The billionaire contact engagement

Four

a little tighter around the glass, and she prayed they wouldn’t shake and betray her unease. He studied her curiously, having obviously picked up on her discomfort. “It wasn’t a proposition, Celia. Believe me, you’d know the difference.” In a daring move, he reached a finger out and traced a line down the bare skin of her arm. She was unable to call back the shiver, or the sprinkling of chill bumps that danced over her flesh. “I only meant that if you wow me with a pitch and I sign on with Maddox, you won’t pawn me off to some junior executive. I’d expect you to oversee the campaign at every level.” “And do you anticipate signing with Maddox Communications?” she asked huskily. There was a gleam of amusement in his green eyes. He took a measured sip of his wine and then regarded her lazily. “If your pitch is good enough. Golden Gate has some good ideas. I’m considering them.” Her lips tightened. “Only because you haven’t seen mine yet.” He smiled again. “I like confidence. I don’t like false modesty. I look forward to seeing what you have in mind, Celia Taylor. I have a feeling you put every bit of that passion I see burning in your eyes into your work. Brock Maddox is a lucky man to have such a fierce employee. I wonder if he knows it.” “Are we moving into the appointment phase?” she asked lightly. “I have to admit, I’ve enjoyed watching you surrounded by the piranhas as you call them.” He put his glass down on a nearby table. “Dance with me and we’ll discuss appointment times.” Her eyes narrowed. He lifted one finely constructed eyebrow into what looked like a challenge. “I’ve also danced with female ad executives from Golden Gate, Primrose, San Fran Media—” She held up her hand. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re making your selection on who’s the best dance partner.” He threw back his head and laughed. Several people around them turned to stare, and she had to resist the strong urge to flee the room. She hated the attention that Evan seemed to have no issue with whatsoever. How nice it must be not to have to worry what people thought about you. To have your reputation intact and not have suffered the stupidity and vindictiveness of others. But then men rarely suffered in cases like hers. It was always the woman. The vilified other woman. Knowing no graceful way to bow out of the dance, she set down her own glass and allowed Evan to lead her onto the ballroom floor. To her relief, he held her loosely. To anyone looking on, they could find no fault or impropriety. She and Evan didn’t look like lovers, but she knew the thought was