. He was driving and on meds. He’d come too far in physical rehabilitation to risk a setback now. “I have to admit I’m still wrapping my mind around the fact.”

“Really? You used to have a lot of ideas of what you’d do when you got the reins.” Ray dropped into the ivory bucket chair next to him.

“Not since Dad and I had a falling-out. I told you about that.”

“Sure, he insisted you take on director of creativity for the studio and then overturned most of your decisions.”

“I warned him to stop, but he did it once too often and I quit. He retaliated by blackballing me from the studio.”

“Ah. You didn’t tell me that.”

“Sorry. It wasn’t something I wanted to get around.” Just as he didn’t tell his friend about the studio’s damaged reputation. “Needless to say, I figured I was out of the will.”

But he’d been wrong. Or more likely Dad hadn’t gotten around to changing his will in the past six years. He still didn’t know what prompted the invitation to Thanksgiving dinner. Either way Garrett had his work cut out for him if he wanted to bring the studio back to its former glory. Gossip traveled fast and far in the movie business, which accounted for the loss of contracts. He didn’t want anyone knowing a continuing decline could put Obsidian Studios in financial distress.

“You’re an only child,” Ray pointed out. “The studio has been family owned for ninety years. Obviously in the end blood was stronger thangrudges.”

“I suppose.” Whatever the reason, the studio was now his, and Garrett refused to let it fail on his watch.

Looking for a diversion, he swung the chair around to overlook the crowd below. Absently he reached for another meatball. Immediately he spied the sleek ponytail of his bothersome valet. She stood in a hall just off the entry talking to another woman.

She’d lost her jacket and under it she wore a halter sheath dress square at the neck and ending a few inches above her knees. The little black dress at its classic best. It didn’t cling but draped her lithe figure, hinting at more than it revealed unlike so many of the other dresses shrink-wrapped on the women roaming the room.

His gaze returned to the women in black. He frowned and blinked. Then blinked again, wondering if the one sip of alcohol was enough to have him seeing double. No, there were two of them. The second woman’s dress was scoop-necked and she wore her hair in a lower tail clipped back rather than banded.

“Who are the dynamic duo?” He lifted his chin in the direction of the girls and Ray shifted in his chair to see who he referenced.

“Ah.” His friend’s blue eyes lighted on the women with unerring precision. “They are Lauren and Tori Randall, my event coordinators. They handled the premiere of Pretty Little Witches a few months ago.”

A dark brow lifted at that. Even cooped up convalescing, he’d heard of the successful event.

“The movie flopped,” Ray went on. “But people are still talking about the premiere. When I decided to throw a party, I had my assistant call them. The name of their company is By Arrangement.”

Garrett’s mouth quirked up at the clever name, a nice play on their being twins. Actually the name sounded familiar. Probably in connection with the premiere. The women broke up, his valet heading to the kitchen, the other moving off in the other direction. Garrett turned away. The woman had already taken up too much of his time.

He nailed Ray with a pointed stare. “When are you going to be finished with my house?” He’d rented his place to Ray for his current film project Gates of Peril while he stayed at the family manor adjacent to the studio. The drive was easier on his leg, but he’d like to get away from it on the weekends. “I’m getting tired of the dusty old manor.”

“Not much longer. Maybe a month.”

“A month? What the hell, Ray? I happen to know you’re also over budget.”

“Yeah, but the special effects are sick. Another month and two million should see a wrap.” The director shook his head. “The set is a circus. All kinds of people underfoot. Jenna Vick is stellar, but she just got engaged and she’s distracted by her fiancé. And the effects coordinator has his kids on-site because his sitter was in a fender bender.”

“Those are not the studio’s problems. You’re supposed to be finished with my place and shooting on the West Lot. Another movie is scheduled for that lot in two weeks. The studio takes a hit if they can’t start production.”

Ray shrugged. “Add it to the budget.”

Garrett shook his head. That’s exactly the attitude that led to the studio’s teetering reputation. “Ray, I love you like a brother, but the days of open budgets died with my dad. You have two weeks and one million. I’m closing your set to all nonessential personnel. Get your people under control, and get it done.”

* * *

Tori popped a candy-coated peanut in her mouth and surveyed the candy table. Perfect. Sticking to the colors red, black, silver and white, she’d used martini-shaped glasses large and small to create her design. Drops, gummies and foil-wrapped candies filled the dishes. White letters filled with dark chocolate-covered mints spelled out RAY. A black satin table cover and silver and red ribbons pulled the whole look together.

No sooner did she step back than guests converged on the treats. Oohs and aahs followed her retreat. In spite of her less than fortuitous encounter with Black, Tori counted tonight as a success. She’d received lots of compliments on the food and given their card to three prospective clients.

Reminded of Black, she moved to the entry and lingered near the living room where she had a view of the front door. Matt had found the claim ticket for the Maserati in his jacket pocket and brought it to her to pass on to the owner. She grimaced, as if she needed another run-in with Black.

As if her thoughts had conjured the man, he suddenly appeared from the crowd. And he was headed directly for her.

She summoned a smile. “Mr. Black, is there anything I can get for you?”

He lifted a dark brow at the use of his name. He glanced to the left where the food filled the table and a crowd surrounded the candy display, and then dropped to the martini glass she’d filled for herself.

“This will do.” Taking the glass from her, he dumped half the contents into his hand. “Thanks.”

Surprised by his sweet tooth and offended by his rudeness, she warned him, “Careful, I’m a peanut fiend, so I hope you aren’t allergic.”

“Nope. Did you enjoy driving my car, Ms. Randall?”

“It was the highlight of my night.” She stifled any reaction to the use of her name, unable to determine if it was a good thing or bad.

“Which reminds me.” With a sheepish smile she dug into her cleavage and retrieved his claim ticket. “I forgot to give you this.”

He accepted the paper, looked from it to her bust. Heat flared in his gray eyes before they lifted to meet her gaze.

“Sorry,” she murmured, shrugging, “no pockets.”

“No need to apologize.” He flicked the ticket with his thumb. “I may have to keep this as a memento of the evening.”

