Escape for Valentine's: Beauty and the Billionaire / Her One and Only Valentine / The Girl Next Door. Caroline Anderson

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      “It was Christmas,” she finally began. “And you were fun, and sexy. And Kristy had just married Jack. And life at your amazing mansion is really very surreal.”

      She’d buried the truth. He was sure of it.

      Kristy had married Jack, and for that brief moment in time, Sinclair had felt abandoned. And there had been Hunter. And she’d clung to him. And that’s what it was. He was glad he knew.

      Even though he shouldn’t, he switched seats so he was beside her. He wanted to be the one she clung to.

      She stiffened, watching him warily.

      “The steward’s only a few feet away,” he assured her. “Nothing can happen.”

      His reassurance seemed to work.

      She relaxed, and he took her hand once again.

      The cabin lights dimmed, the engines wound out, and the plane accelerated along the runway, pushing them back against their seats. Hunter turned his head to watch her profile, rubbed his thumb against her soft palm and inhaled her perfume, as he captured and held a moment in time.

      The next morning, for the first time in her life, Sinclair came late to the office.

      Amber jumped up from her desk, looking worried. “What happened?”

      “I got home really late,” she said as she passed by.

      “Roger was down here. He wanted your files on the Valentine’s ball.”

      Sinclair crossed the threshold to her office, dropping her briefcase and purse on her credenza, and picked up a stack of mail on the way to her desk. “Why?”

      “So Chantal could review them.”

      “What?” She stared at Amber. “Why would she do that?”

      “Because she’s queen of the freakin’ universe? Is there something I should know, Sinclair? Something pertaining to PR?”

      “No.” Sinclair set down the mail. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.” She moved to the door. “Wait here.”

      “I’m not going anywhere.”

      “I assume you gave him the files?” Sinclair called over her shoulder.

      “I didn’t have a choice.”

      No. She didn’t.

      When the president asked for the files, you gave up the files. But there was nothing saying you didn’t go get them back again. Roger’s micromanaging was getting out of hand. So was Chantal’s apparent carte blanche in the PR department. Sinclair took a tight breath, pressed the button, and waited as the elevator ascended.

      This inserting of Chantal into Sinclair’s projects had to stop. You didn’t add a new voice ten days before the ball. And you sure didn’t empower a neophyte like Chantal on a project of this size and importance.

      What was the matter with Roger? Was he trying to sabotage Sinclair’s efforts?

      Maybe it was due to her frustration over the failure of the spa plan, but Sinclair was feeling exceedingly protective of the ball. It was her one chance for the PR department to shine, and she was determined to do it or die trying.

      The doors slid open on twenty, revealing burgundy carpet, soft lighting and cherrywood paneling. Myra, Roger’s secretary, looked surprised to see her.

      “Did you have an appointment?”

      “I need two minutes with Roger.”

      Myra glanced at Roger’s door. “I’m afraid he’s—”

      The office door opened.

      Chantal Charbonnet stepped out, a stack of files tucked under her arm. She was wearing a leather skirt today, with a glittering gold blouse. Her heels were high, her neckline low. She gave Sinclair a disdainful look and passed by with a sniff of her narrow pert nose

      “Looks like he’s free,” said Sinclair.

      Myra picked up the phone. “Let me just—”

      “I’ll only take a second.” Sinclair didn’t give the woman a chance to stop her.

      Before Roger’s door could swing shut, she blocked it. “Excuse me, Roger?”

      He glanced up, lips compressing, and a furrow forming in the middle of his brow.

      “I don’t recall a meeting,” he said.

      “I believe you have my files?”

      “Chantal’s taking a look at them.”

      Sinclair struggled hard to keep her voice even. “May I ask why?”

      “I’ve asked her to provide her opinion.”

      “On?”

      “On the Valentine’s ball preparation. She’s taking a bigger role in the new product launch. I think we all recognize Chantal’s talents.”

      Well, Sinclair sure didn’t recognize Chantal’s talents. And the ball preparations were all but done. She just needed to babysit it for the next week and a half. She sure didn’t need somebody messing with the plans at this late date.

      Roger took in her expression, and his tone suddenly turned syrupy. “I appreciate how hard you’ve been working, Sinclair. And I know you’re busy. This will take some of the burden off your shoulders.”

      “There’s no—”

      “You’ll get your files back in a couple of days. Thanks for stopping by.”

       Thanks for stopping by?

      He’d pulled the most interesting and important project of her career out from under her, and that’s all she got?

      Short of a raid on Chantal’s office, Sinclair didn’t know what to do. If the woman started messing with things, the ball could be completely destroyed. What if she called Claude at the Roosevelt? The head chef was temperamental at the best of times, and Chantal might push him right over the edge.

      The conductor also needed hand-holding. The music was cued to coincide with speeches and product giveaways. Entrances and exits of VIPs were specifically timed, and the media appointments had to come off like clockwork.

      But Sinclair couldn’t outright defy Roger.

      She headed for the elevator, desperately cataloguing potential problems and possible solutions. By the time she punched the button, she realized there were too many variables. With a rising sense of panic, she knew she couldn’t possibly save the ball from Chantal. That left her with Roger. How could she possibly make Roger understand the danger of Chantal?

      She entered the elevator, then froze with her finger СКАЧАТЬ