A Mistletoe Kiss with the Boss (3 page)

“She's more than pretty, Dean. She's gorgeous. The kind of girl everybody expects you to end up with. She, personally, might not have breeding, but she works for a royal family. She's on the periphery of the jet-set crowd, good-looking enough to attract someone like you. The connection is logical. We'll send her out with Stella to get something for the party. Shoes, dress, whatever the hell she needs. Then she's on your arm tonight.”

“I'll have to listen to her pitch. Right now,” Dean said emphatically. “I'm not stringing her along and I'm not going to let her think I'm using her.”

Jason shook his head. “Your honesty is going to bite you in the butt one of these days.”

“Yeah, but my arrogance will save me.”

Jason slapped his back. “Whatever.”

Dean led Jason to the front of the plane. “I'm going to listen to your pitch right now.”

Her eyes widened. “You are?”

“Yes. But then I'd like to hire you to do something for me.”

“Hire me?”

“Yes.” Though he and Jason hadn't discussed paying her, with all the strange feelings tumbling through him when he was around her, he needed to make sure they kept this “date” in perspective. He also wouldn't ask Kristen Anderson to go to the party with him as a favor. Favors implied that he'd be indebted to her. He was indebted to no one. “I'll pay you a hundred thousand dollars to go to a party with me tonight.”

She laughed.

He waited until she realized he was serious.

Wide-eyed, she asked, “Why would you do that?”

“You heard a bit of the discussion about my company hitting a bumpy patch?”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment.

“Well, I believe it will make me look a little more—” He wouldn't say “normal.” Refused. Being a genius took him out of the normal column, but that didn't mean he didn't understand kids. Especially lonely kids. He had been one. He knew how to entertain them. “—approachable if I go to tonight's gala happy. Having a date will make it appear that everything's fine.”

She just looked at him.

“Stocks are funny things,” Jason said. “They sometimes rise and fall on rumors. How a company's leader is perceived dictates how much money people are willing to risk.”

Dean frowned at Jason. “She has a degree in economics. I'm pretty sure she knows that.” He faced Kristen. “What I really need to counteract that article is for people to perceive me as a regular guy. Dating is something a regular guy does.”

“And if I say no, you won't listen to my pitch?”

The odd feeling rolled through him again. The feeling that something about her was significant. Holding the gaze of her pretty eyes, which were serious this time, he knew he had to be fair with her.

“No. Regardless of whether you go to the party with me or not, I'll listen to your pitch. But if you decide to come with me, we'll make arrangements to get you something suitable to wear, and we'll put you up in a hotel suite. Party's not until eight. You can get some sleep so you'll be fresh and happy for tonight. Then tomorrow you're back on this plane, on your way home.”

“For a hundred thousand dollars?”

“I'm not paying you more than a hundred thousand dollars for a date.”

“I don't want more. In fact, I, personally, do not want the money. But I am in the beginning stages of setting up a charity that will build schools in third world countries. I think what I'd really like is a commitment from you to put computers in those schools.”

Disappointment flooded him. Just like everybody else, she wanted something from him. She might be on an assignment from Princess Eva and Prince Alex, but
she
had an agenda too. There was nothing special about her.

Still, he was accustomed to people wanting something. Everybody in his life wanted money or a favor or a recommendation of some sort. So what if she was no different? He didn't know why something about her had caught his attention. Maybe hormones mixing with jet lag? Disappointed or not, he was accustomed to this.

“When will the schools be built?”

She bit her lip. “I don't know. I'm in the planning stages of the charity itself. I don't really know when I'll have an actual school.”

Jason touched Dean's arm to prevent him from replying. “So what you want is a promise in writing—”

“An agreement. I want this to be a normal charitable contribution. Not money given to me personally. But a charitable contribution.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, we'll write an agreement that states I will put the first three hundred computers in your soon-to-be-developed schools.”

“Yes.”

He held out his hand to shake hers. “Deal.”