Okay, what did that mean? Good gracious. Was he hitting on her? Wouldn’t Lauren love that? As for Tori, sure he tipped the studometer, but his aloof, brooding attitude triggered one of her hot buttons, putting him off-limits even more than the fact he was a client.

Of course there was that gorgeous car. “If you need a designated driver, I’m happy to be of assistance.”

“Do I appear drunk to you, Ms. Randall?” The gravel in his voice took on a gruffness.

Oops, she’d upset him again. “No, but a girl can hope.”

“Very amusing.”

She shrugged and was rewarded by him taking the last of her candy.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he challenged her.

“Of course not.” Jerk. “I can get you one of your own if you’d like.”

“No, yours is good enough.”

Was he trying to outdo himself in boorish behavior or was it simply his default mode? Whichever, charming he was not. Then again she didn’t remember ever hearing the word attached to his name. Hardworking, brilliant and brooding were the words used to describe him. Usually as a director. Looking into his pale eyes she didn’t doubt the truth of them.

As a guest, he could use a lesson in playing nice with others.

“Good night, Ms. Randall.” He stepped past her toward the door.

“Drive safely, Mr. Black,” she said to his back. She wouldn’t want anything to happen to his beautiful car.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_fce6c849-2f35-586d-8323-64a13ef8df12)

LATE MONDAY AFTERNOON Tori worked on a spreadsheet displaying the menu for a fiftieth wedding anniversary scheduled for Thursday. She was making the final notes to the grocery list when the bell over the front door sounded.

“Be right there,” she called out as she took a moment to save her file. A quick glance through the glass wall of her office revealed the visitor was a man, but he had his back to her. By Arrangement rarely got drop by traffic. The nature of their business generally took them to their clients. In fact Lauren was out with a prospective client now, which left Tori to handle the man haunting their showroom.

Her toes searched under her desk for her shoes. She ended up kicking them farther back and bent to retrieve the ballerina flats. Happy she chose to wear black jeans today, which were slightly dressier than regular jeans, she walked out of her office, tugging at the hem of her olive sweater as she greeted the visitor.

“Welcome— You.” She stopped short at the sight of Garrett Black. He stood tall and broad in the middle of the showroom in another ill-fitting suit. “What are you doing here?” Hearing the strident tone, she cringed. “I mean, Mr. Black, how can I help you?”

“Ms. Randall.” He glanced around the converted restaurant, taking in the glass offices, the tables dressed in different styles for special occasions, the well-stocked bar. He lifted a brow at her.

“We occasionally host events here,” she explained. “Or we used to.” She and Lauren bought the restaurant four years ago for the kitchen because they’d outgrown her apartment kitchen for food prep. Business continued to bloom, and after six months, the front was converted to offices, storage and the current showroom.

He nodded and continued to wander. At one of the tables he picked up a fork, set it back down. His presence confused her. She and Lauren had great ideas outlined for the film festival, but the next series of meetings with Obsidian weren’t scheduled until the first part of December.

“Would you like to sit?” she asked him.

“No.” He faced her, shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “I’ve come about the toe prints.”

She blinked at him. “Toe prints?”

“Yes. Upon inspection of my vehicle this morning I found toe prints on the carpet of the driver’s side. I wanted to let you know I’ll be forwarding the cleaning bill.”

Tori listened with growing outrage. He had to be kidding. “No,” she corrected, keeping her tone easy. “Remember, I was barefoot when we met, but you stopped me before I got in the car.” His precious oh-so-fabulous car.

Aggravating man. How petty of him to try to get a car cleaning out of her, especially when money wasn’t the issue. He was upset because she’d made him feel. Anger, arousal, humor, she’d seen flashes of each emotion in the brief conversations they’d had.

Whatever had happened to him, and it went way further back than his accident, he’d cut himself off from emotion. She imagined the accident and losing his dad only added to the pain he hid behind a brooding facade.

All too familiar with the destructive force of repressed feelings, she easily recognized the anguish simmering in his silver eyes. She felt for him, but not even his manly beauty tempted her to go there again.

Caring for an emotional recluse was equivalent to treading through a mental minefield.

“You were the only one near the car barefoot. I assume you will want to take care of this matter promptly as it would be awkward working together on the film festival with this issue unresolved.”

She gritted her teeth. He was right. Having this issue hanging over By Arrangement while she worked the film festival was unacceptable. Arguing with him didn’t make sense, either. Not while Black was a client.

Plus, no way did Tori want Lauren knowing about this. She would never let Tori forget the need to wear appropriate shoes if she learned Tori was being billed for footprints. Yet she still protested.

“Between the two of us I’m sure we can figure this out.” Much as she disliked confrontation, Tori didn’t care to be pushed around or taken advantage of, either. “Let me see the prints.” She headed for the door and the parking lot beyond.

Hey, she had a right to challenge the totally bogus accusation. Innocent until proven guilty, she wanted to see the evidence, to defend her good name. The truth was she admired the beautiful machinery of the Maserati too much to mar it and she found the accusation insulting.

“You honestly believe I’d make up footprints?” The caustic question came from behind her. “For what reason? Some half-witted excuse to see you again?”

She froze with her hand on the car handle, struck by the concept. For all the derision in his words, she knew he found her attractive. Perhaps that was the answer. He was punishing them both for the chemistry between them.

And perhaps she was overthinking it. He was a jerk, reason enough for his contrary behavior.

She tried opening the door of the red Maserati Spider convertible and about pulled her shoulder from the socket when it refused to give. Locked. She turned to him, forced a smile. “Open, please.”

She met stoic resistance.

What now? Then it hit her, she hadn’t answered his question.

“Look, I’m not vain enough to figure you manufactured an excuse and went out of your way to pursue me. Since I didn’t step barefoot into the car, I want to help you determine what it is.”

“I know toe prints when I see them.” But he clicked the locks, allowing her to open the door.

Bending over, she stuck her head inside. The scent of well-tended leather filled her senses. Such a sexy aroma. It made her think of smart cars, long drives and hard men. None of which were appropriate to the moment. Discounting the hardheaded male looming over her.

She ran her hand over the soft buttercream upholstery, eyed the matching carpet. Three small smudges were grouped close together. She supposed they could be toe prints, but she didn’t think so.

