Marrying the Manhattan Millionaire Page 11

  Her body said stoke the embers. It will be worth turning to ash to enjoy that hot blast of passion again for however long it lasts.

  Was a compromise between those two schools of thought possible? If so, were she and Michael capable of such compromise? Sam didn’t know.

  She refocused on the computer screen, where her cursor blinked impatiently. She couldn’t think of Michael now. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she straightened in her seat and reminded herself that the question she needed to concentrate on was how to get Sidney Dumont to return her calls.

  It had been nearly a month since Sam had first contacted Herriman’s advertising manager, but she had yet to secure an appointment. In fact, she got the odd feeling Sidney Dumont was purposely snubbing her, which made no sense. The two women had never even met.

  Randolph, of course, was breathing down Sam’s neck now that news of the hotel chain’s quest for a fresh advertising campaign had become common knowledge in industry circles.

  Sam remained confident that she had what it took to compete, no matter how many contenders entered the field. She’d spent the lead time she’d had since Atlanta well. She’d pulled together a number of ideas for a first-class multimedia campaign that she felt would meet Herriman’s needs, but it would all be for naught if she didn’t get the chance to present it.

  She was feeling desperate. And desperate times called for desperate measures. So, when she saw the article about the Tempest Herriman-McKinnon Children’s Charity Ball on the front of the New York Times feature section, she not only read it, she clipped it out.

  The ball, which was that Friday, was only in its fifth year, but already had become one of the highlights of the Manhattan social scene. Attendance was limited to five hundred people, making the tickets hard to come by and much sought after, even though they went for a thousand dollars each.

  Tempest herself had no direct involvement in her family’s hotel business, but she had grown close to her parents now that she was happily married to a U.S. senator and the mother of twins. Surely they—and perhaps key members of the hotel staff—would be there. If Sam got really lucky, perhaps even Sidney Dumont would be in attendance. It was a long shot, Sam knew. But at this time she was willing to take it.

  She shelled out the money for a ticket to the ball without any regrets. She would write it off as a business expense. Not only did the ball attract the mayor and other New York dignitaries, in the past the guest list had included a good number of the city’s elite entrepreneurs, who also tended to have the deepest pockets when it came to their business’s advertising budgets. One way or another, she planned to get her money’s worth.

  The first person Michael considered calling when he left Sidney’s office was Sam. Not to gloat that the meeting had gone well, but to share his excitement. He’d dialed his parents instead. His father answered.

  “Congratulations, son,” Drew said, his voice thick with warmth and pride. “I knew you could do it.”

  “I haven’t done anything yet,” Michael reminded him. “It was only a preliminary meeting and I’m sure the advertising manager has meetings with at least a couple of other firms scheduled.” Bizarrely, he hoped Bradford was one of them. “She said she’ll get back with me if they decide they want to go with Grafton Surry. Then we’ll really start playing ball.”

  “Well, I have every confidence in your talent, even if it turns out that the people at Herriman fail to recognize it.”

  It was Drew’s polite way of saying that, win or lose, he would remain proud of Michael. That knowledge warmed him.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Michael hung up, smiling until Sam’s words of the other evening came back to him. He’d never had reason to question whether his parents were proud of him or wonder if they truly accepted him. She was right about how fortunate he was to have their unwavering love and support. What might Michael do if, like Sam’s father, they’d withheld both?

  Michael mulled that question over for the next few days, even as he was supposed to be sorting out the current status of their relationship. He still believed Sam should have made a clean break from Randolph when she’d had the chance seven years earlier, Sonya’s accident and subsequent health crisis notwithstanding. But had he been fair in demanding it?

  The conclusion he reached was humbling. Randolph wasn’t the only one to attach strings to his love. Michael had had conditions, too. He’d made their future together contingent on Sam severing ties with her father.