She took his hand. “Deal.”

CHAPTER THREE

S
TELLA
TURNED
OUT
to be a thirtysomething hipster with short hair and big glasses, a long sweater over black leggings and tall boots. Standing in the middle of a huge dressing room in an exclusive boutique, Kristen watched Dean's assistant frown at the red dress she'd asked the shop manager to bring in her size.

“Sweetie,” she said, then took a sip of her designer coffee. “If I were you, I'd get a black gown. Something I could wear again and again. When you've got a rich man footing the bill, you shop smart.”

The boutique manager rolled her eyes.

Kristen winced. “I just want something acceptable. I don't want to break the bank.”

Stella sniffed. “Dean Suminski's bank can't be broken.” She motioned Kristen back into the curtained-off section of the dressing room. “Try the black one I picked out.”

Kristen stepped between the two colorful strips of fabric that blocked off the changing area. When the boutique manager arrived with the black dress, she shrugged out of the cute red gown and into the elegant black one.

“Oh.”

She hadn't meant to comment, but the tiny squeak had slipped out. Black satin, sleeveless and formfitting from her chin to her hip bones, the dress flared out from thigh to floor and made a beautiful swishing sound when she moved.

The boutique manager, Jennifer, sighed. “I hate to call that little twit out there right, but this dress is perfect.”

They found black shoes of an appropriate height, so the dress wouldn't need to be hemmed, and stunning white-gold earrings and necklace that sparkled against the simplicity of the dress. Then Stella had Dean's driver take them to a hotel on Broadway, where she was led to a suite.

“Get a nap,” Stella said. “I'll be in the front room when your dress and shoes are delivered. I'll arrange for a hairstylist and someone to do your makeup.”

“I have makeup in my purse.”

“That big, black ugly thing? I wanted to burn it.”

“My purse might be old, but my makeup is fine.”

“You'll be photographed.
With my boss.
It's my job to make you look perfect for tonight. You will not be wearing over-the-counter.” She shooed her into the bedroom. “Get that nap. Your body's about ten hours ahead of ours. You're probably exhausted. I won't have you looking tired in photos.”

Feeling like a wayward child, Kristen walked into the bedroom, hating to admit that bossy, opinionated Stella was right. She was tired. But she was also happy. Going on one date was a small price to pay to get the computers she'd need. Aasera would have been so proud.

Plus, it wasn't like she'd accepted a date with Dean Suminski for real. She didn't have to fawn all over him or make goo-goo eyes. She also wouldn't have to laugh at his jokes, since he didn't make them. He was as serious as a person could be. Probably because he was a genius.

That thought caused her face to scrunch. She had no idea what a girl going out with a certifiable genius was supposed to do. But she could be polite...actually, she could be friendly. Which was probably what Dean Suminski really needed—a buffer. Someone outgoing enough that his seriousness wouldn't be so off-putting.

She could handle that.

As she slid under the covers, she remembered that Dean's friend Jason had said something about her job being to make him look normal. So that's what she should focus on doing. Behaving normally, so he would too.

She would do her best, even if he had declined her offer for him to visit Grennady and consider it as a place to relocate. He wasn't planning to move his company, he'd said. So she'd had no choice but to accept that. But at least she'd tried. And he'd really listened.

She had to give him points for that.

She woke hours later when bossy Stella walked into her room with her iPhone blaring Spanish music. “It's one of my Zumba tapes,” she explained, proudly displaying her trim body. “I'm sure you have an exercise regimen to be so thin and fit.”

“No,” Kristen said, rolling out from under the covers. “Tossing hay keeps me fit.”

“Tossing hay?”

“For the cows. Not just for them to eat, but for their beds. I live on a farm.”

Stella's eyes widened. “No kidding. A real farm?”

“You have farms in the US.”

“Yeah, I know. I've just never seen one. Or known anyone who lived on one,” Stella said. She pointed to the bathroom. “Get your shower and be out in ten minutes. Hairdresser is already here. Makeup artist is on her way up.”