“They look like paw prints,” she said, glancing over her shoulder in time to catch him eyeing her butt. Her blood heated at the appreciation in his pale gaze. But she tamped it down as she stood and faced him, reminding herself of the complications he presented—client, tortured soul.

“Absolutely not.” He denied her explanation. He stepped back and seemed to wobble a bit on the uneven asphalt. He glared at the ground before turning the look on her. “Impossible. Unless you left a window open when you parked the car.”

“No. I adjusted the seat.” A necessity considering, at six feet, he stood a good eight inches taller than her. “But I just pulled it into the garage. There was no need to adjust the mirrors.”

“Then the only explanation is toe prints.”

“Unless the marks were there before you reached the party,” she offered in what she felt was a reasonable tone. “Do you inspect all areas of the car before driving it each time?”

“Of course not.” He scowled, his annoyance over the discussion more than clear. “But they weren’t there before.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I didn’t drive it barefoot. And I live alone. Not even a cat. No one else to leave toe prints or paw prints.”

“Okay.” She moved toward him so she could close the car door.

He took a hasty step backward, his heel landed in a small hole and his leg buckled, sending him sprawling on his butt. A grunt of pain was cut off by a string of vile curses.

It was one of those fast-forward, slow-motion moments. Tori saw the fall unfolding and reached out to grab him, but his momentum pulled his hand right through hers. She had to catch herself from falling on top of him.

“Are you okay?” Stupid question. His complexion had gone white and his jaw was clenched against the pain. She crouched next to him. “How can I help?”

“Back the hell up.” He shooed her away. “Give me some room.”

Respecting his wish, she stood back but watched him carefully. In high school she worked two years as a lifeguard at her dad’s golf club. From his paleness and the clamminess of his skin, he looked about to pass out. If that happened, she’d have to call an ambulance because there’d be no handling his deadweight.

“Garrett, are you light-headed?” She knelt next to him.

“A little,” he admitted, which said a lot.

“We don’t want you passing out. I would have to call an ambulance...” Mention of an ambulance got his attention.

“No hospital. I just need a moment.” He supported himself on one arm, leaning sideways. The other hand clutched at his right leg, the obvious point of his pain. He tried to rise but slumped back. “My head is spinning.”

“Okay, you need to sit up. And put your head in your lap.” He no doubt saw spots before his eyes. She helped him into position and rubbed a hand over his back. It was supposed to be your head between your knees. She hoped this would be enough to stop the dots from merging into total darkness.

After a moment, he lifted his head. “It’s better. Thanks. Sorry to snap at you.”

Dark tendrils fell over his eyes. Brushing them back, she felt the dampness of his skin. It had been a close call. “Okay, let’s get you on your feet.”

Without asking this time, she tucked an arm under his right shoulder and lifted. He managed to get his left leg under himself, and between the two of them, he reached his feet.

He brushed off his clothes, teetering, but unwilling to ask for help.

“I’ll send you a bill for the carpet cleaning.” It would be a great exit line, except his right leg wouldn’t hold his weight. He almost went down again when he tried.

“Enough of this.” She invaded his space, cupped his face in her hands, feeling the prickle of an approaching five o’clock shadow, and met his pain-filled gaze. “Either you accept my help or I call for that ambulance. It’s your choice.”

Just for a moment he hooded his eyes, leaned into her touch. In the next instant, he jerked away. Squaring his shoulders, irritation stamped his features, eradicating any flash of vulnerability she may have imagined.

“No hospital.” He repeated his earlier decree. “I strained an old injury. I just need to get home and put some ice on it.”

“It’s your right leg. You aren’t driving anywhere.”

His jaw clenched as he struggled between desire and reality. “Fine.” He gritted the word through his teeth. “You can drive me home.”

Lucky her. As if hauling his injured rear was a highly sought after reward. She rolled her eyes, pretended her heart hadn’t leaped at the notion of driving the Maserati and tucked her shoulder under his arm to help him around the car. This close he smelled of a spicy cologne touched with lavender and citrus, raw male and, oh, Lord, leather.

The sexy combination nearly knocked her on her tush.

Unfortunately, once they reached the passenger side, it became obvious the car was too low-slung for him to comfortably lower himself into it.

“This isn’t going to work,” she declared, raw with frustration.

“For once, I agree.” He shifted on his good leg, and suddenly she was in his arms, her hands clutching his waist. “I need to keep my leg straight.” His breath caressed her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine.

“We can use the company SUV. It’s higher and has more legroom. Wait here.” Relieved, she ducked out from under his arm. She blamed her near sprint inside on the need to get rid of him. She wasn’t running scared.

“Liar,” she muttered while snagging the keys to the fuel-friendly Ford and locking up the showroom. Wanting him gone had everything to do with running scared. And a strong sense of self-preservation. So she’d drive him home, pay to clean his blasted carpet and put him firmly from her mind.

* * *

Garrett clicked the locks on his prized Maserati, a gift to himself from the profits of his first successful film. He rued the impulse that brought him to West Hollywood and the offices of By Arrangement.

When he found the toe prints in his car this morning, he’d been annoyed.

Tori Randal’s barefooted impersonation of a valet fell short of professionalism in his opinion. He’d come here today in the hopes she could redeem that impression before he put his company’s reputation in her hands at the upcoming international film festival.

Of course the insolent blonde couldn’t simply admit her mistake and agree to right the wrong. No, she questioned his motives and his eyesight. Whatever.

What really needed questioning was his sanity.

He should have remembered how he’d reacted to her. She glowed as only a true optimist could, lush lips too ready to smile, amber eyes sparkling, demanding everyone she came in contact with join her in the dance of life. And the long line of her ivory neck displayed by her sophisticated ponytail at the party and a serviceable braid today just made him want to take a bite.

Exactly when had he become part vampire?

During the long, lonely, pain-ridden nights since the accident came the ready answer. Better to be exhausted from physical therapy and reviewing studio business than to lay awake raked by pain and regrets.

