Page 5 of Playing Dirty
"Er… technically, I'm not on the clock at the moment."
"Clearly." A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "So, on Monday I get the sweet, patient version? I'm looking forward to the introduction."
I desperately need to steer this conversation back toward professional territory before I dig this hole any deeper.
"Look, I really am sorry for the bad first impression," I say with a sigh. "I’m stressed because I want this partnership to be a success. I've poured two years of my life into this project. It's my brainchild, and I really hope you'll take it seriously."
"I will. You have my word on that." He sounds surprisingly sincere, which catches me off guard.
"Right. Well. I appreciate that."
"It should be fun working together, shouldn't it?" He gestures between us with his beer bottle. "Like oil and water."
I can’t help but smile despite my best efforts to remain irritated. "More like a lit match and a puddle of gasoline."
"Well, as long as you don't poison me with the good stuff, I'll take my odds."
"I'd never waste the good stuff," I laugh. "For you, I'd go straight for something that comes in a three-liter box."
He laughs again, and a small spark of satisfaction blooms in my chest. One I immediately try to extinguish. He certainly doesn't need any more encouragement, and I shouldn't be the person providing it.
"See, that's exactly the sort of expertise I signed on for." He tilts his bottle toward my glass in another toast. "To not poisoning each other."
I clink my glass against his bottle, and Carol materializes out of the crowd.
"You two have met!" she says. "Wonderful. Margot, he is your priority number one during this entire launch."
"Hear that, Ace?" Cillian says, his eyes glittering with triumph. "Priority number one."
"I heard," I say dryly, and take a long sip of my rosé.
A photographer materializes at my boss's elbow, lifting the camera. "Can I get a shot of the face of the label with our sommelier? Maybe an arm around her?"
"Oh, that really isn't necessary—" I start, but before I can finish, Cillian's arm settles around my shoulders, heavy and warm.
Heaven help me.
2
Cillian
The night is turning into a marathon of small talk. Usually I'm the first to appreciate an open bar, but right now I'm itching to be anywhere but this terrace. Still, the beer is cold and the view is world-class, so I can't claim I'm suffering.
It doesn't help that the tech executive in front of me hasn't paused for breath in what feels like an hour. He's babbling about some algorithm, and he's delivering the whole thing with a level of condescension that's almost a talent in itself.
I've been accused of having a healthy ego, but you have to at least try to read the room. Even I have enough sense not to bore total strangers with hockey stats all night.
"The entire landscape is primed for total disruption," he says, gesturing with his wine. "I mean, that's been obvious for some time, with the explosion of decentralized systems."
"Mm," I murmur, which is the most I've contributed in twenty minutes, though it seems to be plenty of fuel for his monologue.
Margot is standing beside me, doing a heroic impression of awoman who is actually interested, but I can see her eyes starting to glaze over. I still feel like a complete ass for not recognizing her earlier, even if I'm enjoying the way we've been trading barbs ever since.
God knows how I ever forgot her, because I can't stop looking at her now. I steal another glance and she shifts her weight, adjusting the strap at her shoulder. The dress is some blue floral thing, tight at the waist with fabric that drapes everywhere else, and the way it's cut at the neckline has been a distraction since the moment I walked up to her.
A rogue breeze sweeps across the terrace, snagging the dress for a second and I catch a glimpse of black lace and the pale, soft swell of her breast, and my throat goes bone-dry. The mental image of my mouth on that skin flashes through my mind, and I have to shove the thought away before I get hard right here in front of everyone.
I wrench my eyes back to Harold and nod like I actually give a damn about his lecture. Anything to stop me wondering what else she's got on under that dress, and just how quickly I could peel it off her.
