Marrying the Manhattan Millionaire Read online

  She hurried to Michael, wrapped her arms around him and held on tightly, maybe because part of her already knew she was losing him. “Don’t say that!”

  He sighed and rested his forehead against hers. “Believe me. I don’t want to say it. But I need to be honest.”

  She appreciated his honesty, but she also wanted his support. “It’s just till Sonya is on her feet again and able to return to work, I promise.”

  She broke that promise, though not intentionally. After Sonya suffered a major setback, she called Michael in tears.

  “I have bad news,” she began and started to cry.

  “You’re staying in Manhattan, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I have to. Sonya—”

  “I knew it, Sam,” Michael said before she could tell him about the unexpected aneurism that had burst in Sonya’s brain and the doctors’ subsequent grim prognosis.

  “Please, listen,” she cried. “You don’t understand.”

  “I don’t understand what? That you’ve decided our wedding isn’t going to happen after all. I think I figured that out on my own.”

  “No. I love you, Michael. I was hoping you would come back to New York,” she said. “You’ll have no trouble finding a job here. We can still get married.”

  “Why would I move back, Sam? You’ve made it pretty clear where I fall on your list of priorities. You’ve picked trying to please your father over having a life with me.”

  She sank down on the bed they hadn’t shared since his last trip to Manhattan more than a month earlier. Even then, things had been strained. “That isn’t fair.”

  “Tell me about it.” His tone had taken on an edge she’d never heard before. It scraped over her emotions, leaving them raw. “So, what scrap is Daddy offering you now?” he asked, alluding to their earlier conversation.

  She wanted to weep, to lie back on the down comforter and cry out her heartache. She might have if pride had not come to her rescue. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a scrap. He’s made me an account executive at Bradford.”

  “Account executive, huh? It sounds like you got what you wanted.”

  No. What she wanted most was slipping from her grasp, but she wasn’t about to grovel. Michael had made it clear where she ranked on his list of priorities. “Yes.”

  “Well, I guess there’s nothing more to talk about.”

  “I guess not.”

  After she’d hung up, Sam had curled up on the bed and indulged herself in that long cry.

  Now, lost in the memories from seven years earlier, she curled up on a different bed in a different apartment, surprised to discover that she still had tears to shed where Michael Lewis was concerned.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MICHAEL had been back in New York for more than a week, and he couldn’t get Sam out of his mind. She stayed there, as pesky as a damned burr.

  It was probably just as well that her nasty accusation had ended what had been an otherwise pleasant conversation. Because before then, he’d wanted to kiss her. Hell, the night prior he’d wanted to do much more than that when he’d left her in the elevator. The fact that he hadn’t so much as shaken her hand was of small comfort. Ever since that night he’d been preoccupied with memories of the two of them.

  She’d haunted him before, but this was ridiculous. Not to mention counterproductive. That was probably her intent, he decided. She wanted him rattled and off his game.

  Seated behind his desk at Grafton Surry, Michael gave up all pretense of proofreading the copy for a print ad and gazed out the window, which boasted a respectable view of midtown. It was spring in Manhattan. Even in this gritty, urban setting, signs of life renewing itself were obvious and abundant. As were signs of the primal urge to mate, if the pair of pigeons cooing and strutting about on his window ledge were any indication.

  Maybe it was the season that had kicked his libido into high gear. Maybe it had nothing to do with Samantha Bradford at all. Or only a little, he conceded, recalling the feminine sway of her hips as she walked and the habit she had of tucking her hair behind her ears. For no reason he could put a finger on, he’d always found that habit incredibly sexy. Not to mention the sinuous way she stretched in the morning or…

  He closed his eyes and bit back a groan. Damn spring. Damn hormones and urges and chemistry. And damn Sam for still having the power to mess with his mind.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  Michael opened his eyes to find Russell Zelnick standing in the open doorway. Russ was an account supervisor and as such had the coveted corner office. Russ didn’t like Michael. Apparently, he assumed Michael was after his job. Michael did envy Russ his larger corner office, but he wasn’t after the man’s position at Grafton Surry. He had no ambition to climb the ladder here. Starting his own agency was Michael’s ultimate goal. It had been his goal since the day he graduated from Princeton and tossed his mortar board in the air. He was getting closer to that goal by the day, soaking up experience and knowledge, getting his name known and saving for a proper office with money he’d earned rather than inherited.

  “You’re not interrupting anything.” Michael straightened in his seat, cleared his throat. “Is there something you needed to see me about, Russ?”

  “Yes.”

  The other man stepped fully into the office and closed the door behind him. That was never a good sign. Nor was the fact that Russ’s face was florid, his expression grim. He was breathing heavily, as if he had jogged down the hall from his office, though Michael knew Russ eschewed any kind of exercise. The man was only forty-five, but thanks to high blood pressure and the few dozen extra pounds that padded his waistline, he was a heart attack waiting to happen. His next words had Michael fearing that the big one might be coming any minute.

  “I got a call a few minutes ago from John Wells at Rawley Fitness Centers. He says he wants to take Rawley in a new direction, and he feels another agency can offer him that.”

