If I Had You Page 4

  “Yes,” Brent said, turning to Tracy. But whatever he was about to say turned into a tight lip at Tracy’s glare.

  Charisse almost giggled. This was why she needed Tracy. They were the perfect team.

  “I’ll give you time with your assistant. Think I’ll go hunt down coffee.”

  “Down the hall.” Tracy pointed down to the other end of the hallway.

  Charisse waited until Brent had walked away before she motioned for Tracy to close the door. Her assistant was too happy to comply.

  “Spill. You didn’t tell me that he was freaking gorgeous. What the heck? I tell you when I see a cute dude. I sometimes even show you their photos on my phone. But when you expect the same consideration, your boss plays greedy. But anyway, I liked giving him a hard time.”

  “Now stop exaggerating before he hears you.” Charisse looked over Tracy’s shoulder at the closed door. “Plus no flirting with the clients. So save your undercover sex kitten–librarian look for someone else.”

  “I get it. Hands off.”

  “It’s not like that.” Charisse refused to allow her thoughts to meander in that direction. “Go call Takahashi, and leave me alone.”

  “I’ve got some good news on the contract.”

  “That was fast.”

  “An ex-boyfriend who is the in-house counsel for an insurance company came in handy.”

  “Look who’s being resourceful. Did he make it back on your good side?”

  “Ah, no. Nice guy but no spark where a spark was necessary.”

  “I know what you mean. Sparks should never be taken for granted.”

  “My ex says that the contract looks good. Not overly generous but not bad, either. He thinks you have room to negotiate on a few points. Here is his number if you want to chat.”

  “Definitely.” Charisse took the number and placed it in front of her.

  “I’ll buy you some time with Takahashi. I’ll make it an hour. You need to close this deal. So don’t waffle. Call that number now.” Tracy headed for the door. “In the meantime, I’ll go see how our new client likes his coffee.”

  Charisse nodded. Brent had passed muster with Tracy. She felt much better and picked up the phone.

  Tracy’s ex proved to be a wealth of information. In fifteen minutes, she had the clauses circled and her objections noted. Now she had to turn on the businesswoman skills.

  A knock on the door interrupted her. She slid the contract off the table and into her drawer. It was time to slip into the driver’s seat.

  “Come in.” She knew it was Brent.

  “Ready for me?”

  “Actually I’ve gone over the contract, and I’m ready to discuss a couple things.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Given your longer-term plans, I recommend that the terms be twelve months. Anything less is handcuffing me and doing your client a disservice.”

  “Got it.”

  “I want to be able to use my own team or have the freedom to choose.”

  “But I have experts, too.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Charisse held her tongue and waited. If he had all the experts, he wouldn’t have needed her.

  “Got it.”

  “I’ve given you my fees and schedule of payments. Anything outside of the scope of reasonable time and specified services needs mentioning.”

  “Got it.”

  Charisse took a deep breath. “I’ll wait for a revised contract.”

  “Once that’s done, can we start working?”

  “We can discuss the schedule until the final version arrives.”

  Brent looked frustrated, but she wasn’t budging. She didn’t stop him when he excused himself and left her office. Instead, she pulled out the contract and looked at the first page with her handwritten notes. She’d never been fired from a job and hoped that this wasn’t going to be a first.

  “Your revised contract.” Tracy stood in front of her holding a sheaf of papers.

  “You’re kidding me. That was fast.”

  Brent walked up behind Tracy. “I don’t like to waste time. You’ll notice that about me.”

  Charisse noticed a lot more about him than that. He carried a power that drew her attention and held it fast. If she wasn’t careful, she would end up giving him her undivided attention. But she had a company to run and more contracts that needed to be won.

  Would Brent prove to be a distraction of epic proportions?

  “What’s your day looking like now?” He took the contract from Tracy’s hand and placed it in front of her. “Please sign, or else I know you won’t answer me on anything.”

  “Is this how you got that R & B group? Nagged them into submission?” Charisse took the papers and skimmed through the document.

  All her changes had been inserted in the latest version. Satisfied and relieved, she initialed each page and signed the last page.

  Brent stepped up and signed the last page on the line opposite her name.

  “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll take this from you so I can make copies and file them.” Tracy took the contract.

  “In my defense, I didn’t nag anyone,” Brent said. “I drove the group around and then took them to my mother’s for dinner.”

  “My mother is a darn good cook herself,” Charisse said. “But I never considered using her skills to make deals.”

  “Oh, really, well, we must put that to the test.”

  His voice stroked her skin. The mere thought of skin-to-skin contact with him caused a chain of goose bumps to pop up along her arms. She shifted in her seat and rubbed her arms.

  His gaze was innocent. No sly wink or wry twist of the lips to serve as a teasing invitation. But she wasn’t buying it. This man knew he was drop-dead gorgeous. Whether he wore casual off-the-rack clothes or his spiffy designer, custom-fitted fashion, he made a woman want to check herself in the mirror for his attention.

