for the elevators.
Chapter Three
In the morning, the first person Shelley saw as she stepped off the elevator on the lobby floor was the very man she dreaded seeing—Jason McLaughlin.
“Shelley. It’s been a long time.” The tall blue-eyed man in the Italian silk suit stepped forward and took both her hands in his, smiling down at her. “You look wonderful.”
For a moment she wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to speak. Did he know her well enough to see the turmoil her heart was in? Did he notice the tightness around her mouth, the panic in her eyes?
Probably not. After all, there was no real evidence that he had ever known much of anything about her, that he had ever really cared. She’d warmed his bed and kept his apartment picked up. That was all he’d ever really wanted, wasn’t it?
On the other hand, she’d spent all of her teenage years watching everything he ever did. She’d even kept a notebook about him, hidden under her mattress and only brought out late at night to write some new secret in. Saw Jason at the feed store this afternoon. He had holes in his jeans and looked so cool. He turned my way and I almost had a heart attack. But he walked right by. I don’t think he saw me.
He was her one and only teenage crush, and when she moved to San Antonio after college and got a job in his firm, she was in seventh heaven. And then he actually noticed her, picked her out to be his special assistant, and very quickly, his special girl. It was like a dream come true. Until she woke up.
“Jason,” she said, finding her voice at last. “I’m surprised to find you here. I would have thought this would be a bit too bourgeois for you.”
“Don’t be silly,” he said, beaming at her. “This conference has become the highlight of the business year in San Antonio. We came to win the competition.” He laughed lightly, his white teeth flashing
Sharks have white teeth, too, she thought a bit wildly. Translation: beware!
Aloud she said, “Good luck. We’re hoping for a good result as well.” But she felt as though she were in deep water and in danger of losing her grip on the surface with predators circling.
He still had hold of one of her hands and he tried to tug her a bit closer. Looking down dreamily into her eyes in a way that would once have sent her reeling, he said coaxingly, “Listen, we’re both on our way to breakfast, aren’t we? Come have it with me. We’ll get a booth. We need to catch up on old times.”
She opened her mouth to respond, planning to put him in his place with a well-chosen word or two. But she wasn’t quick enough, because suddenly Rafe was there, sliding his arm around her shoulders.
“Sorry, McLaughlin,” he said coolly. “I’ve already got her booked up. You’re out of luck.”
“Rafe.” Jason’s face changed completely, but only for a moment. Very quickly he had his smooth, cultured mask on again. “I would make a crack about bad pennies, but that would be rude.”
“Go ahead and be as rude as you like,” Rafe told him evenly. “We’re all such old friends. You can be yourself around us if you like.”
Jason had a faint smile that didn’t warm his eyes at all. “Have a nice day,” he said, sarcasm coloring his tone as he turned away.
“We will,” Rafe promised, tightening his hold on Shelley’s shoulders as he began to lead her toward the breakfast area.
She went willingly enough, but her nerves were jangling and she pushed his arm away. The hostess indicated a table big enough to take the others as they arrived. Shelley turned and faced Rafe as they approached it.
“I could have handled that myself, you know,” she said.
“I have no doubt about it,” he said smoothly, escorting her into her seat at the table. “If you’d wanted to.”
Her eyes widened. He really didn’t trust her. She leaned forward, looking at him across the table. “Are you accusing me of something here?” she demanded.
He smiled thinly, then picked up the huge menu and began to peruse it. “I’m not going to tolerate any traitors on our team,” he said from behind it. “Just giving you fair warning.”
“Rafe Allman….” She clenched her hands into fists on the table. “You…you make me so mad!”
He looked around the menu as though surprised. “No reason for anger, Shelley. Don’t you get it?”
He dropped the menu and reached out to grab one of her hands. “The fact that we strike sparks off each other should be a plus for us. It’s great for creativity. It produces a tension that can help us create a dynamic that will blow everyone else in this competition away.”
She blinked at him. “Either that, or we’ll kill each other.”
He nodded. “That’s always a possibility, of course.”
But his eyes were smiling and she couldn’t resist smiling back for just a moment. Then she pulled her hand away from his and reached for her own menu.
“Don’t bother,” he said. “I know what I’m ordering for you.”
“What?”
“Dollar-size blueberry pancakes with cherry syrup and sausages.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded. He looked up at her, and she almost thought he was half embarrassed.
“Listen, I remember how you used to pack it away on Saturday mornings when Rita would cook a big breakfast for us all.”
Rita was the big sister, the oldest daughter in the Allman clan. “She cooked enough for half the neighborhood it seemed sometimes,” she murmured, remembering.
He nodded. “Anyway, you always loved those little round pancakes and that thick cherry syrup.”
How funny that he remembered that. A wave of nostalgia swept over her and she smiled. “Those were the days before I had to start watching my figure.”
“Hey, I’ll watch your figure for you. No problem at all. And I’ll let you know if I notice anything going wrong with it.”
She sighed. “Now you’re starting to disappoint me. That is such a lame joke.”
“Who’s joking?” He said it softly, his eyes burning.
The waitress arrived at their table, pouring them both cups of steaming coffee, and Rafe ordered for them. Shelley was too involved in thinking over what he’d just said and the way he’d looked to remember that she’d planned to stop him from ordering pancakes for her. And then it was too late and she decided to let it go.
She looked at him a bit warily. He looked back. She searched for something to say.
“Well. Ready for the big day?”
He grunted and took a sip of scalding coffee, making a face as it burned his tongue.
“The workshops last until noon,” she said, talking quickly to fill the silence. “We’ll meet for lunch in the Tapa Grill and then our group will adjourn to my room to decide on our plan. I’ve got some really interesting ideas.”
“Do you?” He looked surprised.
“Yes, I do.”
He shrugged. “I’ve got a few ideas of my own. Some pretty great ideas. I guess it will be the battle of the ideas. We’ll see whose ideas come out on top.”
She made a face. He was making this sound like some sort of monster truck rally or something. “I think mine are pretty good.”
He nodded, his dark gaze searching her face. “‘Pretty good’,” he echoed mockingly. “You see, there’s your problem, Shelley, ‘Pretty good’ is not going to win this competition. ‘Over-the-top pretty