  The account was Michael’s, one of the first he’d landed for Grafton Surry when he’d moved back from California to join their operation more than a year ago.

  Michael shook his head in disbelief. “There must be some mistake. He’s been happy with the current campaign. He said it was one of the best he’s ever seen and very effective in reaching a wide range of demographics. We have the numbers to back that up.”

  “Well, someone else is offering him something better,” Russ snapped.

  Michael’s own chest felt tight hearing that. He had a pretty good idea who that someone else was.

  Russ went on. “Just what in the hell is going on here, Lewis? This makes the second account of yours in the past eight months that has wanted to bail.”

  “Don’t worry,” Michael said. “I’ll call him and get this straightened out.”

  Russ’s eyes narrowed. “Like last time? Are you saying this is just another misunderstanding?”

  “No. More likely it’s a negotiating strategy,” Michael said evenly. “The economy being what it is, everyone is looking to tighten their belts.”

  “Yeah, well if your accounts keep looking elsewhere, belts might have to be tightened around here.”

  With that ominous pronouncement, Russ left. Michael wasn’t worried about losing his job. If worse came to worst, he’d move up his schedule for opening the Lewis Agency. It might require him to dip into the funds he’d inherited to afford the offices he was after. Though he preferred to earn his own way, that wouldn’t be the end of the world. Losing the Rawley Fitness Centers account, however, wasn’t an option. Especially losing it to Sam.

  He was on the phone a moment later, making his case. But after a lengthy phone conversation, the only promise he managed to secure from John Wells was for a mere half-hour appointment later in the week.

  He decided it was time to pay Sam a little visit. First, however, he placed a second call. He’d already begun to play her game. Now it was time to up the ante.

  Randolph never knocked before entering Sam’s off
ice. He might be her boss as well as her father, but it still bugged her that he didn’t feel the need to abide by the rules of common courtesy. He burst in now as she spoke to a client on the telephone. Rather than leave when he noticed she was otherwise occupied, he stalked around the room and waited for her to wrap up the call.

  The moment she did, he said, “What’s the status of the Herriman account?”

  Even though Randolph and a handful of other Bradford account executives had gone to the advertising conference in Atlanta, Sam was the only one who’d heard the rumors. She considered that a coup, and it helped to make up for the fact that she’d lost the Addy to Michael. Her father hadn’t been pleased to learn that. Monday morning at the office had been a tense affair until she’d told him about the hotel chain’s advertising concerns.

  “It doesn’t appear to be a rumor, although I haven’t been able to get it confirmed through Herriman’s advertising manager.”

  “I have,” he shocked her by announcing.

  Sam rose from her seat, not incredulous but angry and, yes, wounded. This was her account, assuming it turned out to be an account at all. And he’d gone behind her back as if he didn’t trust her to do her job. “You called Sidney Dumont?”

  “No, but I ran into her assistant at the gym yesterday evening. I acted as if I knew it was a done deal that they wouldn’t be re-signing with their current agency, and he didn’t contradict me.” Randolph offered a cunning grin. “I gave him my business card and told him we would be putting together something fantastic for them to consider, and to expect a call from us in the near future.”

  She blinked. “Us? You mean me, right?”

  Randolph smoothed down his silk tie, fussing with the diamond tack that held it in place. He liked fine things and spared no expense when it came to his wardrobe. It was only with his affection or praise of Sam that he was stingy.

  “This is a big account,” he began. “Herriman’s advertising budget is, well, astronomical.”

  “I know exactly how large their budget is, Dad. I’ve spent the past few days researching it and their market, remember?” She folded her arms. “Are you saying you don’t think I can handle it on my own?”

  His smile bordered on condescending. “I think you’ve made tremendous strides since you stepped in for Sonya, but—”

  “No!” Sam stalked from behind the desk to stand in front of him. He was a tall man, and though she had to look up to him, she didn’t respect him at that moment. “I won’t allow it. This is my account.”

  His gaze narrowed. “What do you mean, you won’t allow it? Might I remind you who owns this agency? Might I remind you who works for whom?”

  “You’re not being fair to me.” Again. She had to bite her tongue to keep from adding that. Randolph had never treated her fairly, either as an employee or as a daughter. The fact that after all these years and all of Sam’s hard work he still considered the job to be Sonya’s proved that.

  “This is business, Sam.”

  “Fine.” She nodded vigorously. “Then let’s look at my work record. I’ve been an exemplary employee and you know it. I’ve landed some pretty major accounts for Bradford. I put in longer hours around here than anyone but you. During this past year, two of my print campaigns have finaled in the Clio and Addy competitions.”

  “Neither of which you won,” he pointed out.

  Sam lifted her chin. “That may be, but no one else at Bradford had their work in the finals.”

  “Awards aren’t everything.”

  “Right you are.” She went back behind her desk and with a few clicks of the mouse brought up a spreadsheet on the computer screen. “So once again I’ll defer to my sales record.”

  “You’ve done well,” he conceded without looking at the numbers, which no doubt he’d already committed to memory.

