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Ward’s stare wasn’t leering. He seemed to be assessing her personality rather than her flingability. She feared that if he was sizing her up, he’d find her lacking somehow.
And yet, underneath that, there was a spark of awareness. She’d almost swear to it. Of course, what was more disconcerting was her reaction to him. Why did his mere presence make her feel so much more aware of herself? Of the lock of hair that had slipped free of her clip and sat heavy against her neck. Of the way she’d kicked off her shoes when she’d first sat down and then scooted away from her desk without slipping them back on. Aware of her bare toes, with their silly blue nail polish, mere inches from his expensive leather loafers.
As if sensing her thoughts, he glanced down at her feet. He stared at them long enough to make her uncomfortable. And then swallowed noticeably. She jerked her feet under her chair and curled her toes under. He looked back up at her, his expression carefully blank.
When he spoke, his tone brooked no argument. “We need to talk.”
Ah, crap. He had been sizing her up. Here it comes. She was unprofessional. She was unqualified. She was disrespectful. He hated blue nail polish and her feet repulsed him.
She felt as though he could see right through her. As though any defense she might make would be fruitless. Not that he gave her a chance to state her case.
“There’s one thing I don’t tolerate,” he stated blandly. “That’s people who aren’t honest with me. You obviously don’t like me and I need to know why.”
She didn’t … what? She blew out a long breath, trying to process his words. He was worried she didn’t like him?
“It’s not—”
“Either you don’t like me or you don’t trust me. Something. Let’s get it out on the table right now. And don’t throw out that crap about not trusting celebrities. Because I don’t believe for a second that you’d let that get in the way of making Hannah’s Hope a success.”
She blew out a deep breath, trying to gauge just how honest she dared to be. Yes, she didn’t like celebrities. Ridley Sinclair had made her life horrible and she knew that most male celebrities wouldn’t think twice about acting that way. But in all honesty, nothing Ward had done since she’d met him indicated he was anything like those men. Which, somehow, almost made it worse.
She could dismiss someone like Ridley Sinclair. But hardworking, straight-talking Ward? He was much harder to ignore.
Since she couldn’t admit any of that aloud, she grasped at straws and pulled the first one that came away in her hand.
“Okay,” she said. “For starters, I don’t like the way you’ve stormed in here and taken over. You’ve been in town less than a day and you’re already blowing our budget on whiteboards and catered fruit trays.”
“I didn’t spend the charity’s money on those things.”
“Oh.” He’d spent his own? She suppressed a groan. Hot and generous? She was so screwed. Still, he was looking at her expectantly. So she yanked out another straw. “You think that makes it better? That if you throw around money, the things you want will get done? “
He flashed a smile with just a tinge of charming chagrin. “Generally, that is the way it works.”
“Well, not in my experience it doesn’t. If we’re going to reach all of our goals, we need to be realistic and conscientious and—”
“Let’s cut to the chase, Ana. Are we going to have a problem working together?” His tone was cold, his gaze quietly assessing.
Alarm bells started jangling in the back of her brain again. She rubbed the sole of one foot across the top of the other. Remember the odds. One superstar. Eighty-nine million bleeding-heart liberals waiting to take her place if she screwed up this job.
But even as that refrain echoed through her brain, she realized it wasn’t about that. Not really. The truth was, she didn’t really want to be attracted to him. Didn’t want to like him.
Ana drew in a deep breath—wishing he wasn’t sitting quite so close—and then she exhaled slowly.
Was she going to have a problem working with him? Maybe. Would he ever know it again? No. Nope. Nada.
She forced a serene and welcoming smile. “No, Mr. Miller. We won’t.”
His gaze narrowed slightly at the use of his last name, as if her formality annoyed him. She clenched her hands together to keep herself from fidgeting.
“Did you know, Ms. Rodriguez, that I was twelve the first time I performed professionally on stage? “
Disconcerted by his direct stare, she reached her hand up to tuck aside that loose strand of hair. It was all she could do not to fan the back of her neck. “No. I didn’t know that.”
“I had my first record deal at fifteen. Signed with my first major label at nineteen.”
Maybe it was the slow, lazy way he spoke. Or maybe it was the attentive way he met her gaze. This wasn’t him bragging. It wasn’t him trying to impress her. He was making a point. She had the feeling that when he got there, she wasn’t going to like it.