Now he’d let the perky blonde with no sense of boundaries get to him again. And the result was a pulled muscle in his bad leg. His own damned fault, tripping over an inch-deep hole and twisting his foot. Pain had streaked up his weak leg and it gave. He’d done it before, pushing himself too far, too fast, but it still hurt like a bitch.

A white SUV pulled up next to him, and Tori hopped out and came trotting around to his side. He didn’t wait for her. He opened the door, plunked his butt down and pulled his leg in.

“Oh, yeah, much better.” Tori arrived in time to help lift his leg in.

“I can do it.” He scowled at her, both for the interference and the cheerful optimism. “Let’s just get going.”

“Aye-aye.” She saluted him and made the reverse trip around to the driver’s seat.

He might appreciate the impertinence if he weren’t in pain. And mortified. He closed his eyes, as it was he just wanted to get home.

“Here.” She thrust a water bottle at him after climbing in next to him. “Do you have any pain pills with you?”

“I don’t like taking pain meds.” The usual protest sprang automatically to his tongue.

She gave him a schoolteacher glare, the kind that made you question your own intelligence. “That’s not what I asked. If you have something with you, take it.”

He glared back, not caring in the least that it screamed petulant rebellion. He may have tripped up like a little boy, but he was a grown man capable of knowing the needs of his own body.

“I can always take you to the hospital. I’m sure they’ll give you something.”

“Why do you care if I’m in pain?”

She looked truly confused by the question. “I care whenever anyone is in pain.”

“The painkillers don’t help the injury. They just mask the pain, making it possible for you to hurt yourself even more.”

“The pain medicine helps you to relax. If it’s a pulled muscle like you seem to think, a lessening of the tension in the muscles actually will assist in the healing process.”

“They make me sleepy.” It wasn’t quite a whine but too close for his pride. So he dug out the pills, popped one in his mouth and chased it with a long sip of water. “You seem to know a lot about physical ailments for an event coordinator.”

“I got into first aid when I was doing my lifeguard stint. Where are we going?” She’d been driving as they argued but had reached the freeway. “Do I go north or south?”

He directed her north and gave her the address, which she put in her GPS.

“I know that address. You’re living at Obsidian Studios?”

“Sometimes it feels like it, but no, I’m staying at The Old Manor House.”

Her head whipped his way. “How can you be living at The Old Manor House?”

He cocked a brow at her surprise. “My family does own the house.”

“Of course.” Eyes back on the road, she shrugged. “But I thought it was closed up.”

“It was, most of it still is, but after his last divorce, my father moved back into a wing on the bottom floor.” Why was he explaining anything to her? But what the heck, he preferred to be alert. Talking helped. “I’d rather go to my place on the coast in Santa Barbara, but I moved into the Hollywood mansion when I started working at the studio. It’s closer, more convenient when I have to be there every day.”

No need to admit driving still bothered his leg. In fact, no need to talk about himself.

“From lifeguard to event coordinator. That’s quite a change. How’d that happen?”

Her luscious lips pursed. “Well, after high school we went to UCLA.” Her gaze touched him for a second. “You’re an alum, too.”

“Yes.” He agreed. “A few years before you I’m guessing.”

“Four,” she answered promptly.

“Very precise.” Why would she know that?

A grin flashed his way. “I searched for you online. Standard research prior to putting in the bid to Obsidian Studios.”

“What was your major?” He lobbed the focus back to her. Smothering a yawn, he convinced himself it was drowsiness and not disappointment he felt. Of course her research had been business related not personal.

“Communications, but I switched to business when By Arrangement came to be.”

“You started your business in college?”

She laughed. “Sometimes I think we started our business in the womb. My mom is big on celebrations. Birthdays, holidays, accomplishments were all good reasons to have a party. So we grew up entertaining. When we hit the sorority at UCLA, we naturally stepped up whenever there was an event. Our reputation grew and we started doing other events around school. It started as a way to make extra money. But as people graduated, they still called us and we started doing events outside the school. Our junior year, we named our business By Arrangement, changed our majors to business and never looked back.”

The love for her job rang loud in her animated chatter. The pride in her accomplishments, which she clearly shared with her sister, indicated a bond of trust and affection. From what she’d said of her mother, it sounded as if she’d had a happy childhood.

Too much cheer for him.

“I must say By Arrangement came highly recommended. Your previous clients must have missed out on the toe print experience.”

In profile he watched the joy in her switch off.

He heard a sigh and then a very polite, “I’m sorry. Please send me the cleaning bill and I’ll see it’s paid.”

Blessed silence filled the vehicle.

He turned to look unseeing out the window, feeling as if he’d spanked a puppy. She was the one in need of a spanking. If she’d gracefully accepted the blame when he’d first arrived, he would have left immediately and been sitting down to a nice meal at Antonio’s right now.

On cue his stomach rumbled.

Ignoring it, ignoring her, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

* * *

Tori kept her eyes on the road. In another ten minutes she’d drop his ungrateful hide off at the curb. She couldn’t wait.

Thank heavens the meds finally kicked in and he fell asleep, lifting the need for conversation. If you counted grunts and sarcasm as conversation. She got it. He’d had a bad year. But there was no reason to take it out on her.

She took the off-ramp that led to Obsidian Studios and The Old Manor House. He deserved to live alone in a spooky old place. The house got its name shortly after it was built because the house and grounds were used in an old black-and-white movie of the same name. The movie became a Gothic horror classic. It scared her spitless as a kid.

Only a few more blocks.

Then she heard it again, the rumble of his stomach. Her brow puckered as she tried to recall if he’d mentioned staff. He probably had a cook and a housekeeper, right? She had no doubt whatsoever that his father would have had a staff. But Garrett spent several months in the hospital. It was totally possible the staff had been let go. Especially as Garrett had his own home.

Dang it. Sometimes she was too nice for her own good, but she couldn’t leave him at the curb both hurt and hungry.

Dark had fallen and she panned the street in front of her and then in the rearview mirror. Spotting the pink neon sign of a fast-food Chinese restaurant, she whipped a U-turn and zipped into the parking lot. Perfect.

She glanced at Garrett, who didn’t move. Good. She may be willing to feed him, but she was done talking to the man. Grabbing her purse, she went inside. The savory scents of East Asia immediately enveloped the senses. The smell of garlic, ginger, onions and chicken made her mouth water.