  He still wasn’t sure where they were heading, but he knew with certainty he wouldn’t make that mistake a second time.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE week before his meeting with Sidney, Michael had received a personalized note from Tempest Herriman-McKinnon inviting him to her annual Children’s Charity Ball at the Manhattan Herriman. That was no surprise. While living in California, Michael had been a generous supporter of Tempest’s husband’s Senate campaign. He’d also contributed to the many worthwhile causes the hotel-chain-heiress-turned-actress championed. He didn’t let the personalized invitation go to his head. She was trying to raise funds, and going to the event meant shelling out a thousand dollars. Still, he considered attending.

  Unfortunately, the only woman he wanted to ask to accompany him was Sam. And that was a problem. In addition to the fact that the ball was linked, however loosely, to the account for which they were both vying, he and Sam were supposed to be taking a step back and thinking carefully before seeing each other again.

  For that reason Michael decided he would send Tempest a generous donation in lieu of attending. But while he was in Sidney’s office for their meeting, he’d noticed a similar personalized note from Tempest in the woman’s in-box. Though he generally wasn’t one for name-dropping, in this instance it seemed appropriate.

  “Are you going, too?” he’d asked and with a smile added, “Tempest can be pretty persuasive.”

  “You know Tempest?”

  “Not well, no. But since I supported her husband’s Senate bid as well as some of her pet projects when I lived in California, I’m still on her mailing list.” He’d grinned engagingly, turning on what Sam long ago had dubbed the Lewis charm.

  “Well, perhaps I’ll see you there,” Sidney had replied. Then, even though the woman was downright stingy with her smiles, one had lit up her face. “You can buy me a drink.”

  So now Michael was committed. At the very least he had to put in an appearance. Between now and the time an agency was named, he needed to keep Grafton Surry front and center in Sidney’s mind. He just wished he could do so while also enjoying Sam’s company.

  “Will you be going to see Sonya tonight?” Randolph asked from the doorway to Samantha’s office midafternoon the following Friday. “I have some new clothes I want to send.”

  Sam glanced up from her computer screen a little surprised. Her father always went to see Sonya on Fridays and so she asked, “Why can’t you go?”

  Randolph tugged at the corners of his mustache, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Something’s come up—a late meeting with a potential client.”

  “Must be someone important,” she mused.

  “Oh, it is.”

  “Well, sorry. But I already have plans for this evening,” Sam told him.

  “Plans?” Randolph frowned as if the word were foreign to him.

  “Yes.” When she’d purchased the ticket, she’d debated telling him about going to the ball, but ultimately she’d decided against it. Until she had an actual appointment with Ms. Dumont, she wasn’t going to say a thing.

  “Can’t they be changed?” he demanded irritably. “Sonya will be expecting company tonight. I don’t want her to be disappointed.”

  Despite the guilt that bubbled up and the anger that threatened, Sam remained polite, but firm. “No, Dad. Sorry. I was out to see Sonya twice already this week. I’ll visit her tomorrow. If the weather’s nice, I’ll take her out on the grounds in her wheelchair. She seems to like that.”
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br />   He grunted, but apparently was mollified. “I’ll go Sunday, then.”

  “Um, Mom will be there.”

  “God.” Divorced nearly two decades and he still could barely tolerate hearing her mentioned. “Did she say when?”

  “I think she and Chad are shooting for early afternoon.” Chad was the man—the much younger man—Joy had married a few years after leaving Sam’s father.

  Randolph’s upper lip curled beneath his mustache. “I’ll visit in the evening.” He pointed a finger at Sam. “And I’ll see you bright and early on Monday. Don’t forget that the staff meeting was moved up two hours. Try to be more prepared this time.”

  She’d had to run back to her office at last month’s meeting for the sales numbers he wanted on one of her clients. He still hadn’t let her forget it. “Of course, Dad. Have a good weekend.”

  Randolph left without bidding her the same.

