‘You’re right. I don’t guess.’
Surprise spiked through her. ‘So you know who’s trying to jinx the deal?’
‘Sí, I do,’ he murmured in a tone that sent a shiver down her spine. When he didn’t elaborate, she frowned.
‘Are you going to tell me who it is?’
‘Have you finished reading the report?’
‘Not yet.’
He uncapped the bottle and drained half of it in greedy gulps. Elise stopped herself from staring at the solid column of his throat. Or at the dark stubble that had crept over his jaw in the last few hours.
‘Go finish it. The “who” doesn’t really matter. What I need is a PR strategy on how we can resolve this problem if they remain intransigent.’
She returned to her office, fully aware there was no point pressing him for more information.
When she next raised her head, the view at her window had changed from day to evening, with lights from the adjacent skyscrapers illuminating the night sky. Her senses jumped when Alejandro filled the doorway.
‘You done?’ he asked, leaning against the jamb.
Elise nodded, wishing there was something else she could refocus her attention on besides the sleek musculature of Alejandro Aguilar’s body.
There’s the file. Her work. The reason she was here. She’d signed a contract mere hours ago that had drawn clear lines of boss and employee. While her past experience had borne witness that clients could violate contracts, she had a feeling Alejandro would stick rigidly to his.
But that didn’t mean she could drop her guard...or ogle his breathtakingly gorgeous body whenever she was in his presence.
She dragged her focus to the file. ‘My opinion hasn’t changed. They would have to have been offered something over and above what you’re offering. And that’s...’
‘That’s what?’ he encouraged.
‘That’s bordering on financial suicide, unless the other party has unlimited funds. Or are willing to go all out to steal this deal from you.’
His gaze swept downward, veiling his expression. Her senses twitched. She used to think she was a good reader of people. A horrific violation of her trust had robbed her of that last year.
Even so, she knew she’d struck somewhere in the vicinity of a nail.
Alejandro turned around without answering.
Elise rose. ‘Am I right? Mr Aguilar, is someone going to extraordinary lengths to see you fail?’
‘Alejandro,’ he murmured.
‘What?’
‘If we’re to work together, you’ll have to call me Alejandro.’
Elise wasn’t sure why the thought of repeating his name, even minus that sensual Spanish intonation she had no hope of mimicking, sent a shiver of awareness through her. ‘I... Okay.’
‘The chef has prepared dinner for us. Come. We’ll talk some more while we eat.’
She followed him out of his office to a set of smoked-glass doors, which swung open to reveal a small twelve-seater dining room. At the head of the table and directly adjacent, two places had been set, complete with silver tableware and glasses that indicated this was a multi-course meal.
They sat, and the chef walked in bearing two platters. Elise chose the chicken ravioli starter and almost groaned with pleasure as the delicate tastes melted on her tongue.
‘Okay, I take it back. Given the choice of going outside for fresh air and a sandwich or this, I’ll choose this every time.’
The chef, who was almost at the door, grinned at her compliment. Smiling in return, she turned back to her place and noticed Alejandro’s scowl.
Her smile dimmed. ‘Um, in case you missed it, I’m conceding that I was wrong before. No need to give me the evil eye.’
His eyes narrowed on the shutting door before returning to hers. ‘Do you make a habit of flirting with every man you come into contact with?’
Elise froze in the act of lifting her fork. ‘I don’t flirt,’ she bit out, her insides congealing at the accusation that struck a direct hit and dredged up haunting memories. No matter how many times she’d told herself the assault hadn’t been her fault, a part of her always wondered if she’d emitted the very vibes she’d striven to avoid her whole life.
Her parents might have chosen to use their God-given looks and charm as weapons, and Marsha Jameson might have advised Elise to exploit her sexuality to her advantage, but Elise had vowed never to follow in their footsteps.
Unfortunately, that rigid belief had proven to be an irresistible challenge for Brian Grey...
Hastily shoving aside bitter memories, she pushed the chair back and surged to her feet.
Her wrist was captured before she’d taken a single step. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I don’t like the tone of this conversation. Perhaps I was too hasty in taking back the benefits of getting my own meal. I don’t flirt,’ she reiterated, the need to reassure herself that what had happened a year ago hadn’t been her fault pumping through her blood. ‘But I have manners. And if someone does something nice for me, I thank them.’
He regarded her intensely for far too long. ‘Sit down, Elise. We’re not done.’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve lost my appetite. Besides, it’s seven in the evening. I didn’t sign up to work all hours.’
‘But you committed yourself to working reasonable work hours. Are you calling this an unreasonable hour?’
‘I’ll re-evaluate if I’m not subjected to unfounded allegations,’ she challenged. She looked pointedly at the hand manacling her wrist.
He waited a beat, then released her. ‘You were enjoying your food a few minutes ago. I’ll refrain from ruining our meal with...touchy subjects.’
Elise eyed her plate, then the door. She knew her outburst had flared brightly on Alejandro’s radar, but walking out at this stage would be counterproductive. She sat back down.
‘While you’re doing that, perhaps you’d like to remember that I haven’t flirted with you. Unless you count yourself above men?’ It was a cheap shot, regretted the moment she uttered the words.
One corner of his mouth quirked. ‘We’ll leave that debate alone, shall we?’
Her face reddened slightly, and for the rest of the first course they didn’t speak.
Once the second course of roast beef and vegetable medley had been served, he held up the bottle of expensive red. ‘Wine?’
About to refuse, she sprung for a little Dutch courage to see her through and nodded. ‘I’m not much of a wine drinker, or a drinker at all, so don’t hold it against me if I don’t appreciate the vintage.’
He filled her glass, then his. ‘I prefer honesty to a pretentious diatribe on non-existent flavours and bouquets.’
Despite the residual sting of his earlier accusation, a smile tugged at her lips. ‘Score one for me.’
Sharp eyes met hers. ‘Remain straight with me in all things, and you’ll score a lot more.’
For some reason the statement produced equal amounts of dread and anticipation. Anticipation of what, she had no idea. They were halfway through their main course before he spoke again.
‘So, in light