Yes, this would do nicely for dinner. Having no idea what Garrett liked, she requested both beef and chicken items. He didn’t strike her as a vegetarian. Too much the predator.

Back in the car she tucked the bags behind the passenger seat and reengaged the GPS. A few minutes later she turned into a gated drive. Of course it would have security.

Man, she’d really been anticipating the curb.

“Mr. Black,” she called, hoping to rouse him. He didn’t move, so she said his name again, louder. Then she shook his arm. “Garrett!”

His pale eyes opened, appearing silver in the glare of the spotlight aimed at the SUV. The light triggered when she pulled up to the security display situated just short of the ten-foot-high brick wall. Garrett blinked at her and then the house.

“We’re here.” His voice was thick with sleep.

“Yes. I need the code.”

He rattled off a number, the gate began to open and she inched forward. A groan sounded next to her as Garrett shifted in his seat. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw him scrub his hands over his face.

Once she cleared the gate, streetlights came on showing the way to the house in the distance. She drove a quarter mile curving around to the front of the house, where the drive circled a large fountain. Six steps led up to an extensive porch. That presented a problem.

“Is there a better spot to drop you?” she asked. “An entrance without steps?”

“Yeah, pull around to the back. There are only two steps up to the back porch.”

She followed his directions and stopped so her lights shined on the steps. A gray cat sprang up and darted away.

“No cat, huh?”

“I’ve never seen it before.”

“Of course not.” As if she believed that.

“And it hasn’t been in my car.” He opened his door and slid out. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Wait.” She hurried around the front of the SUV to reach his side.

“I don’t need your help.” He advised her, the short nap unfortunately not improving his disposition.

“Probably not.” She agreed and took his arm. “You’re getting it anyway. It’s dark and the ground is uneven. I prefer not to take any chances.”

A put-upon sigh filled the chill November evening. Once they reached the porch, he made a point of climbing them unassisted. Irritating man!

But good. She didn’t need to worry about leaving him. At the bottom of the stairs she waited until he opened the door and turned on the light.

“Good night, Ms. Randall.”

“Good night, Mr. Black.” Good riddance, more like.

“Oh, wait.” She ran to the SUV and came back with the white bag of food. Climbing to the porch she crossed to him and pushed the package into his arms. “Bon appétit. You probably shouldn’t feed the cat.”


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_2cc7705b-0670-5e99-8f24-3c417507b57f)

LAUREN WALKED AROUND Tori’s Mustang and slid into the passenger seat as her sister made her way to the back door of The Old Manor House. She heard Tori’s knock just before she closed the door.

Lauren wasn’t sure she bought Tori’s explanation that Black had been driving by and decided to stop by their showroom to introduce himself. But there had to be some truth to the part where he hurt his leg and couldn’t drive or he never would have left his Maserati.

The light over the back door came on and Garrett Black opened the door. He stepped outside wearing only a pair of low hanging gray sweatpants and nothing more. Oh, my. She found his muscular physique impressive even as far away as the vehicle where she sat. The two exchanged words and for a moment she envied Tori her closer view.

But then she felt the warmth growing in her chest. Her eyes went wide as the feeling grew. It dimmed as Tori moved away from Black, stomped down the steps and got back in Garret’s car. Across the way a garage door opened. Tori drove the Maserati inside.

She reappeared, returned to the back porch and dropped the keys into Black’s outstretched hand with more force than necessary. The closer Tori drew to Black, the stronger the warmth bloomed in Lauren’s chest. Distracted by the discovery, she jumped when Tori suddenly opened the driver’s door and slid inside.

“Ungrateful beast.” Tori slammed the Mustang in Reverse.

“He wasn’t happy to have his car returned?”

“Not in the least.” Gravel sprayed as she headed for the gate. “Nobody drives his car but him.”

“You drove it the other night.” Lauren pointed out.

“That’s what I said. It appears valets are an exception.”

She laughed at Tori’s outrage and decided to test her. “You like him.”

“Are you insane?” Tori exclaimed, sending Lauren a sideways glare. “The man has the manners of a mule.”

“And the body of a stud.”

Her twin remained silent until they cleared the gate and turned toward the freeway.

“Come on, Tori. You’re not blind.”

She rolled her eyes, but Lauren saw the corner of her sister’s mouth twitch.

“OMG, he’s hot.” Tori fanned herself. “He had to repeat himself because I was staring. It was mortifying.”

Oh, yeah. There was no doubt in Lauren’s mind. Tori had met her match.

* * *

“I’m ready to take out a contract on Garrett Black,” Jenna Vick announced and took a sip of her margarita. “Mark has been banned from the set. Work has become such a drudge.”

Thinking of her encounters with Black, of his unsmiling facade and his penchant for being a bit of a jerk, Tori wasn’t totally shocked by the redhead’s reaction to the man. What a shame such a gorgeous car belonged to such a dysfunctional individual.

“Count me in.” Cindy Tate tucked a wisp of blond hair behind her ear before tapping her glass to Jenna’s. “My mother came to town to see me work. She’d really been looking forward to being on the set. But the guards refused to let her join me. I asked for a few days off to spend with her and was told no because the film is behind schedule.”

“I’ll pitch in,” Olivia Fox chimed, not moving an inch as she basked, tanned and toned, in the sunshine, her jet-black hair flowing over her bright yellow bikini.

“Did you have someone banned, too?” Jenna asked. The three actresses were rising stars working together on a futuristic action film, kind of a Charlie’s Angels in space.

“No.” Olivia adjusted her sunglasses, then resumed her boneless position. “But the set has become a morgue. Everyone is so serious and intent on their job, no one laughs anymore.”

Remembering the threat of a cleaning bill for nonexistent toe prints, Tori controlled the urge to offer her own funds. Obviously the man was making friends wherever he went.

“Why do you blame Black?” Tori asked as she met Lauren’s gaze across the deck, where they were all gathered at Jenna’s Venice Beach home. They’d taken care of the plans for Jenna’s engagement party, and were now relaxing poolside, enjoying the ocean view.