“I’ve been in this business for twenty-four years. Which is almost as long as you’ve been alive.” He shrugged with a wry smile. “Almost as long as I’ve been alive, for that matter. In my years in entertainment—” he rocked his chair back onto two legs, steepling his fingers over his chest “—I’ve dealt with all kinds of people who tried to take advantage of me. I’ve dealt with people who claimed they wanted to protect me. Wanted to be my best friend. When you’re in an industry like this for that long, one of two things happens. Either you become one of those crazy people who snorts kelp up their nose five times a day, or you learn how to tell when someone’s lying to you.” He let the chair drop forward onto its front legs. “I don’t like kelp.”
She fought the urge to bite her lip. Dang it, did he have to be funny on top of it all?
“Basically,” he continued, “there’s only one thing I do better than play guitar and that’s know when someone’s lying to me. So why don’t we start over and you tell me exactly why you have a problem with me.”
Three
His blunt honesty knocked the wind out of her. What was she supposed to do with that?
It’s not like she could say, “Hey, I think you’re really dreamy. Oh, and it kind of pisses me off.” Or even worse, “I’m woefully underqualified for this job. I’m barely keeping my head above water here and if you knew how close I was to drowning, you’d get me fired.”
Instead, she decided the easiest way to show him where she was coming from was to tell him a story of her own. “I was twelve when my parents moved here from L.A. Even though it’s only an hour and a half away, there’s a world of difference. My father accepted a job as the Worths’ gardener. My mother as their housekeeper. I grew up above the Worths’ garage. We may have been the hired help, but they never treated us that way.”
He was studying her, elbows propped on his knees, expression intense. Under his gaze, her breath seemed to catch in her chest. It was disconcerting to have him watching her so closely.
She was used to dealing with stars who only cared about your opinion when you were talking about them. But Ward seemed to actually be listening to her. Just like he’d listened to her staff during the brainstorming session.
Suddenly, the room felt tight and small. Like he simply took up too much space. She inched forward to shove her feet back into her shoes, then stood and nodded toward the door. “I’m going to go clean up the conference room. If you want to keep talking, come along. But if we leave that fruit out much longer, it’ll go bad.”
She knew he’d follow her, of course. It seemed like Ward rarely did what she wished he would. As they walked down the hall, she continued talking.
“I know it sounds like I’m just telling you my life story. But you have to understand, moving here from L.A., it saved my family. Not just my immediate family, but everyone. Once we moved here, aunts and uncles followed.”
His gaze narrowed slightly, obviously considering her words, but not yet fully understanding. How could he?
She turned to face him fully. “It may sound cheesy and cliché, but Vista del Mar is a special place. It’s not perfect. Sure we have our problems, but we also stick together. And we take care of our own. It was the perfect community to grow up in. To raise a family. At least it used to be. But now that Rafe Cameron has returned and bought Worth Industries …” She let her voice trail off as she realized how that sounded.
Ward must have keyed in on her tone of voice. “Can I assume you don’t wholly approve of Rafe?”
She ducked away from his appraising stare and studied the conference room. The detritus of their brainstorming session remained scattered throughout the room. She busied herself first with finding the lid to the fruit tray.
“I don’t want to speak badly of him.” She positioned the plastic lid in place and snapped it on with precise movements. “He’s your friend.”
Ward obviously didn’t share her sudden need for busyness. Instead, he lowered himself to the conference chair at the head of the table and stretched his legs out in front of him. “He’s also your boss.” There was a subtle edge to Ward’s voice. A word of warning, perhaps.
Okay. So that’s where the line was drawn. Good to know.
She nodded brusquely, ready to turn her attention to the muffin tray. There was only one muffin left. Banana nut chocolate. Her favorite. She left it out on the tray. She might need a healthy dose of chocolate later.
“Don’t get me wrong, I certainly appreciate all he’s doing with Hannah’s Hope.”
“Glad you appreciate the millions of dollars he’s committed to pouring into the community,” Ward said wryly.
Ostensibly, Rafe was head of the board of directors for Hannah’s Hope. But as far as she could tell, he wasn’t very invested in its success. He’d plopped Ward onto the board to be the face of the charity and then added in Emma, at Ronald Worth’s request. Plus, Emma was universally loved. So having her on the board buttered up the local community. Emma, who’d long been involved in other charities, certainly had the experience and the town’s goodwill, but Ana couldn’t shake the feeling that Rafe had included Emma solely to give the illusion of continuity between the Worth Industries that had been and the new regime to come.