  Michael suppressed the urge to unknot his bow tie. His tuxedo was Armani, but that didn’t make it or the sleek black tie he’d paired it with any more comfortable, especially since he felt conspicuous. Not that his attire was inappropriate. The ball was definitely a black-tie affair. But he hated that he was here alone.

  His plan for the evening was to locate Sidney, maybe share a drink and some polite conversation, and then discreetly head for the exits immediately after dinner was served. Though he’d heard a big-name band and a couple of Grammy-Award-winning singers were on tap for the entertainment, he wanted to be home in time to catch the last couple of innings of the ball game. The Yankees were playing their arch rivals, the Red Sox, in Boston and it promised to be one hell of a game.

  Rivalries always were, he thought, as he turned and caught a glimpse of dark hair and pale skin.

  Sam.

  Awareness charged up his spine like a stampeding elephant. Sipping his champagne, Michael decided that catching the end of the baseball game wasn’t such a big deal, nor was he in a hurry to find Sidney. Grabbing a second flute of bubbly from a passing waiter’s tray, he started off in Sam’s direction.

  “How’s your foot?” he asked when he reached her.

  She turned and her eyes opened wide. “Michael! What are you—”

  “Doing here?” he finished for her. He held out the champagne. “Having a drink with you and inquiring about your sole. The one that ends in e.”

  She accepted the glass with a smile. “Thank you. As for my foot it’s as good as new.” She pulled aside the hem of her gown, showing off a strappy sandal the same color as the dress. She’d painted her toenails blood red for the occasion.

  After clearing his throat, Michael said, “I’m glad to see that you suffered no lasting effects from your injury.”

  “None whatsoever. I’m sure it was your careful ministrations that made all the difference in my full recovery. So, thank you.”

  “Are you referring to the first aid I administered, or what came afterward?” He arched his brows meaningfully.

  She ignored the question. “So what are you doing here?”

  “I was invited. In the past I’ve supported Tempest’s husband’s political ambitions as well as her philanthropic endeavors. Apparently she remembered that and decided to send me a personalized note urging me to attend.” He shrugged and came completely clean. “Of course, it’s more likely she figured I wouldn’t blink at the donation and hoped I might be willing to pony up a bit more.”

  Sam grinned now. “And have you?”

  “Well, it is for a good cause.”

  “Yes, it is,” she agreed. “The after-school program Tempest wants to see expanded throughout New York’s boroughs is a proven winner at keeping ’tweens and teens from getting involved in drugs, gangs and sex.”

  “I see you read the brochure,” he said to keep from groaning aloud. Sam looked like sin in a low-plunging sapphire gown and she’d had to go and mention sex.

  He took a slow, bracing sip of his champagne, reminding himself of the business at hand. After swallowing, he asked, “So, that’s the only reason you shelled out big money to be here tonight? You wanted to support a worthy cause?”

  “What other reason would I have?” She smiled sweetly, apparently choosing to keep her cards close to her vest in the high-stakes game they were playing.

  Michael opted to up the ante, but only enough to keep things interesting. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought maybe you wanted to get an up-close-and-personal view of the Manhattan Herriman and its banquet facilities. They are top of the line and a major selling feature when it comes to conventions.”

  Sam’s lips were painted a ripe shade of red, making her crafty smile a complete turn-on. “Do you really think I haven’t already done that, Michael?”

  “No. I’ve done it myself.” He decided to toss in all of his chips. “So, maybe the real reason you’re here is that you’re hoping to catch Sidney Dumont alone, give her a little preview of what the Bradford Agency has to offer and then slip her your business card.”

  Sam’s eyelids flickered in surprise and he figured he’d nailed it. Nonetheless, he gave her high marks for maintaining a bored tone when she replied, “Please, Michael. I wouldn’t be as blatant as that.”

  He glanced over her shoulder and couldn’t believe his luck. “That’s good to know, because she’s coming this way.”

  Sam barely had time to compose herself before she was face-to-face with the woman she’d been trying to snag a meeting with for more than a month.