Kristen walked into the bathroom and gasped. Everything was marble or glass. Eight showerheads peeked out at her. Fluffy white towels were arranged in baskets like bouquets. The soap smelled like heaven.

Too bad she only had ten minutes to enjoy it all. She couldn't even try the jets. Too much temptation to linger. She simply washed in the sweet-smelling soap and cleaned her hair with shampoo the scent of oranges.

After wrapping her wet head in a towel, she slid into the fluffy white robe on the back of the bathroom door. She stepped out into the sitting room of her suite to find at least ten people all talking at the same time.

When they saw her, everybody shut up for about three seconds, then started talking again.

“Who told her to wash her hair?”

“I like her eyes. I think we can go bold with them.”

“I want to see the dress before I even think about makeup.”

“We should do an updo.”

“Does she have jewelry we should consider?”

Like an orchestra conductor, Stella raised her hands, then made a chopping motion. “Everybody shut up.” She turned to Kristen. “You...in the chair.”

Kristen walked over to the salon chair that had materialized in her sitting room while she'd been sleeping, sat down and turned herself over to the professionals.

Almost two hours later, Stella helped her slip into the black gown. She fastened her sparkly white gold necklace, then gave her the earrings. When they were in place, she handed Kristen a box.

“This is a gift. From Dean. He doesn't like to make a big deal out of these things, but he appreciates your help tonight.”

As she took the box, a weird feeling enveloped her. It was one thing to keep the gown she'd need to help pull off his charade. Quite another to take a gift.

“I can't accept this.”

Stella sighed. “You have to. He wants you to wear it tonight.” She held up her hand. “Wait.” Racing to a table by the door, she picked up another box. “These first.”

She opened the box to find long black dinner gloves. “Gloves?”

“It's white tie,” Stella explained, helping Kristen pull on the elbow-length gloves. “Way more formal than black tie. When I realized we'd forgotten them, I called the boutique and had these delivered. Open the gift.”

Silky black gloves fumbling with the lid, she opened the second box and gasped. Her gaze jumped to Stella. “I don't care if he wants me to wear this, I can't accept it.”

Without missing a beat, Stella took the diamond bracelet out of the box and slid it over Kristen's left hand and onto the glove. Sparkling against the black silk, the bracelet nearly blinded Kristen.

Stella laughed. “See why he bought this for you? When he saw the dress and gloves this afternoon—”

“He was here?”

“He was busy calling brokers, but I texted pictures.” She shook her head. “He approves everything. Every detail. Anyway, when he saw the gloves and realized all your other jewelry was just white gold, he insisted on the diamonds.”

“I can't keep them.”

Stella laughed. “It isn't a request. Or an option. The bracelet is a necessary part of your outfit that becomes a thank-you gift. It's not my place to change that. If you don't want the bracelet, fight it out with Dean.”

“I will.”

Dean arrived in her hotel room at eight and Stella stepped back as if she were presenting Kristen as a completed project, not a person.

He took in the fancy upswept hairdo the stylist had given her, and then his gaze skimmed from the top of her dress to the tips of her toes. If another man had looked at her like that, she probably would have shivered, but his gaze was cool, efficient.

“She's perfect.”

Stella beamed. “Of course she is.” She grabbed her coat and purse. She said, “You two kids have fun,” and then she left the hotel room.

Kristen sucked in a breath. “So I'm okay?”

“I already said you were perfect,” he said, his voice businesslike and efficient. “Let's go.”

Uneasiness wove through her. From his extremely chilly behavior, she had the odd sense that she'd done something wrong. But she hadn't. She'd agreed with everything he'd asked, including a stay in New York City that she hadn't planned on, a shopping trip and a Christmas party.

How could he be upset with her?

She picked up the black satin wrap that matched her gown and walked to the door with him. They rode down in the main elevator of the exclusive hotel in complete silence.

