Blow her commission, the arrogant, supercilious, overbearing—
‘Right?’ he repeated coldly.
‘Right,’ she agreed tightly, her tone saying something quite different. And she had decided whether she minded him calling her at home!
‘Tamar...’ There was what sounded like a long, impatient sigh. ‘Please don’t be difficult.’
‘I’m not being difficult.’ Oh, this was getting ridiculous. What was she doing? She couldn’t afford to argue with him like this, she cautioned herself sharply, forcing a sweeter note into her voice as she said, ‘I’m not, really, Mr Cannon, but negotiations of this sort are what I get paid for, after all.’
‘And in the normal run of things I’m sure they are quite invaluable,’ he said soothingly.
‘Yes.’ Patronising into the bargain, she thought exasperatedly. But at the moment all the cards were stacked well and truly on his side, and all she could do was grit her teeth and play ball. ‘Well, if Mr Biggsley-Brown is happy with what you’ve discussed, I’m sure we will be,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ll have to ring him in the morning and confirm, of course.’
‘Of course,’ he agreed drily. ‘But I’m sure you’ll find he’s very understanding.’
Huh! She narrowed her eyes, frowning across the room. And what was all the mad rush about anyway? Why was it so imperative for him to have a house so quickly? He had a marvellous bachelor pad—a sumptuous penthouse from all accounts—in Kensington. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have anywhere of his own to live.
He was just being awkward—flexing his wealthy muscles and demanding that everything be done yesterday, because that was how he wanted it Ruthless to the last, she thought bitterly.
‘Yes... Well, thank you for letting me know what you’ve done, and I’ll be in touch once—’
‘Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?’ Jed interrupted evenly.
‘Dinner?’
Eager delight was quite absent from her voice, and his own reflected his recognition of the fact when he said, his tone smooth but distinctly cool, ‘It’s something most people do in between lunch one day and breakfast the next.’
Dinner. Tamar was eternally grateful Jed Cannon couldn’t see her as she leant back against the wall and shut her eyes for a moment, before taking a deep steadying breath and saying, the breathless note not at all feigned, ‘I’m so sorry, but I do have a previous engagement tomorrow...’ in the sort of voice which made it clear she would like him to suggest another evening when she could make it.
He did. ‘Wednesday evening?’ he asked expressionlessly.
Wednesday. That would give her Tuesday lunchtime and evening, and Wednesday lunchtime if she needed it, to buy a new outfit, have her hair done, give herself a beauty treatment... ‘That would be lovely,’ she said quietly, hoping she was hitting the right note of cool interest now.
‘Good. I’ll pick you up about eight,’ he said smoothly. ‘I was thinking we might go to Harvey’s, unless you have any objection?’
Tamar just stopped herself saying, Harvey’s? in the same blank, gormless way she had said, Dinner?, and instead managed to sound quite blasé when she answered, ‘No, Harvey’s will be fine.’
Harvey’s will be fine. After she had said goodbye and put the phone down she had a sudden desire to laugh hysterically. Harvey’s was the one nightclub in London that even the rich and famous would kill to get membership for, and there wasn’t one single person of her acquaintance who had got so much as a nose in the door. And he was taking her there! Her, Tamar McKinley!
The urge to laugh vanished instantly as the thought of what she was going to wear surfaced with frightening intent. You couldn’t go to Harvey’s in an off-the-peg dress and shoes, she thought with blind panic. This was going to be an exclusive designer job at the very least. Well, she would have to use the money in her building society account that she had been saving all year for a holiday, and maybe the cash she had put by for her car too. Needs must.
She went straight into her tiny but extremely well fitted kitchen and made herself a very strong cup of black coffee, which she drank down scalding hot in an effort to combat her churning stomach. It helped, and after she had drunk a second cup her natural optimism and determination came to the fore.
Jed Cannon was just a man, when all was said and done. All right, he might be wealthier and better-looking than most, and have enough charisma and male magnetism to send the average woman bandy, but she wasn’t the average woman. She made a deep obeisance with her head to the thought. And he was going to remember her—and Gaby by the time she had finished—for a long, long time.
CHAPTER THREE
TAMAR knew, when she looked into Jed Cannon’s silver-grey gaze and saw it narrow to laser-like intentness the moment before he smiled, that the short jade-green silk cocktail dress, with its wafer-thin straps and simple crossover style bodice, had been worth every penny. And the matching shoes, with their high, high heels and neat little ankle straps, were just right too, emphasising her long legs and slim shape perfectly.
The price had been astronomical, but it had been the way the outfit showed off her figure that had made her hesitate in purchasing it at first. Since Mike Goodfellow’s attack, she had been chary about wearing anything too revealing, hiding in big baggy tops and jeans the first year, before slowly graduating to more tailored feminine clothes as time had gone on—but always with a view to modesty and propriety.
But you didn’t go to somewhere like Harvey’s muffled up to the ears. Even she knew that. And so...
‘You look very lovely, Tamar.’
She wondered if the sexy huskiness as his deep voice lingered over her name was a well-tried and proved strategy? Whatever, it was very effective. But she was immune to his charm. She was.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled brightly. He looked absolutely wonderful, but she wasn’t going to tell him so. The light cream dinner jacket sat on the big male shoulders in a way that proclaimed the wearer was used to such formal wear, and there was an easy grace about him that suggested restrained animal power. He was a sensual man... The thought shocked her into stepping out of the hall and into the street beyond as she said, ‘Shall we go?’ in as neutral a voice as she could manage.
She had been ready and waiting in the hall for his knock for over fifteen minutes, determined he wasn’t going to set foot inside the house. She didn’t want him in the place, and most certainly not in her flat, although she couldn’t quite have explained why. She had tried to tell herself it was because she needed to keep all this on her terms, but it wasn’t that, not really. She just didn’t want him getting...close.
‘Do I make you nervous, Tamar?’
He had ushered her into the cab with gentle decorum, making polite small talk for some moments, so now, as he twisted to face her, the silver eyes hard on her flushed face, he didn’t miss the start she gave at his softly voiced question.
‘Nervous? Of course not!’ She forced a light laugh, and then coughed as it strangled in her throat.
‘Good...’ He didn’t sound as though he believed her, and his next words added weight to this impression when he said, still in the same quiet, soft tone, ‘You don’t want to believe everything you hear, you know. One of the disadvantages of a high profile is that rumours abound on all fronts, whether personal or workwise. If I had done or said all the things accredited to me I’d have burnt myself out long ago.’
‘And you’re not burnt out,’ she stated with provocative primness, almost as though she disapproved.
He wanted to laugh, but managed to restrain the impulse, knowing it would not be appreciated. She intrigued him, this serious dark-eyed flame-haired beauty; she intrigued