  “My mother can cook, too.” Tracy dropped the copies onto the desk.

  Charisse jumped, and was glad to see that Brent did, too. The mood in her office needed to be zapped out of existence. And she didn’t go after her attractive male clients. She certainly didn’t pursue men who didn’t share mutual feelings.

  “Welcome, Brent, New Vision looks forward to working with you.” Charisse offered her hand. “To a great partnership.”

  “I’m sure it will be.”

  “Charisse, you have to get going.” Tracy tapped her watch.

  “Are you available tomorrow evening? We can order takeout and hammer out the details before I fly back to Boston,” Brent interrupted.

  “Right.” Charisse pushed back her chair. “Tomorrow evening…ah, I guess so.”

  Multitasking wasn’t a strong point for her today. As she gathered up her briefcase, she wondered if this off-kilter feeling would diminish as she got used to Brent’s style. Normally her feet stayed grounded, along with her head and heart.

  “Great. Better go make your client happy. I won’t keep you from your appointments. Thanks for accommodating my crazy schedule.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Tracy, please make sure Brent is comfortably situated in the office.”

  Charisse didn’t move until Tracy took up being the tour guide for Brent. They walked together down the hall as she gave him a quick tour of the essentials like the kitchen and restroom.

  Tracy’s voice faded, along with Brent’s questions, which were occasionally interrupting the orientation.

  “Time to get moving,” Charisse said.

  She gathered her scarf and light jacket. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor of the hallway. She had to pass Shelby’s office—now Brent’s—before heading to the reception a
rea.

  Would the bright sherbet yellows and chocolate mousse color scheme drive him to distraction? She would love to see him unsettled. The room was probably a fraction of the size of his own office. She imagined that he had a grand office with all the latest technological gizmos.

  She slowed down as she approached the office, listening for Tracy’s or Brent’s voice. Instead it was quiet. She passed the doorway and saw him working on his laptop. Just as she thought he was about to look up, she hurried on her way.

  Brent sat in the office and exhaled slowly. Tracy reminded him of a drill sergeant, a worthy addition to any well-run office. He recognized the connection between Charisse and her. They obviously respected each other. Good vibes on a team were vital.

  With the contract signed, work had to begin immediately. He didn’t intend to come down heavy and desperate for her business, but he had the record company, production team, potential sponsors and eager family waiting for the guys to ignite. Unfortunately, these days they didn’t wait terribly long for an act to catch on. He may be confident in Charisse’s abilities, but the reality was that he was on a short leash.

  Tomorrow night he’d head back to Boston to work on getting the group to New York. The city might be brutal for new arrivals to the music scene, but it was the place to prove themselves.

  With the right planning and appearances at targeted venues, the guys could be a surprise hit. He sent a message to his secretary to work on the travel arrangements.

  An email popped up from one of his partners. It was a harried message about a new artist under their consideration. Another agency had just stepped into the mix and flown her to New York. The problem was that she hadn’t committed to his firm.

  “Darn it!” He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

  He wanted to unearth the diamond beneath her gruff exterior. With her gritty style and powerful voice, she would give the hot acts a run. Bottom line, he wanted her signed with his agency.

  Every client who came into Thatcher Entertainment had been vetted by him. He had a brand to build and protect not only for himself but also for his clientele.

  “Vicki, get in touch with Leila. Let her know that I’m in the city. I want to meet with her, as soon as possible.” He waited for his secretary to take notes. “Don’t take no for an answer.”

  He answered several more emails. If he didn’t keep up with the volume, the deluge could take up most of his day.

  A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. He snatched it up.

  “Yes, Vicki.” He listened to his secretary give him the news he’d hoped she get. “Tell her that I’m on my way. Now get reservations at the Club. Thanks.”

  He took a deep breath and then started shutting down his laptop. His schedule had now taken a sharp detour. As long as he was back this evening to work with Charisse, he’d be satisfied.

  A flash of color out of the corner of his eye startled him. He turned toward the doorway. Someone who he was sure was Charisse whisked past the door. He grabbed his briefcase to follow, hoping that he wasn’t mistaken.

  Brent didn’t make it to the elevator in time. He stabbed at the elevator button. The numbers lit overhead with its slow progress to the first floor.

  “Come on,” he urged. He stabbed the button once more.

  Finally the elevator arrived and the doors slid open. He almost pumped his fist that the cab was empty. Hopefully he’d have an express ride to the lobby.

  As soon as the door opened wide enough for him to exit, he slid through with a noisy exit. The security guard looked up at him, but when he waved, the man returned to signing in a messenger.

  Ahead he saw Charisse push against the revolving door, heading onto the street. He pulled out his cell phone and made a call to his driver. If he was lucky, his timing wouldn’t be off.

