a little nervous about having come from a solid middle-middle-class background. She hoped she didn’t do or say something that would embarrass her or Turner or both of them. Like use her seafood fork to eat her salad. Or, worse, use her seafood fork to put someone’s eye out. That could look really bad when it came time for her annual review at work.
And she had no idea how to strike up a conversation with a rich person. Unless it was to begin with something like, “Here are the papers you wanted from the office, Mr. Englund.” Probably, she thought, it would be best to just avoid any subject that could lead to a vicious argument. Like politics, for instance. Or religion. Or personal wealth. Or fashion.
Oh, she was not looking forward to the evening ahead. She had a bad feeling about this….
She reminded herself that their boss had invited her and Turner to the party as a reward for their exceptionally good work. He’d reiterated the invitation, after all, on Thursday morning, right after the call from Donetta Prizzi saying Englund Advertising had, for sure, won the Bluestocking Lingerie account, as long as he could guarantee that that nice Turner McCloud and that, um, interesting Becca Mercer handled it. Becca was supposed to have a good time tonight. Nevertheless, she already felt out of place and was glad Turner was with her. At least she’d have someone to talk to who didn’t make her feel nervous or poorly educated or plebeian.
Of course, he did make her feel really weird when she was around him now. Though that wasn’t any of his doing, she knew. She was the one who kept coming on to him, not the other way around—though his reciprocation of her actions hadn’t exactly helped her when she’d tried to figure things out. Not that she blamed him for that, either…
Oh, hell. She didn’t know what to think lately. Really, she decided, she and Turner both needed to talk more about what was going on. Eventually. When they were both less edgy about what was going on. Which she figured they would be in, oh…twenty or thirty years. Fifty, tops.
The important thing was that there hadn’t been a repeat of those two…bizarre incidents. She and Turner had passed the entire week without so much as a steamy look. Which, she had to admit, just went to reinforce that whole pressure-stress theory, making it seem a bit less lame. Once they’d landed the Bluestocking account, they’d turned their attention to other accounts that caused less tension. And they’d skipped their lunch hours so they could take shorter breaks during the day to go outside for an occasional smoke when they felt the need. This week had been a much calmer one, all things considered. And because of that, neither of them had felt the need to repeat their earlier sexual responses to each other. Becca was pretty confident that nothing like that was going to happen again.
No, she was certain it wouldn’t happen again, she told herself adamantly. Now that things were settling down with her and Turner, and now that they had the Bluestocking account firmly in hand, and now that their boss had no choice but to realize how important they both were to the company, they could relax a little and sort out what was going on.
Eventually, she repeated to herself. But not tonight. Because everything between her and Turner was starting to go back to normal. Yes, there was still a certain amount of tension humming between them, but that wasn’t exactly surprising. They were back to being friends again. And that, Becca was confident, was where they needed to stay.
“Nice digs,” Turner said now from the driver’s seat as he gazed through the passenger-side window at the Englund residence.
Becca nodded. Their boss’s home was something right out of an estate magazine. But when she turned her gaze from the breathtaking house to the man seated beside her, she decided the view was even nicer. Under his dark overcoat, Turner wore a dark suit—an honest-to-God, exquisitely tailored suit, too, with pinstripes, no less—and a white dress shirt with a tastefully patterned silk tie. Clearly, he wanted to impress their employer with his appearance now that he had impressed their employer with his abilities.
As did Becca, since her own attire complemented his, and was equally conservative. Beneath her swingy black velvet jacket, she wore a little black dress that fell nearly to her knees, with