  “Michael,” Sidney said, extending a hand. Though the woman was fifty if she was a day, Sam swore she batted her stubby eyelashes at him. And no wonder. The man did things for a tuxedo that should have been outlawed. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Again. Sam had known they’d already met, but for some reason she seethed at the reminder.

  As for Michael, he was oozing charm when he replied, “I was going to say the same.” He turned toward Sam then, offering a wink that shouldn’t have set off her pulse the way it did, especially given their surroundings. “This is Samantha Bradford. I’m sure you recognize the name. She works for the Bradford Agency. Sam, Sidney Dumont, the advertising manager at Herriman,” he added unnecessarily.

  “Ms. Dumont, I’m pleased to finally meet you.” Sam offered her hand, which the other woman shook less than enthusiastically.

  The three of them chatted politely about Tempest’s charity for a few minutes, then Sidney made her excuses and left.

  “I get the feeling she doesn’t like me,” Sam murmured as she watched the other woman disappear through the crowd. Turning to Michael, she added, “Which makes absolutely no sense. While I’ve called her office and left messages, I’ve never met her before tonight. You don’t think she’s put off by my persistence, do you?”

  Michael was frowning. “I was pretty persistent myself. I had her office number on my speed dial at one point. I can’t see where that would be an issue for someone in her position.” Then, in a low, seductive voice, he said, “Maybe she’s jealous of your beauty.”

  “And maybe you’re full of—”

  “Flattery?”

  “Other words come to mind, but I guess that will do.” She smiled then, letting her puzzlement over Sidney’s demeanor slip to the background. “Speaking of flattery, I suppose it’s only fair I tell you how handsome you look this evening.”

  “Thanks. That’s a great dress, by the way. I like what it does for your…waist.” His gaze, however, was lingering a little higher than that. “It’s by the same designer as the one you wore to the Addy’s, I believe.”

  “You’ve got a good eye.”

  “Women’s fashion isn’t exactly my forte, but I try to pay attention when it’s my client’s work. So, are you still trying to lure him over to Bradford?” Michael inquired.

  Sam shook her head. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry these days.”

  That wasn’t the only reason, though. It felt wrong to go after Michael’s clients if she was only doing so because they were his clien
ts.

  He seemed to understand. “I know what you mean.” Then he leaned over to whisper in her ear, “You do look lovely.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I didn’t realize you were going to be here.”

  “Does the fact that I am complicate matters for you?” she inquired.

  “Only a lot.” But he smiled after saying so. “The evening promises to be far more interesting now, so that’s a plus. I like your hair like that, by the way.”

  She’d worn it up, sleekly twisted in the back. Michael had always preferred it off her neck when they went out to formal events, she recalled now. He’d enjoyed the easy access to her nape and, when they were alone, he’d liked taking it down, pin by pin, and then running his fingers through it. Sam swallowed.

  “Have you been doing a lot of thinking since we last saw each other?” she asked.

  “Probably too much,” he admitted. “I made a list of pros and cons the other night when I couldn’t sleep. And not sleeping, by the way, has become a regular occurrence.”

  She knew exactly what he meant. All she seemed to do lately was toss and turn…and yearn. But she merely shrugged. “So, which column had more, the pros or the cons?”

  “It was pretty much a tie.”

  “That’s interesting.” She sipped her champagne. And though it was a bold-faced lie, she told him, “I did the same thing myself.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  She laughed softly. “Same outcome, I’m afraid.”

  “Should we go for a tie-breaker?” Michael stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne. That masculine scent still lingered on her pillow.

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “What will it prove? It shouldn’t take a list of pros and cons to determine compatibility.”

  “No. There are other, more interactive ways to do that,” he whispered suggestively into her ear, causing her to shiver.

  Even though Sam wanted to move forward, she took a step back. “I believe we’ve already determined that we’re more than compatible in that regard. That’s one of the reasons we decided not to see each other for a while. It’s hard to think when all you want to do is get naked.”