By Arrangement would be working with Black on several events when the Hollywood Hills Film Festival started in a month. Actually make that working for Black, which suited Tori much better. It meant she’d be less likely to run into the man.

Either way Tori knew Lauren had her ears perked, she inhaled information and used it like a weapon.

“Because it’s Black’s decree.” Cindy rolled her eyes and touched her tongue to the salt rimming her glass. “Visitors have been limited on all sets. But if a film is over budget or over schedule, he closes the set down altogether.”

“Lucky me,” Jenna groused. “I’m going from one Obsidian production to another, so I get no break.” She sank onto a lounger next to Olivia. “It was really nice having Mark on the set. Now I hardly get to see him.” Gesturing to Tori and Lauren, she implored them to understand. “You two introduced us. You must know how much I miss him.”

“Not to mention it’s going to be much harder planning the wedding now,” Cindy pointed out helpfully. “Tori and Lauren are great.” She flashed a grin at them. “They introduced me to my hubby, too, and they gave me a spectacular wedding. Still they did need occasional input.”

Lauren choked on a sip of iced tea. Probably remembering the fit Cindy threw when they went off-line for a Saturday wedding three months before her event. She wanted to tell them about a wine she tasted at a local winery she just had to have at her reception. When Lauren checked her voice mail, they had over fifty messages and had been fired. Twice. All this was after they’d advised her they had a wedding and would be unavailable. Never had Tori been happier that Lauren was the voice of By Arrangement.

Tori didn’t do confrontation.

Lauren thrived on it, in a calm, controlled manner, of course.

She let Cindy vent for a couple of minutes, made noises of sympathy for her distress, showed regret for losing the contract and then hit her with the fact By Arrangement would be billing her for the work already done. Lauren wrapped it up in a pretty little bow, reminding Cindy they had told her they would be unavailable and of the clause in the contract stating on the day of a wedding By Arrangement gave the bride and her event our exclusive attention. It was a courtesy we extended to our brides and it wasn’t something we were willing to compromise on. The clincher was our disappointment as we introduced Cindy to her fiancé.

Cindy apologized for her snit, which wasn’t her first or her last, and By Arrangement went on to give her a “spectacular” wedding.

“We do need input,” Lauren agreed, calm as always. “But you needn’t worry. It’s our job to make the whole process easy for you.”

“But I’m getting married in March,” Jenna said, pouting, “I planned to take a couple of weeks for a honeymoon, but it’s in the middle of my next film. Now I’ll be lucky to get a few days off.”

Tori sympathized with her friend and client. She genuinely liked these women, but seriously, Jenna did sign a contract. It was a tad unrealistic to expect an entire production to halt filming so she could honeymoon. Not that Tori could voice her opinion to these three. They weren’t used to being thwarted. They were in demand, which pretty much meant they got whatever they asked for. Tori supposed they could be forgiven for being a bit full of themselves.

“Obviously Garrett Black has no life or he’d understand our plight.” Cindy sighed.

“From what I hear, Black is spending all his time in his office. Probably reviewing all the production contracts so he can collect on deadline penalties.” Jenna scowled into her drink, absently running a finger around the rim of her glass, knocking off all the salt. “My last three projects ran over. Doesn’t he realize delays are the nature of this business?”

“Were all the films Obsidian productions?” Lauren asked.

Jenna shook her head, ginger curls flowing over her bare shoulders. “Just this one, but we used Obsidian Studio’s lots for the other two. And we were delayed because the lots weren’t available when we were supposed to shoot. Which proves my point.”

“Black is new to the job,” Tori pointed out, though she had no idea why she felt compelled to defend him. “Maybe he’s just trying to fix a problem he sees.”

“Do not defend the man.” Cindy shook a finger at Tori. “He’s a coldhearted bastard.”

Yeah, no argument there.

“What he needs is a woman.” Olivia sat forward and wrapped her arms around her knees. “He’s all work and no play. And he wants the rest of the world to be the same. If he had a woman in his life, he’d have less time to mess with ours.”

“Yes.” Jenna hopped up and began to pace excitedly. “A woman would distract him, soften him. He’d be more understanding of other people’s relationships. He definitely needs a woman.”

Uh-oh. Tori saw where this headed. She glanced at Lauren and knew her twin had come to the same conclusion. But the ball was rolling. There was no stopping it now.

“It’s the perfect solution,” Cindy agreed, blue eyes alight as she shifted her gaze between Lauren and Tori. “And we know the perfect pair to find her for him.”

* * *

“Oh, no, he did not.” A few days later, Tori clicked on an email to open it because the preview couldn’t be right. Garrett Black hadn’t actually sent her a bill for the cleaning of his car’s carpet. But, oh yeah, he had. The attachment confirmed it: two hundred dollars for an interior cleaning.



TO: trandall@byarrangement.com

FROM: garrett.black@obsidianstudios.com

SUBJECT: Cleaning bill

Ms. Randall, please forgive my delay in providing the bill for the carpet cleaning of my Maserati. I appreciate your willingness to take responsibility for your actions. It gives me hope By Arrangement will conduct themselves in a professional manner while representing Obsidian Studios at the upcoming film festival. You may send a check to me care of the studio.



Why was she even surprised? If she looked up his birth certificate, she’d see the A in Garrett A. Black stood for arrogant. He had some nerve talking about professionalism while blaming her for toe prints that were clearly paw prints.

Obviously her gesture in returning his car to him had counted for nothing. So okay, her motive had been purely selfish. She wanted the car gone so she didn’t have to deal with him again.

By taking the car to him, she controlled the where, when and how long.

What she hadn’t planned on was finding him half-naked. The man was seriously built, broad shoulders, muscular arms and oh, those abs. He’d been ill, okay laid up with a broken leg. He had no right to look so good. Flustered, she’d embarrassed herself by staring.

He’d thanked her at the same time he made his annoyance clear; declaring he never left the car out at night. It wasn’t enough she went out of her way to return his car; he had to guilt her into moving the car into the garage for him.

She managed to keep her cool by remembering they would be working together very soon. Something she kept in mind as she replied to his email.



