Free Tempting the Billionaire by Jessica Lemmon Page A

upholstery.
    Crickitt felt the frown dent her brow and quickly hid it. There was no reason for the man to be so brusque, but she wasn’t all that anxious to be on the receiving end of his steely glare, either.
    Townsend reached for one of the water pitchers in the center of the table and refilled his glass. He took a long drink, idly flipping through the portfolio while everyone, Crickitt included, held a collective breath. When he turned to the last page, he paused, and Crickitt caught a glimpse of MajicSweep’s new mascot. The idea was mentioned in the file she’d reviewed last night, but this was her first look at—
    “Sweepy the Broom,” Mr. Townsend grumbled.
    “Our art department took your suggestion to create a mascot,” Shane explained. He lifted his notes before continuing, “Carrie Dillard worked closely with our head graphic designer on the concept.”
    Carrie swallowed with an audible gulp . Shane nodded at her. “I agree with Carrie. A mascot is a great tool. Potential customers may choose MajicSweep over Company X because they’re familiar with your cartoon from billboards or television ads.”
    Crickitt eyed Shane, trying to discern if he thought this particular mascot was the best representative for a corporate cleaning service. While she agreed a mascot helped with company recognition, she doubted if Sweepy, a cartoon broom with wide, round eyeballs, would draw the kind of high-paying clientele Henry Townsend intended to attract.
    “What about you?”
    Crickitt looked up to find Mr. Townsend grousing at her.
    “Me?” she asked, her voice higher than she would have liked.
    “Yes, you. You look like you have something to say. What is your opinion about”—he held up the full-color grinning broom—“Sweepy, here?” He rattled the page when she didn’t answer.
    All eyes were on her. “Well…” She flicked a look at Shane who dipped his chin in encouragement.
    “To be perfectly honest…”
    Carrie’s eyes widened behind her glasses.
    “I think it’s…”—Crickitt cleared her throat and forced herself to continue—“silly.”
    *  *  *
    Shane was silent during the elevator ride to the ground floor, watching the numbered buttons rather than face Crickitt’s reflection on the doors. But, oh, she could feel his eyes boring into her now as they strode toward the visitors’ parking area.
    Thomas rounded the limo and opened the door for them. Behind her, Shane muttered, “Can you give us five minutes?”
    “Certainly,” Thomas answered. “I’ll just grab a cup of coffee. Can I bring you back anything?”
    “No, thanks,” Shane said.
    “Miss?” Thomas asked.
    Crickitt shook her head, wondering if she’d even be allowed in the limo when he got back. Maybe Shane would put her on a bus back to Osborn. Or make her walk. She doubted he wanted to ride home with the woman who tanked his reputation in the span of a few seconds.
    “Get in,” Shane instructed, one hand on top of the car door.
    She did as requested, grateful Thomas had left the AC running. Shane climbed in behind her, and heat infused the space between them. And this time, not because of the taut cord of attraction she felt whenever he was near.
    Wrestling with the cuffs on her shirt, she pushed the sleeves above her elbows, then fanned her collar over her damp bra. The door slammed as Shane settled into the bench beside her. Before he opened a can of “You’re fired,” Crickitt turned toward him and made her plea.
    “I know what you’re going to say, and you’re right. It wasn’t my place to speak so boldly in there. Mr. Townsend is a consummate professional. Like you,” she added, figuring a little sucking up never hurt. “I should have deflected his question, or at the very least answered with a bit of finesse. It wasn’t my intention to undermine your authority or insult our design staff. And I embarrassed poor Carrie who suggested the mascot in the first place.” She took a breath to give him a chance