“I’d guess by the dregs left in the coffee pot and the tired look in your eyes that you’ve been up half the night, going on caffeine and raw adrenaline. I’d also guess your temper hit full steam first thing this morning by the way your secretary looks at you with fear. Papers are stacked on your desk, it took me over a month to get an appointment, and I bet the door behind you leads directly to a bathroom and sofa. You probably work day and night here. All in all, I think a class teaching you to deal with stress couldn’t hurt.”
She inwardly cringed and waited for the explosion. No wonder she hadn’t done well in the business world. Her father always warned her blunt honesty never closed a deal. But how could she stay quiet and watch someone go blithely through life, without really living? Collecting the next degree or earning the next million didn’t ensure peace or happiness. Once, she lived her life by a similar philosophy, and searched for something to help her forget the emptiness. Alexander Santell taught her about money and power, confident his only daughter would follow in his footsteps and inherit control of the company. She’d watched her father ignore his own family to pursue the path of success, and he lost everyone who’d ever cared or loved him. She didn’t want to someday see the man across from her in the hospital because of a heart attack, where all the money in the world couldn’t help. If she implemented her stress seminar, he’d finally understand.
She’d teach him to understand. If he gave her the chance.
Logan studied the woman across his desk with amusement. Obviously, she regretted her impulsive words but decided to brazen it out. She held her chin high in defiance. Admiration flashed through him. Of course, he’d be insane to accept her offer. There was no sure way to measure the results. There was no guaranteed profit.
There was no way he’d agree to her proposal.
He tapped his pen against the desk in a steady rhythm, and tried to analyze his deep pang of regret at the thought of Chandler Santell walking out the door and out of his life. He heard honest concern and anger in her voice when she lectured him on his work habits. In his long climb up the ladder of success, many people gave advice regarding his next business move, and many shared in his rewards. But no one expressed interest in his personal health, or suggested a move to help him.
His eyes raked over her figure for about the twentieth time. He took in her professional appearance from her tawny polished fingertips matching her honey-hued hair pulled back into a strangled bun, to the high neckline and short wool skirt of her “show-me-the money” green business suit, to her too sensible low heeled black pumps. She projected the image of a serious businesswoman who desired to be accepted into a man’s world, but not be particularly noticed by anyone. Especially a man.
The problem, Logan decided, was that Chandler Santell was destined to fail at her goal of men not noticing her.
He knew by the way she unconsciously lifted her hand to check her bun that her hair would spill around her shoulders in riotous waves. Anger made her green eyes flash, which would challenge a man to turn temper into passion. Her lips may be drawn tightly together, but Logan glimpsed the gentle fullness to her mouth, hinting at a certain softness and vulnerability. Her business suit couldn’t hide ripe curves, or long slender legs. Even her scent bewitched him; a subtle fragrance of vanilla that teased his senses and kept him from concentrating on their conversation.
As she spoke, he realized beneath her constrained appearance lurked a passionate spirit yearning for freedom. He became intrigued at the thought of tapping into a hidden part of Chandler Santell. He wondered if such a spirit could be tamed to live with one man, or if she’d ever even met a man with enough guts to try.
Chandler expected ice, but his gunmetal gaze drilled into her core as if searching, testing. His eyes were the color of smoke, trapping her with his heat.
“You know a lot about me and my company. But there are certain things in life that even I allow time for.” His voice lowered to a deep, caressing pitch breaking the silence. He held the gold pen horizontal between both hands and his fingers met in the middle as he stroked it with slow, fluid motions. “Certain pleasures take away even my driving need to work…”
The pen gleamed against his bronzed skin as strong masculine fingers wrapped around the object and continued the pushing, pulling movements. His touch was light and fleeting. His gaze told her he was thinking of stroking other things. The thought caused liquid fire to race and singe every nerve ending, then pool between her thighs. Her tongue involuntarily dampened her lower lip. She saw him catch the movement, then lay the pen back on his desk. “…for a while,” he added softly.
Chandler knew he made a deliberate choice to refrain from questions, even though many were reflected in his eyes before he looked back down at her proposal. The rustle of papers cut through the pulsing silence.
She struggled for composure as she glanced over at Richard Thorne. The attorney’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he watched her, seemingly interested in her reaction to Logan’s words. She cleared her throat. “I apologize for my outburst. I never meant to imply something was wrong with your life, I know you made a choice to work hard for your success.” She smiled. “I worry about people too much. I once worked in this type of corporate climate so I’ve seen the kind of drive and dedication needed to climb to the top. I’ve also seen the damage. I’d like to help your employees handle their stress so they don’t wake up one morning and wonder what their lives are about. I think they deserve more.”
Logan Grant was probably one of the most controlled, self-contained men she’d ever met. She bet he carefully analyzed every emotion before he decided to express them, or bury them deep. A pang of regret confirmed her belief about corporate executives. They never let their emotions overrule business decisions. They pushed away messiness and made logic their God. A shiver ran down her spine when she thought of the way his fingers had glided over the pen. Something deep inside told her Logan Grant held many secrets behind a steel barrier, but it would take Superwoman to unveil the ray of vulnerability she glimpsed within his eyes.
She was not Superwoman, and she mustn’t forget that he reached the top by being cold-hearted. She needed to be on guard.
Logan nodded. “Apology accepted. I know you have good intentions. But good intentions don’t necessarily mean good profits.” Chandler braced herself for his next comment.
“Your outline is excellent. Your idea is creative. These figures show how well your clientele is expanding, but I also see your profits aren’t what you need to keep the business going. Even with your research, there’s still no proof these employees are doing more productive work. So, Chandler, the bottom line is that you want to use my company as a guinea pig because without my money, the Yoga and Arts Center is going under. Richard, do you agree?”
Richard Thorn looked regretful, but gave a nod. “Sorry, Chandler. Personally, I think you have a great plan, but Logan is right. We can’t take a chance.”
She almost closed her eyes in defeat. She’d been hoping, no betting, that with the proper appearance and some impressive paperwork, he may not see the truth. Of course, she should have known her ruse was a mistake the moment she met him. Logan made CEOs of billion dollar corporations fidget beneath his stare. A novice never had a shot.
“Yes, Mr. Grant. Your bottom line is correct.” Surprise flickered over his face, before the mask slammed back down. “So, I’ll guarantee a profit.”