Passionate Proposals. Andrea Laurence

from you today. Tell me, what can the King of Chicago do for the Newport Corporation?”

      Sit on it and rotate was the first thought that came to mind, but Carson swallowed the words. “Good afternoon, Sutton. I’m calling today to talk to you about the lakeside project you announced a few days ago.”

      “Won’t it be splendid? Best waterfront views for miles. I’ve already got a list of potential buyers lined up for the best units. Are you interested in one, Carson? I’ll give you the sweetest corner unit I’ve got. Wall-to-wall windows overlooking Lake Michigan.”

      Carson gritted his teeth. “That’s a very kind offer, Sutton, but I’m not looking for a place to live. I’m actually looking for a place to build a new children’s hospital.”

      There was a moment of silence on the line. “That’s a very noble project,” Sutton said, refusing to acknowledge what Carson was after.

      “I agree. I think the Cynthia Newport Memorial Hospital for Children will be an asset to the community and a testimony to my mother’s work with kids.”

      There was a longer silence on the line this time. Unsure of what was going through Sutton’s mind, he went on. “The problem is that we were looking at the same property you’ve identified for those condos and put in our own bid around the time that you did.”

      “That’s a shame.”

      Carson was really getting annoyed with Sutton’s vagueness. He wasn’t about to make it easier on Carson. He was going to make him ask for it. Beg for him to withdraw the offer. “I’m calling because I was hoping I could convince you to set the condo project aside and let us have the land to build the hospital.”

      “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Carson. I’ve already got way too much money invested in this project.”

      “Sutton, I—”

      “How about this?” Sutton interrupted. “How about tomorrow about three or so, you send that pretty little PR director of yours over here. I’ll discuss it with her and see if we can’t come to some kind of arrangement.”

      Carson looked down and realized his hand was clenched into a tight fist as though he could punch the old man through the phone line. He consciously unclenched and stretched his fingers, noticing Georgia’s curious expression as she watched him across the desk.

      “What is it?” she mouthed silently.

      He could only shake his head and hold up a finger for her to wait. “That’s not really her sandbox, Sutton.”

      “I don’t care,” Sutton snapped. “She will come here tomorrow at three or the discussion is over. You and your sick kids can find somewhere else to convalesce.”

      Before Carson could respond, the line went dead. He studied the phone in his hand a moment before setting it gently onto the cradle. He was a little shell-shocked from the conversation and needed a few moments to gather his thoughts.

      “What did he say?”

      “No,” he said. Carson wasn’t about to tell her about Sutton’s demands. That guy had a reputation when it came to young and beautiful women. Carson wouldn’t let any females in his social circle even get close to Winchester, especially not Georgia. He felt protective of her, even though he had no real claim to her. “I told you he wouldn’t budge.”

      “He said a hell of a lot more than no,” Georgia pointed out. “What did he say? Tell me.”

      Carson sighed. He sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his blond waves. “It doesn’t matter what he said, Georgia. The point is that he isn’t going to back down.”

      Georgia arched one delicate brow and leaned forward. “Tell me, or heaven help me, I’ll march down this hallway and tell your brother Sutton gave you an out but you refused to take it.”

      He immediately straightened up in his chair. “What is this, elementary school?”

      She only shrugged and sat back, casually crossing her shapely legs. She couldn’t have been over five-five, but sometimes Carson was certain that at least four feet of her was leg. He’d given a lot of thought to how they’d feel wrapped around his waist.

      “Carson!”

      He snapped out of his mental reverie and flung his arm up in defeat. “Okay. He wants to meet with you.” He spat out the words with disgust.

      “With me? That doesn’t make any sense.”

      Carson could only shake his head. “It makes perfect sense when we’re talking about Sutton Winchester. He very specifically requested you and said he wouldn’t speak to anyone else. I’m pretty sure he’s interested in more than just talking to you, Georgia.”

      Georgia’s lips formed a small O of surprise. “Wow,” she said at last.

      “I can’t send you over there into that wolf den. Odds are that in the end, it won’t make any difference. We just need to increase our offer and hope it’s enough.”

      “No.”

      Carson frowned. “What do you mean, no?”

      “I want to go. He’s asked for me, so maybe I’m the one who can sway his decision.”

      “I can’t risk it, Georgia. If that guy so much as lays a finger on you, I’ll never forgive myself.”

      Georgia’s lips curled into a wicked grin, highlighting today’s dark burgundy lipstick. “I’m no debutante, Carson. I may have nice clothes and a good education now, but there was a time where I had to fight for survival each and every day. I can hold my own. If he gets inappropriate, I’ll give him a good dose of pepper spray.”

      Now it was Carson’s turn to look shocked. He envisioned Sutton Winchester—the King of Chicago—rolling around on the ground as he screamed and clawed at his eyes. But he’d love to hear her tell him about it.

      He also couldn’t forget that he’d promised his brothers that he would make this hospital project happen. Whether he liked it or not, he needed to do whatever it took, even if it meant sending Georgia right into that bastard’s clutches.

      “Okay, you can go,” he said at last. “On one condition. You take Big Ron with you.” The head of security at the Newport Corporation was a former Olympic heavy lifter. He’d once told Carson he slapped a man across the face and accidently broke his jaw. He could snap Sutton like a twig, if necessary.

      Georgia considered his stipulations for a moment and then nodded. “Okay. But he stays outside the office with the secretary unless I call him.”

      * * *

      “May I offer you something to drink?”

      “No, thank you,” Georgia replied. Sitting in the guest chair across from Sutton Winchester’s ostentatious oak desk, she couldn’t help but fiddle with the collar of her shirt. After Carson’s warnings yesterday, she’d chosen a pantsuit instead of a skirt and buttoned her blouse up to her throat.

      It had been a long time since she’d dressed that way. Probably not since she lived with Mrs. Anderson. She’d been a religious fanatic and swore up and down that any inch of skin Georgia showed would tempt a good man into sin. Truth be told, once Georgia blossomed into her full figure, there wasn’t anything a turtleneck would do to hide it.

      Even now, she could feel Sutton’s eyes rake across her body. The July heat in Chicago was absolutely miserable, but at the moment she was wishing she’d worn a heavy down coat.

      Sutton poured himself a drink and settled back into his chair. Georgia noticed that the man in front of her bore little resemblance to the press picture she’d seen in the paper the other day. He was still a tall and relatively handsome man, but the green eyes watching her had a dull look. It was made more obvious by the bags under them and the wrinkles lining his brow. He looked ten years older than she’d expected, even with his wide grin and