“Now that we’ve agreed on terms, you’ll tell me the details of your proposal,” he said, looking completely unaffected by my touch from a moment ago. “Specifically, your plan of action.”
I rubbed my palms together, trying to dispel the electricity from my body. “First, you need a date.”
Confusion splashed through his expression. This was the last thing he expected me to say. “A date?”
I nodded. “I’m not going to dance around it. You seem like the kind of guy who appreciates it when people get to the point.”
“You’d be correct.”
My chest lifted as I took a preparing breath. “We need to bring your stock up, and the fastest way is for Cape Hill to see you with a new woman. It vouches for you and shows everyone it’s okay for you to step back into their circle.”
Macalister contemplated the idea with unease but didn’t rule it out immediately. He delivered the statement flatly. “You have someone in mind.”
“Yeah.” I shifted on the couch. “Evangeline Gabbard.”
He peered at me like I’d lost my mind. “I expect Mr. Gabbard will object.”
“It’s doubtful. He died last year.”
Surprise washed through his eyes. “How? Was he sick?”
“Plane crash.”
Mr. Gabbard had been working on his pilot’s license, and the small plane went down with mechanical problems not long after takeoff. It left his wife Evangeline widowed at forty-seven and—which most of Cape Hill didn’t know—saddled with a charity foundation that was a mess and in debt.
“She’s attractive,” I ticked off her qualifications, “well liked, and age appropriate. And as I understand it, she’s in financial trouble. If you start dating, that tells Cape Hill you’ve moved on.”
Even if it was a lie, we’d need people to believe Macalister was finally over his inappropriate infatuation with Marist. Word had spread like wildfire through the town about his declaration of love in front of the HBHC board. A man coveting his daughter-in-law was shocking, but that had been just one scandal in a day full of them.
He nodded in understanding and asked it like he was repeating a homework assignment. “So, I’m to seduce Evangeline Gabbard?”
“Uh . . .” My brain went fuzzy at the idea of him seducing anyone. “I guess that’s up to you. I was thinking I’d put my feelers out and see if she wanted to make a deal. You’re a finance guy, and she needs help with hers.” I pulled my eyebrows together. “I’m not sure she wants to really see anyone yet. It’s been a year, and I know there’ve been some guys interested, but she hasn’t taken anyone up on their offer. It makes me wonder if this arrangement might appeal to her.” Meaning it could help get people off her back if she was feeling pressure to start dating.
“This relationship would only be for show.”
“Yeah.”
He ran a hand over his jaw, letting his long fingers trail down over his high cheekbones, and I abruptly had to avert my gaze. The way he looked while he’d done it was violently sexy.
“All right,” he said.
My pulse skittered. “I have the greenlight on this?”
He sounded annoyed he had to repeat his approval. “Yes.”
“You were easier to convince than I thought you’d be. Most people don’t like being set up on—”
“I am not most people.” Macalister’s posture, even when relaxed and calm, exuded confidence. “What I am is practical, and your suggestion makes sense. You approach first. If she’s not open to the idea, then I’ll step in.”
It sent alarm bells ringing in my head. Macalister’s imposing, controlling way wasn’t a turn-for on too many people.
Just you, Sophia.
“There are other women we could try,” I said quickly. “If it doesn’t work out with—”
This was a done deal. He rose from the couch, acting as if I were no longer speaking, and strolled toward his desk. “Coffee.”
I floundered for a moment, not really wanting any, but also not wanting to be rude. “Um, sure.”
He stared at me incredulously, like I was supposed to be doing something.
Oh. My face turned warm, and I launched to my feet. He wasn’t asking me if I wanted coffee—he was telling me to go fetch him some. I pressed my lips together. If I was supposed to be his assistant, I had to play the part, didn’t I? “How do you take it?”
“Black.”
I suspected as much. Macalister was efficient, no-frills, so it made sense his coffee would be the same. My gaze ran the length of the room, double-checking there wasn’t a machine or side bar in here. This office was smaller than I would have expected, but then again . . . he’d only started using it today. It looked like it had been vacant for a while before this morning.
I hadn’t had a tour yet. I’d been escorted to his office by one of the security guards downstairs, but I still felt stupid asking. “Do you, uh, know where the coffee is?”