Can't Buy Me Love
Authors: Maggie Marr
CAN’T BUY ME LOVE
By Maggie Marr
CAN’T BUY ME LOVE
Maggie Marr
Copyright © 2012
All Rights Reserved.
AGENCY INFORMATION
NLA Digital Liaison Platform LLC
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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For my brother, James Marr
The world is less bright without you in it.
Acknowledgements
While actually sitting down and writing a book is a solitary event publishing the book takes an enormous amount of support. Thank you to everyone at Nelson Literary Agency. This book wouldn’t be a book without the support of my agent Kristin Nelson and her amazing team. A special thank you to Lori Bennett who graciously guided me through the new territory of indie publication. Thank you to Kim Killion—a brilliant cover designer with an enormous amount of patience. Thank you Markus Goerg, Mikhail Nayfeld, Dick Hillenbrand, and Rob Watts my management team at Heroes And Villains that keep me in line. Also thank you to my literary agent for film and TV, Shan Rey.
Thank you to Peg Cafferty and Mike Lucas who are patient and kind when I need to write. Thank you to LARA and RWA; two wonderful organizations that make this solitary process less solitary. Thank you to The Girlfriends Book Club.
A special thank you to Melissa Clark, Joanne Pibworth, Ally Carter, Bryony Green, Mills & Boone, Harlequin, Amy and Brent Zacky, Paula and David Glasscock, Lauren Harrison, Nealie White, Molly Ware, Tore and Micah Knos, Lindsy and Mark Henderson, Linda and Bill Henderson, Margaret Marr, Nancy Veskerna, Margaret Hafner, Jenny Gardiner, Jane Porter, Marilyn Brant, Megan Crane, Lynne Marshall, Charlene Sands, Eden Bradley, Jennifer Probst, Amy Strand, Wendy S. Marcus, Maisey Yates, Abbi Cantrell, Emily Lockhart, Maryrose Woods, Lauren Myracle, Jennifer Barnes, Sara Zarr, Tara Altebrando, Alan Gratz and Sarah Mlynowski.
To the most brilliant people in my life—Chad and the kiddies—thank you for your love, kindness, patience, generosity and support.
A special thank you to Bob.
Praise for Can’t Buy Me Love
Marr delivers a great story, the thrill of romance, and sexy love scenes in this often delightful novel.
—Romantic Times Book Review
Maggie Marr does it again! Can’t Buy Me Love is an entertaining hot and heavy high stakes Hollywood love story that’ll keep you turning the page!
—Jenny Gardiner, #1 Kindle Best Selling Author, Sleeping With Ward Cleaver
Sharp, sexy prose and a fast-paced plot make Maggie Marr’s Can’t Buy Me Love a very entertaining and steamy read! Romance readers will love this book!
—Jane Porter, Best Selling Author, Flirting With Forty
Readers will delight in Meg and Cole’s sexy, romantic and charming love story and will find themselves touched by the kind of passion and vulnerability it takes to bring these two ambitious people together for a lifetime.
—Marilyn Brant Author, A Summer in Europe
CONTENTS
Chapter One
“Is it always this hard?”
For Cole Jackson only one response answered Meg’s question: Yes. Every conquest was the outcome of a hard-fought battle, every win the results of a decimated other side, every challenge more difficult than the last. Otherwise, what was the point? With ease came softness and with softness a swift defeat.
Cole yanked at the knot of his cobalt blue tie, tired of the daylong stranglehold. On the far side of his office window, night sucked away the last light of day as the sweltering orange sun surrendered to the Pacific. The streaks of pink, orange, and fuchsia that decorated the sky failed to captivate Cole. He could witness such displays of color on any horizon, in any city, on any night—so why waste time with this sunset?
Cole reached for the crystal decanter stationed on the bar in his office. His pour was generous and neat. Amber liquid shimmered in the final rays of the sun. He sipped the bourbon. Heat slid down his throat, but the liquor didn’t scorch him nearly as much as the woman who, after a six-month absence, now stood in his office.
“There are cell phone towers up and down the entire California coastline and the one spot in Los Angeles where I can’t get a signal is your office?”
Meg Parson’s voice was brighter and lighter than the curves of her body would suggest. She shifted her weight and her hip teased forward against her suit skirt. The outline of bone against taut fabric taunted Cole with hints of lace panties. In a careless moment his gaze roamed over her legs, caressed her skirt, and brushed over the outline of her breasts.
Hunger for Meg clutched his belly and twisted hard. Cole turned toward the ocean and the unwatched sunset—away from Meg. Better to feign interest in the blossom of color on the horizon than to indulge his desires to stare at his colleague and former assistant.
“Hello? Hello?” Meg said into the phone.
In the window, Cole caught Meg’s reflection as she flipped her long sable-colored hair over her right shoulder. She tightened her jaw and closed her eyes.
His stomach clenched as Meg’s tongue caressed her pout of a mouth. Cole took another slug of his drink, hopeful that the liquid heat burning down his throat would distract him from his desires.
No. Luck.
He set his jaw in opposition to his craving and pulled his gaze away from Meg’s indelible imprint on the glass. He didn’t need the reflection; her every sinew was seared into his mind but Meg was off-limits.
