Page 23 of Negotiation Tactics
Still, I shouldn’t be letting my guard down. I’m here on a mission and that’s the only thing that matters.
“Hey. How are the desserts?”
I yelp and spin on my heel, almost dropping the small plate the ball was sitting on. “Jesus! Where’d you come from?”
Alistair tucks his hands in the pockets of his pants and grins. It’s such a casual pose, so in contrast to the posh party. “You wanted to chat, right? And you called me over.”
I pucker my lips. “I did not.”
He raises a blond eyebrow. “You smiled back.”
Well, yes, technically that’s an invitation, I suppose, even if I didn’t mean it in that way. But he’s already here, and I do want to discuss the Union’s demands, so this works out just as well.
“Who says I wasn’t smiling at someonebehindyou?” comes out of my mouth before I can veto my words.
Ugh! I didn’t mean to say that. It sounds like I’m picking a fight!
His smile grows, curving his mouth upwards asymmetrically. It’s unfairly charming, making his blue eyes shimmer with mirth and opening his already attractive face. I hate to admit it, but I like the smile on him.
“I find that hard to believe.” He inches in, grabbing a plate with a chocolate ball. “Besides, I wanted some dessert anyway.”
I narrow my eyes, not buying it. But I let it slide as I get a genius idea. “Figures. Why did I think you might be here to talk about your employees?” I sigh dramatically. “Enjoy your dessert.”
Here is where I make a strategic move. I put down the plate and turn around, storming away from him. I don’t actually mean to leave, I’m just pretending so I can get the upper hand. If there was one good thing about hooking up with my enemy, it’s the fact that it gave me an insight into the things that can make him tick, like opposing him or riling him up. He couldn’t resist it that night, and judging by the way his eyes widened and his jaw clenched when I dismissed him, he can’t resist it now either.
“Wait.” He halts me, grabbing my wrist. It’s a firm, rough hold. Dominant. Electrifying. And it’s the kind ofhold that tells me he won’t let me go until he’s done with me.
My cock twitches, interested even if it’s very inappropriate.
“What?”
My snappy tone drains the still lingering smile off his face. He glances at his watch, then at the stage, and slants his eyebrows down in thought. “I’ve got to be on the stage in fifteen minutes, but if you agree to dance with me, we can talk about the demands over lunch.”
Finally, he lets go, taking away that electrifying buzz that was spreading through me from where he was touching me. Then he smiles expectantly and folds his arms.
I gawk at him, speechless. I can’t believe he’s asking me out like this, and the condition is that Idance with him first. It’s ridiculous, but the confidence pouring off him is impressive. And okay, maybe a tiny bit hot.
As I think his invitation over, I give up trying to figure out how we got here. I just wanted to talk about the case, but somehow there’s a condition now. I have to dance with him andalsohave lunch with him.
How does that work?
Still confused, I toss a look at the people dancing on the elevated platform by the potted palm trees. He’s not asking me out, right? This is strictly professional, if a little inappropriate. Right?
I let him stew for a bit, though his confidence doesn’t leave him. But I have a bigger problem than knocking him down a peg. What is his game? And is this a good idea? It could be, I conclude. After all, I already decided earlier that I don’t mind playing dirty. He’s giving me an opening here, a way to spend more time with him and figure out his weaknesses.
I shift my attention to his hand, which is still holding the chocolate goodness. “You might want to take care of your balls first.”
He snorts, then lets out a booming laugh that reverberates through my entire body. “Are you sure you don’t want to help me take care of my balls?” Leaning in, he rubs the tip of my ear. “You did a great job last time, brat.”
I suck in a breath, riding out a full-body shiver. Fuck me. What is this idiot saying in the middle of his fancy party? This is so not the place or time to rememberthat.
I jab a finger at his chest, then I cross my arms. “You wish, asshole. And I hope you are a good dancer.” Ugh, I can’t believe I’m about to agree to his stupid terms, but this can all work out in my favor if I play it right. “As for that lunch, we’ll only talk business.”
“Okay, agreed,” he quickly replies, then offers me his hand. “Now can we get to the dancing, seeing as I have”—he looks at that fancy watch again—“eleven minutes and a half left before I have to drag my ass over to the podium.”
I let him lead me over to the dancing crowd. The song is on the quicker side, but I’ve got a good sense of rhythm, so I quickly tune in to it. He’s slower, but he doesn’t disappoint. I’d go as far as to say he’s as good as I am, and that makes me want to one-up him. So I do—I’m the type that does what I want, after all.
We compete until the end of the song, but the next one is slower, more sensual, so we come together for it. His hands rest on my waist and mine loop around his shoulders. Being so close to him makes me aware of his woodsy scent, a mix of sandalwood and pine that melts the remaining inches between us as I lean in and breathe in the skin along his neck.
