Propositioned By The Tycoon. Yvonne Lindsay

grew, slow and catlike. “You can’t prove I had anything to do with that.”

      “Can’t I?” Catherine straightened and thrust her hand into her purse. Retrieving her cell phone, she flipped it open. One press of a button snapped a digital picture of Roxanne. Another press had it winging its way to Catherine’s e-mail account.

      Roxanne straightened in her chair. “What the hell did you just do?”

      “I’ve e-mailed myself your photo. When I get home, I intend to print it off and hand-deliver it to the King County Sheriff’s Marine Unit. They have some very contrite boaters who are eager to point the finger at the person who invited them to the Marconis’ party and encouraged them to make—how did they phrase it? Oh, right. A splashy entrance.” Roxanne turned deathly pale, and Catherine smiled. “Nothing to say? How incredibly unlike you.”

      It was too much to hope the silence would last. Roxanne recovered within seconds. “So what if I extended an invitation? It’s their word against mine how it was phrased.”

      “You be sure to explain that technicality to Natalie Marconi…right after you explain your side of things to Gabe. I doubt either of them will be terribly sympathetic considering the damage done.”

      “They won’t believe you.” An edge of desperation underscored the statement.

      “Oh, I think they will. And once Natalie finds out you were behind the boat incident, I don’t think it’ll take much of a nudge to convince her to ask around and see if any of her guests happened to notice a very striking guest in an attention-grabbing red dress hanging around the sprinkler controls. I guarantee someone will have noticed you. That’s what happens when you work so hard to be the center of attention. Sometimes you get it when you’d rather not have it.” Catherine gave that a moment to sink in. “This ends and ends now. You keep your claws off my business. More importantly, you keep your mouth—and every other body part—off my man. And you stop setting up business appointments that interfere with our life together.”

      Roxanne fought to recover a hint of her old cockiness. “Spoiled your first night together, did I?” She released a sigh of mock disappointment. “Such a shame.”

      “Gabe more than made up for it this morning.” That wiped the smile off her face. “I’m giving you precisely one week to convince Natalie that someone else is at fault for the events of last night, someone other than Elegant Events. You have seven days to convince her that somebody other than me sabotaged that party.”

      Roxanne’s eyes widened in panic. “Have you lost your mind? How do you expect me to do that?”

      “I don’t know, and I don’t care. You’ve always been fast on your feet and quick to spin a story. Find a way.”

      “What if I refuse your…request?”

      “It wasn’t a request. In one week’s time, I act. I start with the sheriff, and I end with a lawyer. And somewhere in between—one night in bed, perhaps—I’ll wonder out loud whether you’re the type of person Gabe wants representing Piretti’s. Seeds like that have an uncanny knack of taking root.”

      “If I do what you want…” The words escaped like chewed glass. “What then?”

      “Then you have two choices. Option number one, you can behave yourself and toe the line. For instance, I have an event coming up this next weekend, assuming Gabe and I can salvage the account. You are not going to interfere with that event in any way, shape or form. If anything goes wrong, just the least little thing, I’m putting it on you. I don’t care if it decides to rain that day, it’ll be your fault. If Mt. Rainier turns active and dumps ash all over Annie Collington’s special day…your fault. If anything goes wrong, I promise, I will bury you for it.”

      One look at Roxanne’s face told the story. She’d planned to do something. Catherine could only imagine what that might be. “You said I have two choices,” she replied. “What’s my other one?”

      “You can pack up your brimstone and find a new boss to screw with.”

      “You can’t fire me. Only Gabe can.”

      Catherine smiled in real pleasure. “Now, that’s my favorite part about our little dilemma here, because you’re right. I don’t have that ability. So I thought of the perfect way around that small stumbling block. You see, men always have so much trouble deciding on the perfect wedding gift for their bride.” Not that he’d asked. But Roxanne didn’t have to know that. “Lucky for Gabe, now I know exactly what I want. And I guarantee he’ll accommodate my request.”

      “You bitch!”

      Catherine’s amusement faded. “You’re damn right. I’m through playing nice. And in case you still have any doubts, let me assure you that the benefits of bitchdom keep adding up.” She gave it to her, chapter and verse. “If you try and start any more trouble after you leave Piretti’s, people will immediately conclude that it’s sour grapes on your part. And if they have the least little doubt, I’ll be sure to explain it first to them, and then to my lawyer.” She released her breath in a happy little sigh. “See how simple all this is?”

      “This isn’t over, you—” She broke off and to Catherine’s shock, huge tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Gabe. I’m so sorry you have to see us like this.”

      He stood in the doorway, his gaze shifting from one woman to the other. “Problem?”

      “Not yet,” Catherine said.

      She kept Roxanne pinned with a hard look. She held up her phone as a pointed reminder and then made a production of returning it to her purse. It was a subtle warning, but it seemed to have a profound effect. Satisfied that they understood each other, Catherine turned and offered Gabe a sunny smile.

      “No problem at all,” she assured him. “Roxanne and I were simply coming to a long-overdue understanding.”

      He folded his arms across his chest. “That explains the tears.”

      “Exactly,” she stated serenely. “Tears of joy. We’re both all choked up with emotion.”

      “Uh-huh. So I see.” She wished she could read his expression, but he’d assumed the indecipherable mask he wore during his most intense business negotiations. “Roxanne? Anything to add?”

      His assistant ground her teeth in frustration, but managed a hard, cold smile. “Not a thing. At least, not yet.”

      “Excellent.” He inclined his head toward the elevators. “Ready, Catherine?”

      “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

      “Then off we go before you cause any more tears of joy.”

       Chapter Seven

      Catherine gave Gabe directions to the little café just north of the city, where arrangements had been made to meet with the bride-to-be. Annie Collington, a bubbly redhead with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose, appeared tense and unhappy.

      Introductions were made, and Annie smiled at Gabe with only a hint of her customary zest. “I recognize you, of course. I think your photo is on everything from the society page to the business section to the gossip magazines.”

      “I wouldn’t believe a word of anything except the gossip magazines.”

      She twinkled briefly before she caught Catherine’s eye and her amusement faded. “Do we really have to do this?” she asked miserably. “I’ve fired you, now that’s the end of it. Nothing you say is going to change my mind.”

      Before Catherine could respond, Gabe stepped in smoothly. “Why don’t we sit down and have a cup of coffee and a bite to eat while we figure out how best to settle this?”

      “Please, Annie.” Catherine