More than a Fling?. Joss Wood

from?’

      ‘Bellechier.’

      Right—the clothing and accessories company. Swiss-based, very upmarket. He recalled the messages, the requests for a meeting to talk about branding and franchise opportunities. He wasn’t interested. Bigger and better brands had approached him and he’d refused them all, but he had to admit it was amusing to see exceptionally well-dressed corporate drones jump through hoops to impress him.

      Ross watched as her eyes slowly swept his body, taking in his red V-neck T-shirt, cargo shorts and battered trainers. Just to see her reaction, he dipped his hand into the pocket of his pants, pulled out the band he kept there and tied the top section of his hair off his face.

      Judging by the slight lift of her nose, Ms Prissy liked short, back and sides... She folded her arms across her chest and tipped her head like an inquisitive bird.

      Suddenly he felt like a piece of prime rib being judged for its freshness. If that interest was sexual he wouldn’t mind so much, but her intelligent eyes were all business.

      ‘Shorter hair would suit you better,’ she said after a long pause. ‘But long hair works with the bad-boy CEO vibe you have going. I’m glad you lost the goatee, though.’

      Ross wanted to look around to make sure that she was still talking about him. Bad-boy CEO? Seriously? Surely a bold geometric tattoo on his right forearm and long hair didn’t make him bad-ass these days? In the nineteen-fifties, maybe.

      As for the scruff she’d called a goatee—he hadn’t had one for over a year. And this conversation was starting to get weird...

      ‘Uh...’

      He caught the snort of one of his employees and without dropping his eyes from her face, he told them all to get back to their desks. When he could no longer hear their footsteps, Alyssa—Ally—pulled her bottom lip between her thumb and fingers. It made no sense that he wanted his lips where her fingers were, doing what her fingers were doing... What the hell?

      Was it five degrees hotter out here than it had been ten minutes ago?

      ‘You might just do...’ Ally murmured.

      Boy Wonder in his pants perked up and looked around. Who’s doing what to who? Can I join in? Hell, he was an embarrassment to suave single guys the world over.

      He scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘Do you always talk in riddles?’

      She flashed a row of small, white, even teeth and two shallow dimples appeared, one on each side of her mouth. He’d always been a sucker for dimples...

      ‘Sorry... So, can we chat? Or can we make a time to chat if now doesn’t work for you?’

      Okay, persistent and gorgeous. Ack.

      ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude...’ But he would be if he had to. ‘If I didn’t respond to your sixty e-mails and ten thousand phone calls, don’t you think that’s a solid clue that I’m not interested?’

      ‘I don’t hear “no” so well.’

      That, he thought, was a solid gold truth. Actually, he instinctively knew that she didn’t hear ‘no’ at all. And here he was—someone who never did anything he didn’t want to do and never, ever followed the herd.

      A saying popped into his head: irresistible force meets immovable object.

      ‘How did you get my personal mobile and e-mail address, by the way?’

      Slim shoulders lifted and fell. ‘I know people who know people,’ she said mysteriously.

      He wondered if he would ever get a straight answer out of her.

      Anyway, as fun as it was, trading barbs with this gorgeous, ultra-feminine woman—she was a girly girl from her perfect make-up and tousled hair to her dainty toes—he had things to do. ‘Got to get back to work. Enjoy your trip back to wherever you came from.’

      ‘Geneva—and you haven’t heard my proposal yet.’

      ‘Nor do I intend to. The Bellechier brand is old-school—slick and snobby. It’s everything that Win! is not.’

      She had the temerity to look insulted. ‘Excuse me?’

      All five and a half feet of her—in heels—vibrated with indignation.

      ‘Bellechier is one of the most iconic clothing and accessories brands in the world... I’m wearing Bellechier!’

      Ross deliberately yawned.

      ‘It’s sophisticated!’ Ally protested.

      ‘Dull,’ Ross countered, just to be argumentative. Okay, not the shoes, but everything else was. He was really enjoying the sparkle in those fire-blue eyes, the flush on her prominent cheekbones, watching her fight to keep her irritation under control. Damn, she was hot.

      ‘Why would you even consider linking Bellechier with Win!? They have nothing in common.’

      ‘They do! Of course they do—or else I wouldn’t have travelled twelve hours to see you.’

      He tipped his head enquiringly. ‘Are you on crack?’

      ‘Hey! I’m not the one playing basketball at—’ she snapped a look at her watch ‘—twelve fifteen on a Wednesday morning in this heat! That’s insane!’

      ‘I suspect that my playing basketball when I should be working is what most offends your corporate sensibilities.’

      He hadn’t thought that nose could be lifted any higher but she managed it.

      ‘I don’t care how you spend your time, or whether you give yourself heatstroke. I just want an opportunity to talk to you about a campaign.’

      Ally looked away and he sensed that she was trying to keep her cool. When she looked at him again her face was devoid of expression but her eyes were still spitting spiders.

      ‘This isn’t the way I envisaged this conversation going... I don’t normally end up in arguments with potential ambassadors in the first five minutes of meeting them.’

      ‘You do it so well,’ Ross said, his voice super-bland. Time to stop baiting her, he thought. Jamming his hands into his pockets of his cargo shorts, he rocked on his heels. ‘Let’s get this over with, Ms Jones. Even if I was interested in exploring branding opportunities, I don’t see any obvious link between Win! and Bellechier. So—not interested.’

      Ally chewed the inside of her cheek. ‘That’s not what my brother Luc thinks. He sends his regards, by the way.’

      Luc? Did he know a Luc? A memory of meeting someone called Luc at his old school friend James Moreau’s thirtieth birthday party drifted into his head. And later at James’ sister Morgan’s wedding...

      ‘Luc? Tall, dark, partial to smokin’ hot blondes?’

      Ally nodded. ‘That’s the one. Luc Bellechier-Smith—CEO, my boss and foster brother.’

      Huh. He’d instinctively liked Luc—liked the Frenchman’s passion and sense of humour, his quick mind. He couldn’t imagine how and why he’d ended up having Miss Carrot-Up-Her-Bum for a sister—fostered or not.

      ‘What do you for the company?’

      ‘Brand and Image Director. Marketing and PR all falls under me.’

      ‘And it was his idea to approach me?’ he asked, now puzzled. He’d thought that Luc was smarter than that.

      ‘Yes. We’re talking at cross-purposes due to the fact that we got distracted,’ she said, implying that the distraction was all his fault. ‘We’re launching a new line...would you give me five minutes to explain? Properly?’ Ally looked at the building behind him. ‘Preferably inside, where I presume it’s cooler?’

      ‘Here is good.’ He was far too attracted to her as it was, and he really didn’t want