Mischa's potential client was driving her nuts. Absolutely, certifiably insane.
Oh, it wasn't that Mr. Jeremy Dalton was difficult. As a self-made real estate investor, he was demanding, controlling, opinionated, hard-headed, and hard-working - all qualities she'd expect from someone who amassed a good-sized fortune before 40. In fact, she not only expected those qualities, but admired and respected them.
And, as financial advisor who wanted his account, she understood them. She worked with personalities such as his on a daily basis, and Mr. Dalton wasn't nearly as high-maintenance as other clients she'd known or worked with.
That was part of the problem.
Within her firm, Mischa was known as a bit of a shark, willing to do whatever it took to seal the deal, grab the client, and make money, lots of money. She was shrewd, tenacious, and insightful, quick to identify exactly what approach to take to land an account... and she had to admit that Mr. Dalton left her baffled.
It really burned her well-toned ass.
Mischa wasn't above using any weapon at her disposal - cleavage, flirting, sex, flattery, or her sharp mind and quick wit, if the client preferred to keep things strictly professional - and absolutely none of them seemed to work with Mr. Dalton.
After a long week of wining and dining in LA, she was no closer to signing Mr. Dalton to her firm, and no closer to figuring out what to do to change that. Most of her male clients appreciated at least a little cleavage or flattery, especially from her. With thick wavy black hair, bright green eyes, creamy skin, and a curvy figure, Mischa knew she was attractive, and didn't apologize for it. She didn't mind if her male clients, and one delightful female client, wanted to see her in a low-cut dress over dinner. She was willing to drop everything and fly out to wherever her clients wanted to meet; she'd taken meetings on golf courses and ski slopes, in spas and on beaches, over dinners, lunches, breakfasts, coffees, and, yes, in beds - whatever it took to make her clients happy.
That's why she pulled no punches this past week for Mr. Dalton. When she wasn't working, she had spent her time lavishing attention on him; she wanted to show Mr. Dalton that she was willing to do the same for him. His newest project was based in LA, her hometown, which would make her firm an excellent choice for his business, but after a four-course meal in one of the hottest restaurants in the city of angels, he still wasn't willing to commit. He hadn't said it out loud yet, but Mischa had been observing him throughout the evening very closely, and his face remained as passive and politely interested as it had been all week.
Mischa had a sinking suspicion he'd be getting on a plane tomorrow night without hiring them, and God, she hated losing.
She worked hard to stifle a sigh and maintain an attentive expression on her face as she waited for Mr. Dalton to finish saying goodnight to their dinner companions - his business manager and his lawyer. As the valet brought their car around, Mr. Dalton titled his head and gestured to the limo.
"Shall we?" With a smile, Mischa took his offered hand and slipped inside, congratulating herself on the forethought to hire a larger car. As a potential client, it was a standard gesture, but Mr. Dalton was at least six feet three inches tall, and had wide shoulders. With being such a large man, he wouldn't have been comfortable in anything smaller than a limo.
She had barely settled into a seat when two big hands gripped her hips, and she was lifted and guided to the opposite side. Blinking, she suddenly found herself on the seats right behind the driver. What the hell?
She must have given him a look because one eyebrow lifted and he smirked at her as he settled back.
"Do you like your personal space, Mr. Dalton?" They had come over with his business manager and lawyer, but both had elected to take a cab back to the hotel. Maybe he just wanted to stretch out?
"Maybe I just want to look at you instead of the horrible traffic here." His eyes raked down her body so slowly, Mischa could almost swear it felt like a physical touch. Not soft, but firm, deliberate. Across her face, down her neck, onto her breasts for an extra beat before drifting down her legs to her sparkly stilettos. Her dress was short and thin and filmy, with a low, draping front and an even lower back. The only thing keeping it on this side of decent was that it was a dark blue color, but nothing could hide her nipples tightening up under his gaze. They stood out in sharp relief, little nubs pressing against the material.
The little flare of awareness she saw in his eyes told her that her body's reaction to him didn't go unnoticed. An answering heat sparked between her legs, though it didn't take much. Mischa loved sex, lots of it, and after a week of no attention, something with which she wasn't accustomed, she was aching. The fact that Mr. Dalton with his shaved head, dark brown eyes, and well-muscled body was extremely attractive didn't help matters any, either.
Maybe that's why her next words sounded mildly petulant.
"You haven't spared me very many looks this past week, Mr. Dalton. Why start now?" Mischa heard him chuckle. It was deep and rumbling and made her want to rub herself all over him. Damnit.
"Are you put out that your schemes didn't get you laid, Mischa? I bet that was shocking to a woman like you, wasn't it? Not getting what you wanted when you wanted it? I was extremely entertained watching you trying to get a reaction out of me." Ohmigod, was he... was he making fun of her? "Though I have to admit, you walk the line between slutty minx and businesswoman very well."
Yes, he was making fun of her. Mischa could feel her face flush in embarrassment, her body frozen on her seat as her mind whirled, trying to figure out what to say or do.
"Don't cry, Mischa. We wouldn't want you to smear your makeup, would we?" came Mr. Dalton's mocking voice. Her spine snapped straight.
"I've been rejected before, though not quite as callously, Mr. Dalton. I've no intention of crying." Her teeth were clenched in fury, making the words hard to get out. She was absolutely not going to cry. She wasn't.
"Do you normally insult potential clients?"
"I'm not sure I care anymore if I land you as my client or not." Mr. Dalton laughed again, deeper and longer this time.
"Oh, you care. Especially when I tell you I've made a decision on whether or not to hire your firm." Damn him, he was right. For someone who was used to reading people well and quickly, getting the tables turned on her was awkward, at very least.
"So, I'm ambitious. That's not a crime," she replied, trying for a casual shrug and not quite sure she succeeded. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he speared her with a look.
"No, it's not. In fact, to certain kinds of men, it's a turn on." She leaned forward as well.
"Are you that kind of man?"
"Aren't you curious about my decision?" He dodged her question with one of his own. Mischa struggled not to ask, and failed, eliciting another laugh from him.
"Okay, fine. What conclusion have you come to?"
"That I like you better when you're pissed than when you're acting like a drone."
"That's not an answer."
"That's the only one you'll get right now."
Deep breaths, Mischa, she told herself. This was not the time to fly off the handle. This was the time for finesse. Hell, this should be easy! This was where she lived and breathed! So, why couldn't she work up some charm right now? Where had her finesse run off to?
"Are you wearing underwear?"
The calm, quiet question and slightly amused tone interrupted her thoughts. Concentration thrown, she scrambled to answer.
