Read Online A Murderous Game by Patricia Paris - Free Book Online

time than he did now. "There's a high
likelihood we may have to get together this weekend." 
    She crossed her arms, hugging them
to herself as if she didn't trust she wouldn't hit him. Oh yeah, she was on
slow burn.
    "Mr. Norwell hasn't said
anything to me yet. Have you informed him you're going with our firm?"
    "No. I was tied up all day in
meetings. I'll call him tomorrow."
    "Should I expect to work many
weekends?"
    He tried not to smile. "Probably."
    Why was he antagonizing her? He
knew as well as she did that once they got the campaign in place, there'd be no
reason for them to meet on a regular basis. GFI's internal marketing group could handle things ongoing.
    "I see." She looked out
the window.
    "There may be occasions when
I'll want you to accompany me to Chicago."
    Her head swung to face him and her
mouth fell open.
    What the hell was he doing? There
was no reason for her to accompany him to Chicago,
except one. The realization didn't please him. The mild attraction he'd tried
to reason away after they'd met for lunch had exploded into full blown lust as
he'd watched her sleeping on his office couch. Not, he cautioned himself,
something he should consider exploring.
    "Is there anything else I
should be aware of, Mr. Faraday?"
    "Actually, there is one more
thing. Since we'll be spending so much time together, I insist you call me
Gage."
    ~~~
     
    Their first meeting had not
unfolded quite like Abby had imagined. And that surprises you? Hello ?
    Why would she think the perfectly
conceived drama she'd played out in her mind at least a dozen times since
yesterday would translate into anything resembling reality? Life: starring a
pragmatic Abigail Carpenter? Oh brother, talk about your textbook oxymoron.
    Her vision of this evening had
included her, a polished professional, impressing Gage with her intelligence,
her poise, and maybe a touch of wit, because a sense of humor never hurt
anyone. Nowhere in the script had she inhaled two glasses of brandy, crashed on
his couch, and been tempted to enlighten him about his overbearing tendencies
toward inflexibility with a swift pop to the jaw.
    She couldn't even argue River Place
One shouldn't be her number one priority when it would be the biggest thing
she'd ever managed. Besides, every client she'd ever worked with considered
their needs her top priority. So Gage was no different in that respect.
Weekends and Chicago
were a little over the top, but she suspected that was an exaggeration.
    Her gaze drifted over the row of
quaint Georgian townhouses with their perky flower boxes and brightly painted
doors. Gage's insistence on bringing her home was really kind of sweet. Maybe
chivalry hadn't gone the way of mood rings and mullets.
    Why hadn't she just accepted his
offer graciously instead of turning it into a battle of wills? He had only been
thinking of her safety. Abby glanced across the seat at his profile, regret
souring the back of her throat. Dick had done this to her.
    "You know." She fidgeted
with her seat belt buckle. "I read somewhere lack of sleep causes memory
loss." Had she really? "People forget where they put things, or their
kids' names. They can even forget things that have been drummed into them from
birth, like good manners." She hitched her thumb toward the street. "Right out the window."
    "Is that right?" He shot
her a glance, and she almost sighed with relief at the humor she saw in that
quick meeting of the eyes. "You seem to be very well-read on the subject
of sleep deprivation. I gather it's something you're interested in?"
    She smiled. "Apparently."
    The things that had been written
about him were wrong. If he was really the cold, calculating man he'd been
depicted as in all those articles, he wouldn't be so likable.
    "Thank you for driving me
home. It was very considerate."
    He braked at the next stop sign and
looked across the seat at her. "You're welcome." They sat there for
several seconds, neither speaking, his expression looking thoughtful as