In the three years she’d worked for him, Meg made herself indispensable, and he had been fool enough to let her become a necessity. She knew everything about him—from the way he took his coffee down to his shoe size. She ran his business affairs seamlessly. He leaned on her. Depended on her. Cole even began to
need
her and needing anyone was intolerable. To need a person was to appear weak. Need allowed vulnerability to take root. Need was the end of strength. No, to need Meg was completely unacceptable.
“Yes, hi. This is Meg Parson. I have Cole Jackson for Stan Morton,” Meg said.
With the sound of his name on her lips he faced her. This was a business deal, nothing more.
“Of course I’ll hold.” Meg covered the mouthpiece and her blue eyes sparkled with the thrill of the deal. “Why didn’t we use your landline?”
Cole’s heart quickened as Meg’s excitement spilled over to him. Cole sipped his drink and watched Meg over the top of his glass. This time, her proximity, and not the bourbon, seared through him.
“They’re getting Stan,” Meg whispered, still covering the mouthpiece.
Stan Morton owned one of the two things Cole wanted most in the world: TBC Studios.
And the other thing?
Cole’s eyes traced the porcelain curve of Meg’s neck as she twirled a piece of hair between her thumb and pointer finger. Well, the other thing wasn’t for sale, nor was it negotiable. Office dalliances weren’t Cole’s style and neither was a long-term commitment. Meg was the type of woman who required he break both rules, and Cole preferred his relationships exactly as they’d been for the past decade: hot, fast, and disposable.
This deal was Meg’s baby, and once it was consummated Cole would have to promote Meg. If he waited any longer another company would swoop in and grab her. One of his competitors might already be trying.
“How will you celebrate?” Cole rarely asked Meg anything so personal. A dusty pink flush crept over Meg’s ivory-colored cheeks.
Protectiveness surged through Cole.
“I’m thinking Bali.” A smile started in Meg’s eyes and quickly encompassed her whole face as she thought about a luxurious and well-deserved beach vacation.
“Nice choice.”
“And you?”
Cole tilted his head toward Meg. Her question surprised him. He’d celebrate the same way he always did: with more hard work. There was no family in his life. His parents were dead. He had an uncle in Florida who he didn’t speak to—could never speak to again.
“I know what you’ll do.” The sparkle in her eyes danced. “You’ll find another company to buy.”
He lifted one corner of his mouth, assured and yet uncomfortable that she knew him so well. Meg was right. He’d pour over more market reports to determine what company was undervalued. Spotting good deals had taken him from a college dropout with thirteen dollars and seventy-six cents in his pocket to owning houses in Malibu, Aspen, New York City, and Paris.
“It’s like you’re obsessed,” she said.
Obsessed or obsessive. Either way he continued to win. Cole gathered up all the things he wanted. The things he needed. The things that proved to him and the world that Cole Jackson would stand on his own. He wouldn’t cave, cower, or run away in fear. Meg’s fingertips caressed the gold necklace she wore.
A tremor rumbled low in Cole’s back. Again he looked away and searched the horizon for a solution to the problem that was Meg. After he promoted her he’d send her to New York or perhaps even Hong Kong. Extreme distance would alleviate the feelings that swept over him when he looked at her.
He had fought too long and too hard to regain control of his parents’ company after their death, and he refused to put Comnet in jeopardy just because Miss Meg stirred a vulnerable spot within him. No—to trust was to lose and Cole wouldn’t lose, not again. Out of sight, out of mind; and the farther out of his sight that Meg Parson was, the better.
“Where’d they have to go to find him? Zimbabwe?” Meg whispered. The phone still pressed to her ear, Meg arched backward in a feline stretch and her white blouse clung to her body.
His chest tightened with the sight of her nipples pert and tight pushing against her bra. He worked hard to press air in and out of his lungs. To stay steady. He ached to reach out and entwine his fingers into the silky strands of her hair. He wanted to, but he wouldn’t. He could, but he didn’t.
*
“Miss Parson?”
“Yes?” Finally Stan’s secretary was back on the line. How long did they have to wait? How long would Cole wait? Not long. Cole Jackson didn’t wait for anything and especially not to give someone a half-billion dollars.
“I’m sorry but Mr. Morton is unavailable,” the crisp cool voice on the other end said.
“Excuse me?” Meg’s stomach spiraled as she spun away from Cole. “Did you say he’s unavailable?” she whispered.
“Unfortunately, yes. He’s not accepting any more calls this evening.”
“Did you tell him who it is?” Meg forced an even tone into her voice.
“I did. And he said that perhaps he’d speak with you tomorrow.”
Perhaps?
Perhaps wasn’t good enough. Possibilities and maybes and perhapses wouldn’t cut it when Cole Jackson stood beside you and anticipated closing the biggest deal of his career in the next five days.
“Good night, Miss Parson,” Debra said smoothly into the phone.
Meg said nothing. Not a word. She didn’t want to turn around. She didn’t want to face Cole. She didn’t want to see the edges of his sharp cheekbones or the dark shadow of a beard that in the evening clung to his jaw. She didn’t want to glance at his black hair, the edges of which brushed the collar of his still-crisp white shirt. And she definitely didn’t want to look into his hard blue eyes. The eyes that seemed to peer into her soul. She didn’t want to experience the disappointed downslope of his full mouth. Her heart ached at the thought of Cole turning away from her in disgust and irritation at her inability to close the deal.