Flying High

Striker’s blue eyes narrowed. “You don’t find this all just a little too…calculating?”

“I consider it a prudent, professional approach.” Or at least Patrick did, and since Patrick was her boss, and since she desperately wanted that promotion, this was the approach she was taking.

Striker rolled his eyes.

“What? How would you suggest I go about it?” If Striker had a better idea, she was all ears.

He moved a little closer, increasing the impact of his stare. “What about ditching all the clandestine plotting? Meeting someone legitimately? Letting them get to know you? Maybe falling in love?”

Erin felt as if the floor had shifted beneath her. She gave her head a little shake. “In love?”

“Yeah. You know. The old-fashioned way.”

His words made no sense. “You’re suggesting I try to get clients to fall in love with me before signing a contract?”

“Clients? No offense, Erin, but calling them clients makes you sound like a hooker.”

Erin opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She tried again and managed a squeak. “A what?”

“You’re marrying a man for his money.”

“I’m not marrying anybody.”

“Excuse me. My mistake. You’re signing a ‘diamond contract.’”

Erin stopped.

She squinted.

She sifted through the conversation.

“Uh, Striker?”

“What?”

“What is it you think I’m doing here?”

He raked a hand through his shaggy hair. “Trying to get Allan Baldwin to marry you.”

Erin let her chin drop down to her chest. She covered her eyes with her palm and shook her head. “Oh, boy.”

“What?” Striker sounded puzzled.

She peeked up at him. “I’m trying to get Allan to sell me diamonds, not give me diamonds.”

Striker’s brow creased. “Sell them to you how?”

An astounded smile tried to force its way from between her lips. “I’m a wholesale buyer for Elle Jewelers. You may have heard that Allan Baldwin owns a diamond mine.”

Striker blinked once. “You’re a diamond buyer?”

She nodded.

He blinked again. “Oh, well…In that case…I guess my estimation of your character just went up a notch.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“So, what exactly is one notch up from a hooker?”

3

AT ASHER’S ON MAIN STREET, in downtown Pelican Cove, Striker watched Erin’s dubious expression as he shrugged into an olive-green, double-breasted jacket above a pair of navy slacks. Awash in embossed gold buttons, with lapels out of the seventies, the jacket was tight across the shoulders and loose in the body.

It served her right.

Even if she wasn’t trying to land a rich husband, she was still planning to pull one over on Allan. Striker figured he owed it to his friend to at least make her work for the introduction. Besides, it was a kick to feed into her prejudices by playing the uncouth bohemian.

She wanted him so badly? Well, now she had him. And he was going to enjoy every second playing Eliza Doolittle to her Henry Higgins.

He struck a pose in front of the three-sided, full-length mirror, hoping he wasn’t overacting. “Now this is what I call an outfit.”

The salesman stared, his jaw dropping open in abject horror while Erin let out an ill-disguised gasp. Striker could see the panic building on her face.

She was going to kill him if she ever found out he was yanking her chain.

“Would the gentleman like to try the Hillsboro, as well?” the salesman asked diplomatically, holding up a charcoal suit. “Just as a comparison.”

“Does it come in brown?” asked Striker.

The man’s forehead wrinkled. “I’m…afraid not, sir.”

“The gray is nice,” said Erin, regaining her composure. “You should really try it on.”

Striker made a show of frowning. Truth was, Hillsboro was one of his favorite designers. Though his mother always made a fuss if he bought suits off the rack.

“The burgundy tie would go well,” said the salesman.

Striker accepted the clothes. “You sure you don’t like this one?” He posed in front of the mirror one more time.

“Not quite right,” said the salesman.

“Definitely no,” said Erin.

“Okay,” said Striker, closing the changing room door behind him and smirking into the mirror inside. This was the ugliest jacket he’d ever seen.

He stripped off the suit and changed into the Hillsboro, which fit just fine. He absently tied the burgundy striped tie while slipping into a pair of loafers the salesman had provided.