  “So, why are you treating me as if I’m a green account executive who still needs hand holding?”

  Randolph tugged on his mustache. Finally he relented with a curt nod.

  “Fine. The account is yours. But I’ll be following your progress closely. I don’t want this one to get away.”

  “I’m not going to let it.” Then she grinned. “Oh, and speaking of landing new accounts.”

  Sam told Randolph about Rawley Fitness Center’s all but guaranteed defection from Grafton Surry.

  “Isn’t that Michael’s account?”

  “It was,” she corrected.

  “He’s going to regret having you for an enemy.” Randolph chuckled softly. “Hell hath no fury and all that.”

  Sam didn’t care for the description. “It’s not like that, Dad. Whatever was between us is long over. This is purely business.”

  But once she was alone she could admit that stealing her former fiancé’s client offered the side benefit of being personally satisfying.

  This was business but it was also a pleasure, Michael decided as the taxi cab pulled to the curb in front of the building that housed Bradford’s offices in midtown. He was smiling when the receptionist took him to see Sam.

  The grin slipped a notch when he stepped into her office. It was bigger than his, its view of Manhattan better since it had a higher vantage point and boasted an entire wall of windows. He found those details irksome, but since she was the boss’s daughter, Michael decided not to get his ego in a knot. Nepotism had its perks.

  “This is a surprise,” Samantha said. She didn’t rise behind her desk, which looked like a cement rectangle balanced on four metal pipes. Rather, she motioned for him to take a seat on the three-legged chair opposite it that looked about as comfortable as it did sturdy.

  The decor surprised Michael. It was eclectic and far too modern for his taste. For that matter, he wouldn’t have suspected it to be Sam’s. They’d lived together for a time, after all. After moving into their small studio apartment in the Village, they’d picked out the furniture together, both of them gravitating toward clean lines that provided comfort.

  “I’m sure it is. I thought about calling, but decided I wanted to have this conversation in person.”

  “Oh? Everything all right over at Grafton Surry?” She smiled sweetly after making the inquiry.

  “Fine, although I had an interesting talk with the advertising manager at Rawley Fitness Centers a couple of hours ago. I believe you’re familiar with John Wells.”

  “We’ve become fast friends, yes.”

  It took an effort not to grind his molars together when she offered a second beatific smile. “He mentioned wanting to take the advertising for Rawley in a different direction and doesn’t want to renew the contract with Grafton Surry.”

  She made a tsking sound. “I know. Apparently he wasn’t completely satisfied with what you had to offer, though your campaign’s reach is admittedly broad and well thought out. Still, when I dropped in the other day with a mock-up of my idea and some numbers I thought he might appreciate…” She shrugged. “As the saying goes, I had him at hello.”

  “John mentioned that he likes some of your ideas,” he said slowly. That bugged Michael. Even more, it intrigued him. Just what in the hell had Sam come up with that could cost him the contract? Not to be egotistical, but he felt the Rawley campaign was one of his best.

  “Stellar is what he called them when we last talked.” She tucked a hunk of dark hair behind one ear and fiddled with the small silver hoop that was revealed.

  Michael forced his gaze back to Sam’s eyes. The amusement he saw reflected in their dark depths went a long way toward making his hormones behave. “I think I have something even better to offer him.”

  “Gee, Michael, isn’t it a little late to bring out your A game?”

  He ignored the insinuation that his other work had been below par. “John’s agreed to meet with me later in the week.”

  He enjoyed watching her smile dissolve at the news, though he had to admit, she rallied fast. With a negligent shrug Sam replied, “A professional courtesy, I’m sure.”

  Michael d
idn’t want to admit that she might be right. “I guess we’ll see.”

  “Well, good luck.” She almost sounded sincere until she added, “You’re going to need it. I’m particularly proud of the new angle I came up with for the company’s gyms.”

  She fiddled with her earring again and then tucked a handful of hair behind her other ear, leaving him with the feeling that she remembered his weakness and was doing it on purpose.

  “Fitness centers,” he ground out.

  “Excuse me?”

  “John says that calling them gyms tends to put off the female clientele. But you probably know that from all of your research into the company. I’m sure it was just a slip of the tongue.”

  It was small of him, but he enjoyed watching Sam’s jaw clench.

  “Is this what you rushed across town to tell me in person? That you’re going to try to win back the account I snatched away with my superior campaign?”

  Michael chose to ignore the superior barb. “I wouldn’t say I rushed across town.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the chair’s boomerang-shaped back. “Actually, I stopped for a cup of coffee on the way. Have you tried that new place on Forty-Third Street near Fifth Avenue? They roast their own beans, you know.”

  “Potential client?”

  “Given recent events I’m not sure I should tell you that,” he said with a wry smile.

  Samantha folded her hands on the desk blotter and chuckled. “Wow, Michael, you’re taking this well. You’re even making jokes. I thought you’d be furious to lose Rawley to me, especially given how large the account is.” Her lips puckered and she whistled for effect before adding, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but when the receptionist buzzed to say you were in the lobby, I figured you were going to be all threatening and irate.”

  “Would you have called security?”