TO: garrett.black@obsidianstudios.com

FROM: trandall@byarrangement.com

SUBJECT: Re: Cleaning bill

Mr. Black, it distresses me to think of your lovely vehicle being marred in any way. Payment will be forwarded promptly.

PS: How is the cat?



“I knew this matchmaking thing was going to bite us in the butt someday,” Lauren announced in the car on the way to an impromptu meeting with Obsidian Studios.

“Yes,” Tori agreed. “But I always thought it would be a failed relationship that caused the problem. I mean, really, we have a 100 percent success rate. You’d think one of the couples would experience troubles.”

“True. Even Kate and Brad from high school are still going strong. I was talking to Mom the other day and she mentioned they’re expecting their third child.”

“That’s so cool.” She pleated her skirt and thought about her gift. “How does it feel for you?” She glanced at Lauren. “When you know two people belong together?”

For a full heartbeat, her twin met her gaze before turning back to the road. “It’s a warm glow, like a surge of happiness, when I see them together.”

“Me, too.” Tori nodded. “It’s a total sense of rightness. But I have to see them together. I never get a sense someone would be good with anyone else.”

“No, me, neither,” Lauren confirmed. “And we’re stronger when we’re together.”

“I’ve noticed that, too. And only with people who are open.”

“What do you mean?” Lauren frowned at her.

“Some people are more open than others.” Tori tried to explain what she’d always felt but never expressed. “Sometimes I can actually pick up on moods if they’re strong enough—happiness, sadness, fear, anger, guilt.”

“Sorry to tell you this, sis, but those emotions are pretty easy to read.”

“Ha-ha.” Her sister completely missed the chiding glance Tori sent her. “I mean from across the room. People I don’t even know. Do you ever get that?”

Lauren lifted the shoulder closest to Tori and let it drop. “Yeah, I guess. If I concentrate. I choose not to concentrate.”

“I know, me, too.” It was uncomfortable picking up on other people’s emotions. Made her feel intrusive. “But if they’re close I get blips of emotion. I think that’s what we’re cluing into when we feel the connection.”

“Okay, that makes sense. Why all the psychoanalysis?” A touch of irritation crept into Lauren’s voice.

“Because Black is as closed up as a teenage girl’s locked diary. Standing or sitting right next to him, I got nothing.”

“Really?” Lauren sounded surprised, drawing Tori’s gaze to her profile. “You get no feeling from him at all?”

“No. Why? Did you?” Tori turned as much as the seat belt would allow. “You didn’t mention you saw Black at the party.”

“There was no reason to since you’d already advised me it was best not to introduce ourselves. But I saw you chatting with him before he left.”

“Did you see him steal my candy?” Jerk. Lauren gave her “the look,” the one that said “focus.” “Okay, not relevant. Still, it wasn’t nice.”

“Tori.”

“Right. So did you get a read on him with anyone? It would really help if you did, because the starlet trio is counting on us.”

Quiet filled the car for a moment and then she muttered, “I’m not sure.”

Tori started to ask what she meant but they’d reached the studio. Lauren turned into the drive and up to the guard station. She gave their names and was directed to a building two down and one over, top floor.

Once they were in the elevator, Tori demanded her sister explain her comment.

“I just meant we told Jenna, Cindy and Olivia we’d try to find someone for Black. We didn’t make any promises. They don’t know how it works for us.”

“No, but they’re going to be looking for results. And there’s no dodging them, either. We’re working with them on the engagement party, the bridal shower and the wedding. We need to keep them happy or life will be miserable.”

“I hear you. But we aren’t responsible if we don’t have access to the man. They think we will because we’re handling the events for Obsidian at the film festival, but the likelihood of us actually interacting with Black is very slim.”

Tori liked the way her sister thought. It was the perfect out. For the matchmaking and for her. She wasn’t looking forward to encountering Garrett Black again. He bothered her in a curious way. It was the brooding. She never did well with brooding.

Her chest constricted as memories rose up. The slow pulling back, the moodiness, that tragic final call.

Shane. She hadn’t purposely tried to tune into anyone since she tried to read him at the height of his withdrawal. The pain and anger had overwhelmed her to the point she never tried again. And she really had no interest in putting any feelers out to Garrett Black. She’d learned her lesson there.

Thankfully the elevator opened into a reception area. From sheer force of will, she pushed the past back where it belonged and followed Lauren to a wide glass desk. Lauren gave the thirty-something blonde manning the desk their names.

“Welcome.” The woman immediately bounced to her feet. “Mr. Black is expecting you.” The woman came around the desk to lead them toward an inner door.

Behind her back Lauren mouthed, “Black?”

Tori shrugged, no happier than her sister at the prospect of a meeting with Black. Mystified, Tori followed Lauren toward the inner sanctum. What was this all about? They received a call at By Arrangement yesterday requesting this meeting regarding the film festival. There had been no mention of Black’s involvement.

She stutter-stepped, dread filling her. Had he called them here to fire By Arrangement? Had she not been fast enough, humble enough in her acquiescence to his demand for payment? She suddenly regretted the jab about the cat.

If it were just her, she’d suck it up, take the loss and move on. But there was Lauren. The contract with Obsidian Studios was the biggest and most prestigious By Arrangement had earned. It was the first true step on the road to their goal of staging the ultimate Hollywood party, the Governors Ball after the Academy Awards.

Plus they’d already put a lot of time and effort into the plans for the film festival. She hated confrontation, but for Lauren she would fight.

She wouldn’t let Black blow them off over a set of toe prints.

“Ms. Randall, Tori.” Garrett stood up as she entered the room behind Lauren. Gone were the ill-fitting suits. He looked imposing in an impeccable black suit custom-made to fit the broad stretch of his shoulders. He waved them to a conversation area near windows overlooking the back lots. “Please have a seat. I’m expecting Kira, who you’ve been working with, but I’ve also asked the head of the PR department to join us.”

“I don’t understand, Mr. Black.” Lauren gracefully sank into the corner of a black leather couch. “Do you have a problem with the plans we sent over? We received notice they’d been approved.”

Tori felt the weight of Garrett’s pale gaze as she sat down. She released the button on her navy blazer and crossed one bare leg over the other, meeting him stare for stare.

