Free Chances Are by Erica Spindler Page B

pretense of working and closed the Dallas file. Leaning back in his chair, his thoughts returned to Veronique. Today she was presenting her proposal for the display department; she would arrive any minute. He'd only seen her once in the last ten days, at a department heads' meeting. She'd been wearing pencil-leg jeans, checkboard Vans, a clingy white tee and a straw cowboy hat. When she'd looked up at him and smiled, he'd wanted her so badly he hurt.
    Brandon shook his head. This fascination with Veronique was crazy. He knew it was linked to his father's death and his own grief and that it no doubt had to do with his need for a change of pace and his boredom. But rationalization didn't lessen the ache of wanting or expel her from his mind.
    Maggie buzzed him; the Miami store manager was on line one. What now? He picked up the phone and greeted the man, all the time wondering if Veronique had thought of him at all in the last ten days.
    * * *
    Veronique peeked at the nameplate on the receptionist's desk. "Hi, Maggie. I have an eleven-thirty appointment with Mr. Rhodes."
    The receptionist looked at her over the top of her glasses; Veronique smiled and the woman's expression warmed. "He's on the phone right now. Take a seat, and I'll tell him you're here as soon as he's off."
    "Thanks." Veronique sank onto the small, striped sofa and crossed her legs. After a moment, she realized she was clutching her proposal and set it carefully on the coffee table. She would never admit this to anyone, but she was nervous. She, the daredevil and gambler, was anxious about showing Brandon a bunch of numbers on a page. Her palms were even sweating. It was silly.
    It didn't feel silly, though, and she looked down at the envelope and resisted the urge to pick it up and go over the material one last time. This was her chance to really put her mark on the store. Her chance to make something that was a reflection of herself, something that would last.
    Veronique sighed and recrossed her legs. If she were being honest, she would admit that she was on edge about seeing Brandon again. She couldn't forget their last encounter, had replayed every word, had examined every response. And she wasn't a woman who analyzed. The blasted man had bested her! He'd made her feel submissive and yielding and totally, achingly alive.
    She glanced down at her hands. He hadn't called. She'd expected him to, and he hadn't. She'd done nothing over the last ten days but think of him, and he hadn't even bothered to call. She was annoyed—with him and herself.
    Maggie stood. "Mr. Rhodes will see you now."
    Veronique smoothed her short, denim skirt, then picked up her proposal and followed. The woman opened the door to Brandon's office and stepped aside so Veronique could pass. Brandon was sitting behind his desk; he stood and held out his hand when she entered. She wished the sun wasn't behind him so she could read his expression.
    "Veronique. How are you?" His gaze raced over her with a greediness that shocked him.
    She lightly clasped his hand; her pulse fluttered in response. She silently swore. She was getting tired of feeling like a teenager who'd just discovered hormones. "Fine. And you?"
    "Just fine."
    "Survived your hangover?" Veronique could have bitten her tongue when she saw his smile. He was no doubt remembering their last encounter.
    Brandon's lips tilted as a picture of Veronique wearing nothing but a towel shot into his head. He'd been a fool to walk out of that bathroom. "I had a few bad hours, but, yes, I survived."
    They stood there, hands clasped and eyes locked, for long moments. Veronique was the first to break eye contact. She cleared her throat. "Well..."
    Brandon looked down at their joined hands. How long had they been standing there? He was behaving like a lovesick schoolboy, and it wasn't a role he particularly liked. He dropped her hand. "Shall we begin?" he asked, his voice cool and businesslike. He motioned her to take the seat opposite his, then