In the lobby, employees nodded and said, “Good evening, Mr. Suminski. Ms. Anderson,” but other guests ignored them. They stepped outside into the cold December air and, glancing at her skimpy wrap, Dean rushed her into the limo.

She slid onto the seat. He slid on beside her. The limo pulled out into traffic.

The silence continued.

She peeked over at Dean who wore a black tux, white shirt, white vest and white bow tie. He looked clean and expensive and smelled divine. And for the first time it hit her that she was really on a date with him. One of the richest, most handsome men in the world.

The whole freaking world.

Her throat tightened. Her nerve endings buzzed. Right at that moment, sitting next to him, his money and social status took a backseat to his good looks. Never in a million years would a farm girl from Grennady ever date a guy like this. Not that the men in Grennady weren't handsome. But there was something about Dean Suminski that made her tingle. He was so pulled together and so smart, and those penetrating dark eyes of his were like onyx.

Of course he was also distant with her. Maybe not angry, but not exactly a guy who looked like he was on a date with a woman he liked. And it was her job to fool the world into thinking they were a couple. A happy couple.

She cleared her throat and said the first thing that came to mind. “So it really is white tie?”

He faced the window, clearly unhappy that he'd have to speak. “It's funny what rich people will think up to distinguish themselves.”

“You're one of those rich people.” She held up her arm, displaying the bracelet. Since he was angry anyway, they might as well settle this now. “By the way, I can't keep this.”

He turned to her with a frown. “The bracelet?”

“Yes.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's not right.”

“You're helping me.”

“We have a deal. Ten minutes after we shook hands, I signed the written agreement for
computers
in exchange for this date. No bracelet.”

“The miracle of technology. I call my lawyer. He writes a simple, no-nonsense agreement, emails it to me and I print it. Everything goes at the speed of light these days.”

She almost laughed at the way he tried to fool her. “Don't change the subject. As it is, we're equals. You start giving me bracelets and everything changes.”

He tilted his head. “How so?”

“It makes our relationship personal. Plus, it's expensive. I don't need it—or want it.”

When he only stared at her, she sighed. “Our deal should be professional. Things get messy when you mix personal things into business. I don't like messy.”

He studied her face for a few seconds before he said, “It sounds like you've had a little experience in this.”

She said nothing.

“If you want me to understand your point of view, you have to explain.”

“I had a boyfriend who used me to get to the princess.”

He studied her face again. “Taught you a lesson, huh?”

“And not a fun one.” Actually, the idiot had broken her heart into a million pieces, made her feel like a fool and caused her to decide love wasn't for her. She would put her whole heart and soul into making Aasera's dream a reality because that had purpose and meaning. Love? She wasn't sure it existed, except for a few lucky people like Princess Eva.

“He used me to get to my boss, and when I figured it out, he said he wanted to marry me.” She shook her head. Though it had been years, it still hurt. “It was ridiculous how simple he thought I was. It taught me never, ever mix business with pleasure.”

He said, “Humph. I learned that lesson the hard way too.”

“You did?”

“It's why Prince Alex hates me and why I also have a very strict policy about not mixing business with pleasure.”

“That should make tonight easier. I don't want anything from you beyond what we've already agreed to.” She laughed lightly. “Except maybe a good time. I haven't been out in forever.”

He nodded. The stern expression on his face softened. She swore he almost smiled.

“At the end of the evening, I'll take back the bracelet.”

She said, “Good,” but she got a weird feeling, as if there was some kind of subtext to everything he said, and she didn't have the code for it.

The inside of the car grew silent again. She wondered what had happened to him that he'd learned the lesson, especially since it involved Prince Alex. Had the prince approached him for a favor? Or used him? She couldn't picture Prince Alex using anybody. Ever. It didn't make sense.

She waited a minute, hoping Dean would resume the conversation and explain, but of course he didn't. Curiosity wouldn't let her brain rest. And the limo was so quiet. Too quiet.