Billionaire's Contract Engagement / Money Man's Fiancée Negotiation. Michelle Celmer

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      She wasn’t a vain woman, but she knew men found her attractive. She was probably considered beautiful by most, but her looks had been the cause of a lot of problems in her life.

      Because of her delicate looks, her brothers and even her father thought her job was just to look pretty and let them provide for her. She hadn’t been encouraged to go to college—she’d done all of that on her own—and they certainly hadn’t wanted her to have a career in something as demanding as advertising.

      She’d ignored their objections. She’d gotten her degree and after graduation, she’d taken a job in New York City. After a couple of years, she’d taken a position with a large, prestigious firm. She was on her way up. A promotion had just cemented her triumph. And then it had all come crashing down like a bridge in an earthquake.

      Adam rising from his chair shook her from her angry thoughts. She forced her fingers to relax and winced at the marks she’d left on her palms.

      “Leaving already?” she asked.

      Adam pulled her up into a bear hug. “Yeah. I need to check on a job. I’ll see you at the season opener, though.”

      She kissed his cheek and patted his shoulder affectionately. “Of course.”

      She turned to Dalton. “I guess you’ll be going, too, since you brought him over.”

      “Yep. I have a date I’ve got to get ready for anyway.”

      No one seemed surprised by that announcement.

      “I’ll walk you guys out. I need to run, too. I have a pitch to prepare for.”

      Her father grimaced, and she steeled herself for another gruff lecture about how she worked too hard. An interesting statement since Adam worked harder than all of them, and no one ever lectured him.

      To her surprise, he remained silent. She regarded him with a raised eyebrow and wondered if he’d burst at the seams, but his lips remained in a firm line. He rose from the couch to hug her and then gruffly reminded her to be sure and get enough rest.

      They all walked out together, and her father reminded them all of lunch next Sunday. Celia waved to Adam and Dalton before climbing into her car. Noah stood, saying his goodbyes to their father, and she drove down the driveway. Noah would be along shortly and she needed to make sure her pantry would survive the assault.

      Celia had just done a cursory examination of her stock of food—cursing the fact she hadn’t been to the market in far too long—when the door buzzer sounded.

      She strode across to the call box and mashed the button. “That you, Noah?”

      “Yep, buzz me in?”

      A few seconds later, Noah walked in, and she smiled her welcome.

      “I know that smile,” he said suspiciously. “That’s a smile that says you lured me here under false pretenses. You don’t have any food, do you?”

      “Weeeell, no. But I did just order pizza.”

      “You’re forgiven, but I refuse to have a reasonable discussion until it gets here.”

      She laughed and punched him on the arm when he flopped on the sofa next to her. “If I didn’t need a favor from you, I’d make you pay for it.”

      His expression grew serious. “So what is this favor, anyway?”

      “Oh, no. I’m not asking you for anything until you have a full stomach. Again, since you ate not even three hours ago.”

      He grunted but didn’t offer any argument. His stomach was too important.

      He reached for the remote and flipped on the TV. A few seconds later, the sports recap was on, and he settled back against the couch.

      The pizza didn’t take long—thanks to the bistro right around the corner offering delivery service. Soon the decadent smells of a completely loaded pizza filled her apartment. Despite all she’d eaten at lunch, her stomach growled in anticipation. She eyed the gooey dripping cheese and grimaced. It might taste good, but it would go straight to her hips. Then again, that’s what the treadmill was for.

      She dropped the box on the coffee table in front of Noah, not bothering with plates. He eyed the mountain of toppings with something akin to bliss.

      She waited until he’d grabbed the first piece before she carefully took a slice and nibbled on the end. It was, in a word, sheer heaven. She leaned back and waited for Noah to down the first slice. When he was on his second, he turned and said around a mouthful of pizza, “So what’s this favor you need?”

      She sat forward, putting half the slice down on a napkin.

      “I have this client … well he’s a client I want to land. Evan Reese.”

      Noah stopped chewing. “The guy who sells athletic wear?”

      She nodded. “Yeah. He fired his last agency and has yet to sign with a new one. I want him. Maddox Communications wants him.”

      “Okay. So where do I fit into the picture?”

      For a moment her nerve deserted her, and then she mentally slapped herself upside the head. In her profession there was no room for the spineless. She hadn’t worked her way into the confidence of Brock Maddox acting like a jellyfish.

      “I want you to agree to front his new line of athletic wear.”

      Noah blinked then he frowned, and finally he put down his half-eaten slice. For a moment he was quiet. She waited, fully expecting him to say no or to launch into all the reasons why he didn’t take endorsement deals. She knew them all. But he did none of those things. Instead he studied her carefully, his gaze sliding over her features as though he was reaching right into her head and pulling out her every thought.

      He wouldn’t ask why him. He was a huge name in baseball, and he was more sought after than any other professional athlete mainly because of his refusal to take endorsement deals. Instead of deterring companies, it made them all the more determined to be the first to lure Noah Hart to their brand.

      She could beg. She could hurry through a prepared explanation as to why she needed him, but she wasn’t going to wheedle and cajole.

      Noah was still frowning as he studied her. “This is important to you.”

      She nodded. “Evan is a big client. My boss is trusting me to land the account. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll get him with or without you, but you’d be the nail in his coffin. Plus it would be huge for you. Reese will pay a lot to have you be the spokesman for his sportswear.”

      Noah sighed. “I wish you’d just quit this job. You don’t have to work, and you know it. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, Cece. Certainly not to your family. Adam, Dalton and I make more than enough money to support you. It would make Dad happy if you didn’t have such a stressful job. He’s convinced you’ll have an ulcer before you’re thirty.”

      She smiled faintly. “I am thirty.”

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