Before she could call back the reaction, her eyes widened and she pulled her hand from his. She put it in her lap and cupped her other hand over it, wanting to preserve the sensation of his fingers over hers.
He put up his hand in an impatient gesture then lowered it and fiddled with the napkin on the table. He seemed almost uneasy. She cocked her head, curious now as to what he would say next.
“My schedule is quite busy. I need to move on this new campaign. I can’t spare weeks searching for a new agency. If you went with me, I could listen to your ideas. I realize a wedding isn’t ideal. I’d rather be just about any other place myself.”
Though it certainly wasn’t voiced as a threat, it was certainly implied. If she went with him, he’d listen to her pitch. If she didn’t he might not have time for her when he returned.
Worry knotted her stomach. Tagging along to a family wedding seemed entirely too personal even if the purpose was solely business. Not to mention it was hard enough to battle her attraction for him in a business setting. But something as intimate as a wedding?
“How long would we be … away?”
The question came out more as a squeak than a concise, professional query. She sounded like a scared little girl facing the big bad wolf. Oh, but Evan made such a yummy wolf.
It was all she could do not to put her head on the table and bang a few times.
“We’d fly out Thursday evening. Rehearsal and dinner on Friday, wedding Saturday with reception to follow and since it will likely go well into the night, we’d return Sunday.”
It would only require one missed day of work. No one but Brock would even need to know, and he certainly wouldn’t spill the beans.
She didn’t know why she hadn’t immediately agreed. She couldn’t afford to say no. He had her over a barrel and he damn well knew it. Still, she hesitated—if for no other reason than to let him know he didn’t call all the shots.
Okay, so maybe he did, but it didn’t hurt him to think otherwise. For two seconds.
“All right,” she said in as level a voice as she could manage.
Did he expect her to attend the festivities? It certainly sounded as though he did by the way he outlined the events. She supposed it would be rude to tag along and lurk in the shadows waiting for her appointed time. Or maybe he envisioned having her follow him around everywhere so he could fit in snatches of conversation when possible.
“I’d be happy to purchase any items you may need for the trip,” he said.
Startled, she glanced up. “No, I mean … no. Of course not. I can manage just fine. You’ll need to tell me the appropriate dress code of course.”
He managed a wry smile. “I’m sure anything to do with Bettina will be formal. Quite formal with lots of glitter and fanfare.”
His gaze slid sensuously over her features and then lower until her neck heated with a blush.
“I think anything you wear will be stunning. The dress you wore the other night was perfection on you.”
The blush climbed higher and she prayed her cheeks didn’t look like twin torches.
“I’m sure I can find something glitzy and glamorous,” she said lightly. “We girls do like the opportunity to play dress up.”
Interest sparked in his eyes. “I can’t wait.”
The waiter returned with the wine, and Celia latched gratefully onto the glass. Her hands shook. She was sure if she stood, she’d go down like a brick. She’d break an ankle trying to stay up on these ridiculous heels.
Note to self: Don’t pack gorgeous, sexy shoes for the weekend. Around him, she’d be a disaster on stilts. He’d spend his entire time picking her up off the floor, that is if she didn’t end up in the hospital in traction.
“I’ll call you later in the week with the flight arrangements. We’ll be taking my private jet.”
She swallowed and nodded, then realizing he’d need her number—her cell number and not her office number—she reached down into her briefcase to retrieve a business card.
She frowned, fumbled some more then pulled the bag into her lap. With a groan she realized her business-card holder must have fallen out. Impatiently she tore a piece of paper off a notepad and took out her pen.
Dropping the bag again, she put the paper on the table and hastily scribbled her home and cell number then passed it across the table to Evan.
He took it, studied it a moment then carefully folded it and tucked it away in the breast pocket of his jacket. The waiter approached with menus and Evan looked to her for her order.
“Just the lunch salad,” she said. What she really wanted was a really greasy burger with onion rings, but she didn’t want to appall Evan. Her brothers gave her all sorts of hell for her indelicate tastes, but then they were to blame for them.
Evan ordered a steak, medium, and after the waiter was gone, Evan stared over at her, his gaze inquisitive.
She cocked her head, prepared for him to ask her a question, but he didn’t say anything. He just seemed to study her as if he wanted to uncover all her deep, dark secrets.
Finally he sat back with a satisfied smile. His eyes glinted with triumph.
“I think this wedding is going to turn out to be enjoyable after all.”
Four
Celia stepped off the elevator and walked by Shelby, who held her hand up to get Celia’s attention.
“Later, Shelby,” she called as she headed for Brock’s office.
When she got to his door, she was nearly run over as Ash came out. He sidestepped her and kept on walking, his forehead wrinkled as if he were lost in thought. She wasn’t even sure he’d seen her.
She stuck her head in Brock’s door and breathed a sigh of relief when she found him alone. He glanced up and motioned her in.
“What’s with him?” she asked, jerking her head over her shoulder in Ash’s direction. “He’s been weird lately.”
Brock gave her one of those puzzled male looks that suggested he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. She rolled her eyes. Ash had been walking around in a fog, which wasn’t typical. He was usually on top of everything and everyone. Celia had overheard Shelby talking about a falling out with a girlfriend, but then she hadn’t even known Ash had been seeing anyone. Not that he would have confided in her.
She didn’t bother sitting. She had too much to do, and this wouldn’t take long.
“I have to go out of town Thursday afternoon.”
Brock stared back at her for a moment and then his brows drew together. He frowned and dropped the pen he’d been fiddling with.
“Is this some kind of emergency? You’re supposed to meet with Evan Reese on Friday.”
His tone suggested someone better be dying. He opened his mouth to say more but before he got off on the tangent she knew was coming, she held up her hand.
“I just had lunch with Evan. There’s been a change in plans. He has to be at some family wedding this weekend in Catalina so he couldn’t make it on Friday. He said he wants to move on this campaign and he doesn’t have a lot of time to spend in the selection process.”
Brock swore, his face going red. He picked the pen back up and flung it across his desk. “Dammit, is he even going to listen to our pitch?”
She sucked in a breath. “He wants me to go to Catalina with him. We’d leave Thursday afternoon. It’s the only time he can spare me and he’s promised to listen to