“That’s if I hire you,” he reminded her with a boyish, mischievous wink that managed to clip her steady heartbeat.
Oh, no. She wasn’t falling for his charm that easily.
“Why wouldn’t you hire me? Because I’m a woman?”
Thankfully, he sat in one of the overstuffed chairs opposite the couch instead of joining her beside the conference table. Negotiations had begun and she needed the distance to think clearly.
“Precisely because you’re a woman, and I don’t mean that in the way you think. Don’t you think your offer to protect me is a bit too convenient, in light of my circumstances?”
“You think I’m scheming to marry you?”
Sleep with you, maybe. Marry? Not in your wildest dreams, pal.
“A month ago, I’d expect to be slapped for such presumptuousness. But after being swarmed at the Expo, attacked at the airport and flashed by women wearing starched lace collars and prim business suits, nothing surprises me about the feminine gender anymore.”
She nodded, understanding his reluctance. She was, after all, single and not totally invulnerable to his combustible combination of roguish good looks, power and charm. Hell, she’d have to be dead to ignore this man’s Mediterranean magnetism. But despite her current need for a serious cash influx, his millions were probably a drop in the bucket compared to the return investment she’d receive from her father’s next film.
“Have you ever heard of Devlin Deveaux?” she asked.
He repeated the name a few times. “Hmm. Hollywood type? Won some sort of award.”
“His films have won twelve Golden Globes and he’s been nominated for two Oscars.”
“Oh, yes. The director. Does those action films. Why do you ask?”
“He’s my father.”
He stared at her blankly.
“He’s really rich,” she explained.
He still didn’t get it.
She spoke slowly. “I don’t need to marry for money.”
He nodded, but smirked, obviously not convinced. “You don’t have his money now, or you wouldn’t be working as a security guard.”
“True. I invested a hunk of cash in his next film and spent the rest moving back to Louisiana,” she explained, leaving out the little detail that investing in Devlin’s film was neither her idea nor her preference. Her father had once again found a way to keep her in his life through the money he owed her for her stunt work. “Once Honor Guard hits the theaters, I could end up with enough money to buy your company.”
Her bravado inspired his quirky grin—one she instantly discovered she liked. A lot.
“The film-going public can be fickle,” he pointed out.
“True again. But if this movie doesn’t make it, his next one will. The fact is, if I ever really needed to, I could ask my father for money. Or my mother. She’s very comfortable. I don’t need to sacrifice my freedom to live the high life, which, by the way, I don’t want to live. Been there, done that. My interest in you is purely professional. My goal is to be a bodyguard, not a temporary security guard or, God forbid, someone’s wife.”
Dominick leaned back in the chair and assessed her coolly. “And you think my hiring an inexperienced bodyguard is a wise choice?”
She couldn’t help admiring the pace of the man’s thinking. He was quick, but so was she. “That inexperience saved you today, didn’t it? I’ve been around celebrities all my life. I know what bodyguards do. I had my own bodyguard until I turned twenty-one. I’m a black belt in tae kwan do, I’m licensed to carry a concealed weapon and I have completed courses in threat assessment, security systems and access control.”
He balanced his elbows on the armrests of the chair, steepling his fingers as he considered her speech. “You have a fine résumé, but what if I don’t want a shadow wherever I go?”
“Better a shadow than potentially dangerous women.”
He nodded, clearly still deliberating as he dialed Anita’s cell phone and instructed her to find Tim Tousignant and tell him he needed Samantha until the Expo Hall was prepared for his rescheduled appearance at three o’clock. He then dialed room service and ordered fresh coffee.
He cupped his hand over the receiver. “Would you like anything?”
“Am I staying for lunch?”
“Your proposition has merits, but requires discussion.”
“Do they have jambalaya on the menu?”
He asked and assured her they did.
“It probably isn’t very good. Hotel food, you know.”
He asked and assured her it would be excellent.
“I’ll have the jambalaya.”
He grinned, ordered two servings of jambalaya, a pound of steamed crawfish and a large hunk of praline cheesecake with sweet bourbon sauce.
“That’s an awful lot of food for a man who just had breakfast.” Especially for a man who looked like a walking, breathing advertisement for the local health club.
“I love food. It’s not just business to me. Besides, that wasn’t my breakfast. Anita ordered in.”
Was Anita sharing his room? Samantha would have to know that, for entirely professional reasons, of course. “She’s your assistant?”
“Yes, and my first cousin. Her father and my father are brothers.”
He didn’t need to add that tidbit of information, but Samantha found herself relieved that he did. She’d finally started to like the guy and didn’t want it ruined by the knowledge that he slept with women he employed—as her father did, more times than she cared to count. When the last starlet started making stepmother noises, Samantha knew the time had come to split. She realized then that she’d spent her entire adulthood, not to mention a sizable chunk of her childhood, taking care of her father, catering to the genius director’s whims and putting her interests second. Unfortunately, she’d only escaped as far as actor Anthony Marks’s bed before he took his turn trampling her heart.
So now, she’d resolved to take care of strangers—on her own terms—and draw a salary at the same time. And she’d come home to New Orleans to reconnect with her mother and sister, both fiercely independent women that—with the exception of wanting her to find a man to settle down with—didn’t attempt to run her life in any significant way. Coming home had been easier than she’d ever imagined, thankfully, since she’d never figured out how to work long-distance relationships. And she’d done her share of trying.
Dominick pulled a file folder off the coffee table onto his lap, then motioned for her to take a seat on the couch. “I like to start my day early. Anita’s not a morning person, so she ordered her breakfast from here.”
She slid a company brochure off the conference table behind her and flipped open the trifolded, high-gloss color pamphlet. On the cover, a posed crowd of over thirty people ranging in age from toddler to octogenarian lifted their glasses in a hearty salute. She recognized Anita just a little left of center, standing beside a woman who, judging by the resemblance, had to be her mother. Dominick was just behind her, bracketed by two gray-haired ladies holding tight to each arm—undoubtedly, his grandmothers, ensuring he stayed put for the photograph. The caption identified the crowd as LaRocca Foods, LaRocca Family.
She flashed the picture at him. “You’ve given a whole new meaning