Still, people in town were nervous. People who’d been at Worth Industries for years had been let go or were taking early retirement. Rumor had it, Rafe was bringing in his PR expert, Max Preston. Ana couldn’t help feeling suspicious about why a PR expert was needed.
She ignored Ward’s subtle dig and continued talking. “Since I’ve been back, I’ve noticed the whole feel of the town has changed. People are nervous. Worried. If Rafe closes down the factory, it would be disastrous for Vista del Mar.”
“I’m aware of that. But none of that has anything to do with Hannah’s Hope.”
“Of course it does. I could be more efficient at my job if Rafe were more involved.”
Ward frowned, not in an annoyed way, but more as if he was figuring out if he could help. “Involved how?”
“Just more involved.” She cleared away the last of the snack plates and grabbed a napkin with which to wipe down the table. “I’ve met the man precisely once and only for a handful of minutes when Emma brought me down for my official interview.” She resisted making air quotes around the word interview, but was unable to keep the disdain from her voice. Instead, she swiped the last of the crumbs into her waiting palm.
Her entire interview had consisted of waiting for over an hour, only to be led into his office, have him give her the once-over and return his attention to the laptop open in front of him. “Emma thinks you’ll do a good job. Don’t disappoint her.”
That had been the entire interview.
She dusted the crumbs off her palm and into the trash. There. That was better.
“You should be careful what you wish for,” Ward chided her. “Rafe can be an extremely demanding boss.”
She looked up to find him studying her with that intensity she found so unnerving. Funny, she’d thought it was the proximity that made him so nerve-racking. But it turned out he was disconcerting no matter how big the room.
“True though that may be, I would still appreciate a smidge more involvement from him.” She crossed to the chairs where the whiteboards were still propped. An eraser sat on one of the chair cushions, still in its plastic wrapper. “Other than the one time we’ve met, he’s only communicated via email. Every time I’ve sent him a question, he’s responded the same way.” She ripped the plastic off the eraser as she lowered her voice to mimic the way she imagined Rafe would sound if he were to take the time to actually pick up the phone and call her. “‘I trust your judgment.’ That’s all he says.” She rubbed the eraser across the slick surface of the whiteboard. It was oddly satisfying to strip away the evidence of the brainstorming session. If only all of her problems were that easily dealt with. “I’ve started to think he’s just copying and pasting from previous emails.”
“Or, he trusts Emma’s recommendation.”
While she’d been busy taking out her frustration on the whiteboard, Ward had stood and crossed to her side. She glanced up to find him standing far too close. Close enough for her to see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. How had he moved so silently?
She sucked in a deep breath and was once again struck by the scent of him. So clean and crisp. When she spoke, her words came out almost as a whisper. “He barely knows Emma.”
She cleared her throat, annoyed with herself for being distracted. Ward’s gold-flecked eyes were the least of her worries. But … what were her worries again?
Right. The fact that Rafe didn’t know Emma well enough to trust her opinion. And he knew Ana even less well. Given her scanty qualifications, how could she view Rafe’s trust as anything other than negligence?
“But he’s known Chase for years. If his brother trusts Emma, then Rafe does, too.” Ward reached out a hand to her arm.
Obviously, he meant it to comfort her, but instead it sent tiny fissures of awareness coursing through her. And then she looked down at it. His hand was large. Strong and powerful. His fingertips rough against her skin. And just so … capable.
Her breath rushed out of her lungs. It hit her then. This wasn’t just the strong and masculine hand of an attractive man. This was Ward Miller’s hand. The hand he used to do all that fret work for which his songs were so famous.
Something giddy and girlish stirred within her. Something deeply feminine. She felt her breath coming in short bursts as warmth flowed over her.
She forced her gaze from that spot on her arm where his skin touched hers, only to find herself looking up into his eyes, again. Dang it. Those were some dangerous eyes. They were eyes she could lose herself in.
Which was so not good, seeing as how lost she already felt.
She shook her head to clear it and tried to remember what she’d been saying. Hannah’s Hope. Right. How overwhelmed she felt. “I just … could use a little guidance. More involvement. More hands-on.”
“Well, then. You’re going to love me,” he murmured.
