Page 25 of Secret Offer
“Argos. Sebastian Argos.”
Forcing myself not to stare at her, I take the open chair and sit, keeping my bearing as casual and in command as possible. Being so close to the woman I was buried to the hilt in not even an hour ago makes it difficult. I still can’t believe the universe dropped the one woman I can’t have right into my lap.
I can’t even imagine how bad it would look if anyone found out I’d been messing around with one of the agency’s bachelorettes. The degree of unprofessionalism is staggering. Not to mention, three men with very deep pockets will be vying for her attention soon enough, each of them tossing cash intothe ring until one comes out on top. If any of them knew that I’d slept with their prize…
“Mr. Argos,” Mrs. Tisdale says, “Have our personal requests been taken care of?”
I think of my new concierge, still failing to meet the demands of her position. I can only hope that she’s handled everything, or that Margo has stepped in if necessary. There are a few things, however, that I had to take charge of myself.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer smoothly. “You’ll have the resort almost entirely to yourselves, as you asked. The only other guests are those of high status who had prior reservations that I was obliged to honor. Regardless, no one should bother you. The private beach is yours. The chef will prepare a daily menu according to your dietary specifications. And the spa has been fully staffed to meet all your needs.
“As you know, once the Junkanoo Festival gets going next week, the resort will be at full capacity. I do hope you’ll enjoy every moment of your stay here.”
I glance at Blair’s glossy red fingernails. They dug so nicely into my back while I fucked her.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Tisdale says.
“Although,” I add, “it looks like Blair won’t be needing a manicure. That is a lovely shade of red, might I add.” Almost as lovely as the color rising in her cheeks as I compliment her. “I hope they indulged all your needs.”
“Oh, they indulged my needsvery well,” Blair says, tilting her head as she smiles at me.
Oblivious to the friction between me and her daughter, Mrs. Tisdale waves down the waiter for a refill of her champagne. Blair pushes her glass across the table for a top-up as well, but her mother blocks her with a hand.
“You’ve already had enough, Blair. Control yourself.” To the waiter, she adds, “She’ll just have sparkling water.”
Sunshine tightens her lips into a hard line but doesn’t respond. I don’t appreciate Mrs. Tisdale’s tone, but I can see that there’s something deeper going on here than an overbearing mother’s rebuke over how much alcohol her daughter is drinking. Because the tension between them doesn’t flare brightly; instead, it simmers. This is something long running.
And Papa Tisdale remains mum as well, letting out a barely audible sigh rather than intervening on his daughter’s behalf. It only lends credence to my theory that Blair and her mother have a complicated relationship, one that Walter prefers not to involve himself in. Or maybe Mrs. Tisdale simply has trouble accepting that her child is a grown woman who can make her own choices about alcohol…and everything else. I’ve seen my fair share of overprotective parents in this line of work.
Witnessing this family conflict isn’t what’s bothering me, however.
The real thorn in my side is the fact that this gorgeous, driven, extremely sexy young woman sitting across from me has no idea that she’s here at the resort to be courted by three different suitors. She’ll think the introductions are random, when in reality, each meeting will have been carefully arranged for her by me, after choosing the potential matches who most seamlessly align with Blair’s values, interests, and passions. The kind of matches she won’t be able to stop herself from having instant chemistry with. And in the end, the choice will be out of her hands. The man she ends up with will come down to who has the most money to win her.
The thought turns my stomach.
Even though the agency’s matchmaking business has always been run this way, I’ve never thought twice about the fact that the women involved don’t realize what’s happening. Because the matches we make support the greater good. The eligible bachelorette gets an attractive, wealthy partner who is as well-suited to her as possible, and our track record proves that Quattuor marriages tend to last.
But now…it’s oddly unsettling to think of Blair in this position. To bear the responsibility of arranging her future. A future that, only hours ago, I was contemplating involving myself in, if only for an occasional fuck. What the hell was I thinking? And thank God I didn’t broach the subject with her. Now that I know her true identity, I realize that I dodged a bullet. Blair Tisdale is off limits to me for good.
The waiter arrives with the appetizer—seared ahi with ponzu sauce served over sliced cucumbers with edible flowers for garnish—and everyone seems grateful for the interruption. It’s usually a dish I enjoy, particularly as prepared by our chef, but the food tastes like ash in my mouth.
Turning to Walter, I attempt to steer the conversation back into neutral territory. “Mr. Tisdale, you informed us that you’d need a private workspace for the upcoming MLB draft, so I arranged a conference room for you in the business center.”
Blair looks sharply at her father, her eyes taking on an eager gleam that is all too familiar to me by now. Whatever she’s thinking about excites her.
“The room is soundproof,” I go on, “and a private phone line has been set up for you. Of course, no one will be allowed inside the room save for yourself and a staff member to assist you.”
“Wait a second.” Blair blinks and a divot appears between her brows. “Dad,I’msupposed to be with you tomorrow. We talked about this.”
Walter smiles at her and shakes his head slightly. “Well, sweetie, it’s just…”
That’s when it hits me:thisis the family business Blair had talked about so excitedly. The business she’s so passionate about, so convinced she’ll one day be in charge of. The Tisdale Corporation. The same Tisdale Corporation that owns the NewYork Rockets. My chest goes tight when I see the crestfallen expression on Blair’s face.
“Dad, I’ve been preparing for the draft for a year. I can tell you anything you’d want to know about all the up-and-comers, their stats, their social followings, what kind of career goals they have. I’ve been diligent. Let me help.”
“Blair, we’ll discuss this further in private,” her mother says.
But Blair continues as if she didn’t hear her. “I have put hours, weeks, months of my life into researching these players. I know the game, I have a business degree from Stern, and I’m telling you, I’m ready to step up. Please don’t take this away from me.”