  Several taxis whizzed past Charisse. Looked like the New York cab system would help with his impromptu plan. By the third pass, she lowered her hand to her hip. He strode onto the street in time to see her mouth tighten in anger.

  Sexy.

  “Since I know I’m the culprit for making you late, the least I can do is give you a ride to your next appointment,” Brent said as he strode over to her.

  She had already stepped out into the street with both hands raised as if to forcibly stop the next taxi.

  “Good grief, you just scared me.” Charisse turned her attention from the street. Her hand gripped her blouse over her heart.

  “Well you should get out of the street before one of these crazy drivers make you into roadkill.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” Charisse said.

  “Okay, you stand on this sidewalk, and I promise to get you to your appointment on time.”

  She looked at him as if he’d said something strange. Her head tilted to the side, and she furrowed her brow. Finally, the sound of an angry horn made her hop to where he stood.

  Standing shoulder to shoulder, with her hair whipping, her soft fragrance drifted in the air with a light, floral scent.

  “I’ll take that offer.”

  Brent motioned to his driver who had hung back until he signaled.

  “Here, allow me.” He pulled a piece of torn paper from her hair.

  Her dark brown hair always had a healthy sheen to its thick body. His fingers lingered over the silky strands. Unbidden thoughts of his hands sliding through her hair, cupping her head, slammed into his consciousness. He withdrew his hand and even took a step back for good measure.

  “Thanks. That would have been embarrassing.”

  He nodded, fighting his body’s reaction to her proximity. He hoped that she sat all the way near the other passenger door. Instant attraction didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t believe in it—not since Marjorie. Moving on with the business was hard enough.

  Charisse followed his driver’s prompt to enter the car. She slid across the seat to the far end, as he’d hoped. He stayed close to the door near him. Within the confines of the car, her fragrance played havoc with his concentration. He adjusted his tie before playing with the knobs for the air-conditioning panel.

  “I appreciate this. I’m heading to 33 John Street.”

  Brent nodded.

  “Sorry, but I didn’t have time to touch up my makeup.” Charisse held up her compact.

  Brent pretended that he didn’t care. Yet he glanced at the deliberate movement of the lipstick gliding across her lower lip and then covering the top lip. His throat went dry. She smacked her lips together, and he almost groaned.

  The toffee-brown shade suited her. The gloss in the color accentuated her bow-shaped mouth with full lips. His gaze didn’t shift as she talked and continued retouching her makeup.

  “Seems like a lot to do,” he stated.

  “I can feel you being critical.” She glanced sideways.

  “I’m fascinated, that’s all.”

  “I know that I’m not the first woman you’ve seen put on makeup. As a matter of fact, I’m sure that you’ve seen your fair share.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He waited. “Now who’s being critical?”

  “Oh, come on. Good looks. Nice clothes. Fancy car. You could be a secret agent, for all I know.” She resumed tending to her brows.

  “That’s not my style,” he said slowly.

  Something in his tone made her pause. She snapped her compact closed and put away her makeup.

  “Sometimes you can’t help what comes your way. While you try to play the choirboy, I’m sure women have you in their crosshairs.”

  “Then it sounds like I need to be rescued.” Brent’s gaze slid from her to the scenery outside the window.

  The car jarred to a stop at a red light. The space narrowed between him and her. He cleared hi
s throat and repositioned himself.

  Thank goodness for the snap back to reality, he thought.

  Charisse looked at him. Her hand stroked her throat, playing with the thin gold necklace. “I’ve been tossing around a few ideas for the guys.” She tilted the air-conditioning vent toward her face.

  “I’m listening.”

  “As soon as you have a single, I think we should have a series of press junkets and meet-and-greets in record stores.”

  “Okay,” he nodded. “I don’t want any of those tabloid types to dilute the press pool.”

  “Understood. They can be vicious. One or two of them aren’t bad. If you get them on your side, they can be quite helpful.”

  “Can’t risk it. You can’t control the message.”

  “Why not? It’s time to think outside the box,” Charisse pushed.

  “Now you’re turning my words against me.”

  “I don’t need to remind you how many boy bands are out there. The public is fickle. These guys have to come up with something different.”

  “And throwing them to the tabloids to get their image ripped apart is the answer?” Brent’s temper flared.

  “Not if you have connections.” She pointed to herself. “Like me.”

  “It’s risky.” Brent had his roadmap for each artist down on paper. He ran his agency like he had run his law firm. Every step was part of a larger design.

  “You need the teen girls to want to get to know these guys,” Charisse said. “You want them to have momentum on Twitter and Facebook. I studied the DVDs you sent me. The group sounds good. They look good. They have all the ingredients to be a megasuccess, but no platform. Do they have what it takes to stick it out for the long haul?” she asked.

  “Are you sure you want to direct that question at me?” He stared at her, hating the question, as well as the tone.