Substitute Seduction. Cat Schield

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      Ignoring the couch, Harrison stood in the center of the room, wondering how long she would leave him cooling his heels. While he waited, he took stock of his surroundings, getting a sense of London’s taste from the clean color palette of black, white and gray, the hint of drama provided by the silver accessories and the pop of color courtesy of the flower arrangement on the reception desk. On the wall across from him was a large-screen TV with a series of images and videos from various events that London had organized.

      In his hand, his phone buzzed. Harrison sighed as he glanced at the message on the screen. Even though he took Mondays and Tuesdays off during the season, rarely an hour went by that his team wasn’t contacting him as they prepared the car for that week’s upcoming race. Each track possessed a different set of variables that the teams used to calibrate the car. There were different settings for shocks, weight, height, springs, tires, brakes and a dozen other miscellaneous factors.

      For the first time in a long time, Harrison debated leaving the text unanswered. He didn’t want to split his focus today. His team knew what it was doing. His input could wait until his meeting with London concluded.

      A change in the air, like a fragrant spring breeze, pushed against his skin an instant before London McCaffrey spoke his name.

      “Mr. Crosby?”

      As he looked up from his phone, Harrison noted the uptick in his heartbeat. Today she wore a sleeveless peach dress with a scalloped neckline and hem, and floral pumps. Her long blond hair fell over her shoulders in loose waves. Feminine perfection with an elusive air, she advanced toward him, her hand outstretched.

      Her fingers were cool and soft as they wrapped around his hand. “Good to see you again.”

      “I intend to call you London,” he said, leaning just ever so slightly forward to better imprint the faint scent of her floral perfume on his senses. “So you’d better call me Harrison.”

      “Harrison.” Still holding his hand, she gazed up at him through her lashes, not in a manner he considered coy, but as if she was trying to take his measure. A second later she pulled free and gestured toward a hallway behind the reception desk. “Why don’t you come back to my office?” She turned away from him and led the way, pausing for a brief exchange with the receptionist.

      “Missy, were you able to get hold of Grace?”

      “I had to leave a message. Do you want me to put her through when she calls?” Missy glanced at Harrison as she asked the question.

      “Yes. It’s urgent that I speak with her as soon as possible.” London glanced back at Harrison as she entered her office. Like the reception area, this tranquil space was decorated in monochrome furniture and accessories. “I hope you don’t mind the interruption, but I’m organizing a fiftieth wedding anniversary for a client’s parents in a week and some things have come up I need her to weigh in on. She’s currently out of the country and not due back until just before the party.”

      “I understand.” His phone vibrated with another incoming text as if to punctuate his point. “I’m sure you have all sorts of balls in the air.”

      “Yes.” She gestured him toward a round table to their left and closed the door. “I always have several projects going at once.”

      “Are you a one-woman show?” His gaze tracked her as she strode to her glass-topped desk and picked up a utilitarian pad and basic pen. No fancy notebooks and expensive writing instruments for London McCaffrey.

      “No, I have several assistants,” she explained as she sat across from him. “Most of them help me out on a part-time basis, but I have two full-time employees plus Missy, my receptionist.”

      “I didn’t realize your company was so large.”

      She acknowledged the implied compliment with a slight smile. “I’ve been fortunate to have expanded rapidly since I opened my doors.”

      “How long have you been in business?” Harrison leaned back in his chair and let his gaze flow over her slender shoulders and down her bare arms.

      She sat forward, arms resting on the tabletop, the pen held lightly in her fingers. “Nearly six years. I started right out of college.”

      “Why an event planning company?”

      Her eyes narrowed as if she’d suddenly noticed that he was interviewing her, but her voice remained smooth and unruffled as she answered. “My mother used to be a socialite in New York and has always been big on the charity circuit. I started attending events when I was in my teens and mostly found them tedious because I didn’t know anyone. To keep myself occupied, I would spend my time analyzing the food, decor and anything else that went into the party. When I got home, I would write it all down and make notes of what I would do differently.”

      Harrison found himself nodding in understanding as she described her process. “That sounds a lot like how I got into car racing. My uncle used to let me help him work on the cars and, when I got old enough to drive, gave me the opportunity to get behind the wheel. I could tear apart an entire engine and put it back together by the time I was fourteen.”

      “I guess we both knew what we wanted to do from an early age.”

      “Something we have in common.” The first of many somethings, he hoped.

      As if realizing that they’d veered too far into the personal, she cleared her throat. “So you said you were interested in having someone organize a party for your brother’s birthday?”

      “Yes.” Harrison admired her segue back to the reason for his visit. “He turns forty next month and I thought someone should plan something.”

      After meeting London the other night, Harrison had called his mother and confirmed that no one was in the process of planning anything for Tristan’s fortieth birthday. In the past, events like this had been handled by Tristan’s wife, Zoe, but she was out of the picture now.

      She tapped her pen on the notepad. “Tell me something about your brother.”

      Harrison pondered her question for a moment. What did he know about Tristan? They were separated by more than just an eight-year age difference. They had different ideologies when it came to money, women and careers. Nor had they been close as kids. Their age differences meant the brothers had always attended different schools and Tristan’s free time had been taken up by sports and friends.

      “He runs the family business since our dad semi-retired five years go,” Harrison began. “Crosby Automotive is a billion-dollar national chain of auto parts stores and collision centers in twenty states. We also have one of the largest private car dealership groups on the East Coast.”

      “And you race cars.”

      Her matter-of-fact tone carried no judgment, but Harrison imagined someone as no-nonsense as London McCaffrey wouldn’t view what he did in a good light. No doubt a guy like Tristan, who put on an expensive suit and spent his days behind a desk, was more her cup of tea. On the other hand, she had been engaged to a baseball player, so maybe Harrison was the one guilty of being judgmental.

      “I’m one of four drivers that races for Crosby Motorsports.”

      “Car twenty-five,” she said, doodling a two СКАЧАТЬ