Free Permanent Marker by Angel Payne Page A

she had no idea where they were going for dinner, the Beyoncé-meets-Margaritaville look was the winner by default.
    That solidified her resolve to throw aside the obsessions of the afternoon and keep her head snapped on straight tonight. Her body was officially cut out of the equation.
    Feeling strong and clear, she stamped a professional smile on her face and opened the door.
    Her smile dropped. An impeccable dark suit filled her doorway, but Mark Moore wasn’t in it. The square-jawed guy with the military hair, and the security radio in his hand gave her a deferential nod before speaking in a warm Texas drawl.
    “Evenin’, Ms. Fabian. I’m Brandt Howell, GRI security team. The senator got a bit hung up and asked me to come escort you to him.”
    She blinked. “Hung up? Is he okay?” And why did he have company security come get her, instead of just calling and saying he’d be late? Dealing with this man was like navigating a very twisted road.
    “Oh, yeah!” Brandt’s grin took up half his face. “Totally fine, darlin’. He just got to flapping lips with the big man, the way they always do, and lost track of the time. You ready?”
    “Uh, yeah.” She didn’t have the guts to ask what he meant by “big man,” since Brandt implied she already knew. Her curiosity spiked with every step they took toward the part of the hotel where the larger suites and VIP villas were located. When they arrived at an arched, ornate doorway, she went ahead and let nervous back in to the party of her emotions.
    The next second, nervous stepped aside for staggered. And to her horror, a case of complete speechlessness.
    Brandt’s “big man” was the big man. Dante Tieri, CEO of Global Restoration. She tried to imagine her eyes were a movie camera and she could just pull focus and change the sight, but the man’s distinct, tall form was still parked on a couch opposite Mark, a tumbler of scotch balanced between his hands as he leaned forward, apparently enraptured by every word from Mark’s lips. Mark took a sip from his own drink before he cracked some quiet joke, making Mr. Tieri throw back his head with its famous thick and tumbling hair. Rose scowled and blinked hard. Was Mr. Arrogance really sitting there trading one-liners with Dante freaking Tieri?
    She shifted, feeling like she’d walked in on something she shouldn’t have.
    “Ms. Fabian.”
    His voice claimed the word, making it caress and command at once. Her blood went hot, and her nerves turned to icicles.
    She plastered the professional smile back on. “Good evening, Senator. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t realize you still were…uh…”
    What? In a meeting? Flapping lips, as Brandt put it? Holding court, as she saw it? Well, that explained the suit now. Damn, it had to be his thirteenth hour in the thing, and he still looked cool, impeccable, and chiseled as a Dolce & Gabbana ad in it too.
    “You’re not interrupting. Inferno Boy and I are just finishing up.” His entire face warmed as he took her in, eyes crinkling and lips parting, before he pressed a hand to the small of her back and led her over to— Inferno Boy? Now there was an impression impossible to shake for a long time. Like forever.
    “Mr. Tieri,” she murmured. “Hello. I’m—”
    “Rose Fabian.” The head of her company had already gotten up to extend his hand, flashing the signature smile with which, according to the tabloids, he’d shattered supermodels’ hearts across the globe. Now face-to-face with the full wattage of the look, Rose understood why. “I already know all about you,” he said. “Mark’s been singing your praises for the last hour.”
    “Dante.” It sounded almost like a reprimand. “My daughter does the singing, not me.”
    Tieri shot his friend a knowing snort. “Yeah. How could I forget?” He flashed the signature grin at her again. “Scratch the singing. You’re still his star student.” A wink followed, really more a kiss of the man’s