Then her gaze darted once again to where his hand still rested on her arm. Why hadn’t he moved it yet? Why hadn’t she simply stepped away? She felt heat flood her cheeks and she jerked her arm away.
She forced a stern note into her voice. “This isn’t a joke. Hannah’s Hope is important. It’s not just a charity, it’s an opportunity to bring together the whole community.”
“I knew that already,” he said, his own tone devoid of charm or humor. “Rafe convinced me of that before I even came out here. You’re right about one thing.” He gently pried the eraser from her hand and began cleaning the second whiteboard. “You can’t depend on Rafe.”
She forced her attention away from the smooth confident movement of his hands, surprised at his bluntness. “But—”
“He’ll do right by Hannah’s Hope. I guarantee that. But it would be shortsighted of you to rely solely on him for financing. You need to get more money flowing in and you need to get the word out about what you’re doing. That’s what I’m here to help with.”
His voice had that low seductive quality again that beckoned to her. Made her all too aware of how vulnerable she felt. And made her wish she had more crumbs to clean up.
Thankfully, he seemed unaware of it as he continued, “The Cara Miller Foundation has a lot of good people working for it. If you don’t trust me or Rafe, then at least trust them to do their job.”
She clenched and unclenched her hands in front of her, hating how nauseated she felt at hearing her own concerns voiced aloud. “So you think bringing someone in from CMF to do my job would be better for Hannah’s Hope?”
“Whoa—” He held up his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “That’s not even close to what I said.”
“But you do think someone else could do a better job?” Resentment spiked through her. Who was he to criticize the way they were doing things? He was a musician. It’s not like he had any hands-on experience running a nonprofit … okay, so he did have hands-on experience. “I’m sure that when you started the Cara Miller Foundation, you hired all the best people in the industry and were able to get things up and running in nothing flat.”
She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice. The Cara Miller Foundation was known all over the world for its work in early childhood healthcare. But she had no doubt that part of what had made the Cara Miller Foundation so successful was Ward. He’d brought the full force of his personality—not to mention his considerable wealth—to bear in the charity.
She released a deep breath, determined not to take out her frustration on Ward. Even if he was friends with Rafe, it wasn’t his fault that Hannah’s Hope was little more than an afterthought to Cameron Enterprises’ purchase of Worth Industries.
She paced to the far side of the conference room, but even that far away from him, she felt like his nearness was smothering her.
“You have to see where I’m coming from. The Cara Miller Foundation is a study in efficiency and effectiveness. The work you’ve done is …” She shrugged, looking for the perfect word. “Legendary.”
His lips curved in a faint smile, graciously acknowledging her compliment. “Thanks. CMF has a lot of great people working for it.”
“Exactly,” she agreed grimly. “And Hannah’s Hope has me.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He shook his head ruefully.
“I’m not one to pull my punches. Especially not when I’m dealing with my own failings.” She sighed, scraping her hair off her face, even though only a few locks had escaped. “I desperately wanted this job. And I desperately wanted to be great at it. And I’m just …” She floundered, finding it harder than she imagined it would be to put her own shortcomings into words. “I’m not as good at this as I expected. I thought the volunteer work I’d done in L.A. would be a solid groundwork for this. Plus, I’m smart. I’m hardworking, I’ve never failed at anything in my life. I thought that would be enough. But so far, it’s not. The sheer minutia associated with setting up a nonprofit is completely overwhelming me.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she snapped her mouth closed, wishing she could take them back. Jeez, of all the people to gripe to … Why’d she pick one of the two people who could summarily fire her? The board held her job in their hands. Emma would never vote to fire her, but if Ward persuaded Rafe, they’d have the majority.
But when she met his gaze, there was more understanding there than censure. His lips were twisted in a wry smile. His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not afraid of hard work. I’m not even afraid of failing. I just don’t want to disappoint others. In the four years I worked in Hollywood, I dealt with some of the most difficult personalities in the industry. After that, I was so sure I could handle anything.” Now she did laugh as she admitted, “God, I hate being wrong.”
He walked to where she was, then gently turned her to face him. “You weren’t wrong. You can do this.”
The fervor in his eyes, the sheer conviction nearly took her breath away. She was struck all over again by how handsome he was. By the fact that Ward Miller—Ward Freakin’ Miller—was here, mere inches away from her. Talking to her like a colleague. She shook it off. This was so not the time to wallow in his intense sexual appeal.