“I’ve seen the plans,” he said, turning his attention to Lauren. “They are quite ambitious, but I want Obsidian to make an impression at the film festival, so yes, I approve. I’ve asked you here because I want to add an event to those already contracted.”

Another event? Tori was already anticipating the end of the film festival and putting Black behind them and he wanted to add another event?

Tori met Lauren’s gaze. As he’d stated, their schedule was already ambitious. Lauren gave a slight nod. Tori sighed. What the heck, go big or go home. It was a lesson they learned at their father’s knee.

“Of course,” Lauren stated with confidence. “What did you want to add?”

“A ninetieth anniversary celebration.”


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_83f49c25-d5c3-5743-a165-8788eefffb45)

“WOW.” TORI FOUGHT to control her expression. “How many people were you thinking of for this event?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Maybe three hundred.”

She met Lauren’s gaze, saw the figures were already running through her head. Really? A small, intimate affair would be one thing, but an anniversary party? That sounded huge.

Time for a dose of reality.

“It’s going to be really difficult to find a venue for a party that size. Between the film festival and the holidays everything is booked up.”

A knock sounded and the door swung open. A plump redhead with amazing skin and a slender African-American woman with a mass of braids drawn up in a high ponytail entered the room. Garrett stood and introduced the public relations manager, Irene Allan, and Kira respectively, and then caught them up on the details discussed.

“I don’t understand, sir.” Kira sat braced on the edge of her seat as if ready to hop into action or flee at a moment’s notice. “We have a yearlong campaign planned for the ninetieth anniversary ready to launch in January.”

“Yes, and the film festival gets a lot of national coverage. The anniversary is actually in December. I want to take advantage of the celebrities and exposure already provided by the event.” He focused his silver eyes on Tori. “Surely something is available.”

“Possibly,” She tried for optimism. “If you’re willing to go outside of Hollywood Hills—”

“No.” Black gave an emphatic shake of his head. “It has to be in Hollywood Hills. I want there to be no doubt the party is part of the film festival. And we have to find a place quickly. I talked to the head of the film festival. We have a week to provide the venue information for it to be included in the program.”

“Garrett.” Pale eyes narrowed. She cleared her throat. “Ah, Mr. Black, nothing is available in Hollywood Hills. I received two calls this week asking if our plans were finalized because they were looking to take over our space.”

“I got the same calls,” Kira confirmed.

“Mr. Black,” Lauren began in her conciliatory tone, “considering our time constraints, perhaps we can compromise. There are some very nice hotels in Beverly Hills within ten miles—”

“The Old Manor House,” Tori blurted.

“—of the film festival.” Lauren turned an inquiring glance Tori’s way. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry.” She sent her sister an apologetic smile. “I just thought of the perfect place. The Old Manor House.”

“Absolutely not.” Black cut her off. “That’s not an option.”

“Thanksgiving is this week, which means we really only have four days. The Old Manor House is perfect,” she repeated. “It’s in Hollywood Hills. It’s iconic Obsidian Studios. And people will flock to the event to see it.”

“I said no. The place is in no shape for a party.”

“We have three weeks. If we start now—”

“You have my answer.” He stood and buttoned his jacket. “Find me a venue close to the film festival.”

* * *

“Mom and Dad will be here in an hour.” Lauren propped a shoulder against the door of Tori’s office. “We should head home. Any luck with the venue?”

“Two. One that exceeds our approved budget and one that’s below our usual standards. I have a third but it’s outside the perimeter Black set. The man is beyond stubborn.”

“Look, I agree The Old Manor House is no-brainer the best option for the party. But Black is living in the house now and according to you his father was living there at the time he died. I can understand why he might not want to have a party there.”

“I suppose.” Okay, Tori grudgingly acknowledged she hadn’t considered the father angle. Hard to when Garrett appeared so closed off emotionally. “That doesn’t change the fact he’s set an impossible task.”

“He’s the client.” Lauren crossed her arms over her chest. “Have you gone over the pros and cons of the venues with Kira?”

“Yes. She’s as frustrated as I am. This has been a colossal waste of time.”

“Tell me about it. Forget the need to know for the program, we need to know what we’ll be working with.”

“You’re right.” Tori turned to her computer, picked up the email she sent to Kira with the venue links, made a couple of changes and hit Send. “It’s in his hands now.”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Tell me you didn’t do something rash.”

“Just gave our client his options. Besides tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Time was up.” She closed down her computer and felt around for her shoes. She refused to think of Garrett Black and his impossible demands any longer. “Let’s go home. I’m anxious to see Mom and Dad. I’m really looking forward to a family Thanksgiving. I thought we were going to miss it this year.”

“Me, too.” Lauren linked her arm through Tori’s and drew her over to Lauren’s office, where she grabbed her purse from the corner of her desk before they headed for the door. “Are you sure you’re up to cooking? I can still call in a favor and put in an order for turkey and all the trimmings, but tomorrow it will be too late.”

“No.” Tori locked up. “I miss cooking. Plus I did a bunch of prep work here today. It’s already packed in the car. And I plan to put you to work to give Mom a break.” She laughed as Lauren cringed. “Relax, I’m keeping it simple.”

“Good. Because I plan to be on the couch watching football with Dad and Nick.”

Tori’s turn to send her eyes rolling. Her thing with Dad was cars, Lauren’s was football. “You can peel potatoes while sitting on the couch.”

“Oh. You’re too kind.”

“Remember that when it comes to cleanup.”

* * *

“Mom put that knife down.” Tori took a paring knife from her mother on the way to removing the turkey from the oven. “You’re a guest this year. Oh, this smells great.” She set the roasting pan on a wooden cutting board on the granite island.

“I want to help,” Liz Randall protested. “I’m family, not a guest. What a beautiful bird.” Mom squeezed Tori’s shoulders.

“We need to let this rest. You always cook.” Tori turned and gave Mom a real hug. The kitchen light bounced off the golden highlights in her new short bob. Tori thought her mother was beautiful. Young and vital, she took good care of herself and Dad. “I want you to enjoy yourself today.”





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