Was the ground shaking? "When I spoke with her, we didn't have a chance to discuss my fee." The most important matter, to my way of thinking.

"Money isn't a problem," he said, his eyes again roving to my mouth.

My cheeks heated. I had to get to a mirror ASAP and make sure I still didn't have dirt on my face. "I can't in good conscience continue until we've agreed upon-"

"Whatever the party costs," he interjected, silencing my protest, "I'll pay it."

Was he that enthused about celebrating his mom's next step closer to death's door? Or did he love her so much he wanted the woman happy, whatever the cost? "Mr. Powell, that's not a wise thing to tell a woman who hasn't yet named her price."

"True." He chuckled. "Why don't you work out the specifics and fax me an estimate."

I nodded. "Excellent."

"Good. Now, please, call me Royce. And I'll call you Naomi."

My name on his lips somehow seemed too sensual, like a mating call of some sort-a mating call my sexually bankrupt body definitely heard. I clamped my mouth shut before I did something stupid, like say out loud that yes, I'd have his babies. I managed another nod.

A high-pitched beep sounded a split second before I heard Elvira, Harpy of Doom, say, "Mr. Powell, Mr. Phillips is on line one."

Royce rubbed a hand down his suddenly weary face. "Will you excuse me for a moment?" he said to me. "I have to take this."

"Of course. Should I wait in the lobby?"

"No, stay where you are." He picked up the phone and swiveled his chair so that I saw only its back and the top of his dark head. "Do you have the figures yet?" Pause. He growled low in his throat. "That's why you called? Yes." Pause. "The one." Pause. "Yes. Glad." Pause. "You know I'll do what it takes to win."

Glad about what? Win what? Man, listening to a phone conversation when you could only hear one side of it sucked. Big-time.

"I'm in a meeting right now." Pause. "Yes." Pause. "Goodbye. Idiot," he muttered. He spun around and replaced the phone, his gaze on me, going all intent again. "Sorry. I'm in the middle of an acquisition, a merger of sorts." He waved his hand through the air. "Anyway, I wish I had more time to meet with you today," he said, with what sounded like genuine regret in his voice, "but unfortunately, I have appointments lined up all morning and I can't get out of them. Why don't I call you in a few days and we'll set up another meeting?"

At his words, a fine mist of red shrouded my vision. Yet despite my anger, my first instinct was to politely accept his offer and leave. Just like in the lobby, however, I squashed the urge to capitulate. I would not be a doormat. Not anymore. I'd spent cab money, had my purse stolen and had waited for over an hour. I wasn't leaving without finishing this meeting.

My fists tightened on the armrests of my chair. I'm a Tigress. "Mr. Powell, we haven't gone over a single detail yet."

"I want you to call me Royce, remember. Mr. Powell makes me sound like my father. And we'll have to go over the details another day."

"Royce." Be strong. Assert yourself. "I waited out there for over an hour."

"I only learned of our meeting a few moments before you stepped inside my office. I apologize for any inconvenience you've suffered."

Inconvenience? That red mist shrouding my vision became a boiling inferno. His apology didn't bring back my jacket or my favorite tube of lipstick. Teeth grinding together, I said, "Can't you spare ten minutes? That's all it will take. I have a list of questions-"

"My mother's visit threw me off schedule, and I'm afraid I can't even spare five." O-kay. Message received. Obviously, he was giving me the brush-off. He wasn't going to hire me and was eager to get rid of me. I found myself reaching out and lifting a notepad from the edge of his desk. I began itemizing my time, my purse, my lipstick (with twenty dollars extra tacked on for sentimental value), a new pair of shoes and, what the hell, a dry-cleaning bill.

"What are you doing?" He tapped the shattered edge of a pencil against his knee.

"I generally build the meet-and-greet into my original costs, but I'm making an exception for you. Here's my invoice for today's meeting." I ripped off the paper and handed it to him.

His eyes gleamed with curiosity as he read it. That curiosity was quickly replaced by amusement. "Lipstick?"

"My purse was stolen outside the building and my favorite tube was inside."

He frowned, losing all hint of amusement. "I'll have security look into it. That will not happen again."

"Thank you."

Pause. Then, "Is it okay if I mail you a check?" he asked.

"Yes." Like I'd ever see the money. "Of course."

"I'll make time for you another day, you have my word. In fact, I'll devote a full day to you and the party."

Liar, I wanted to say. "Fine," I said, giving up.

Exhibit A, my inner Tigress said. You're a weakling. Fight. Make him talk to you now. Don't let him kick you out like this.

"I'm so glad you'll make time for me," I added, ignoring my Tigress. "That's great. Wonderful." I handed him a business card, confident I'd never hear from him again. "Here's my number. Call me when you're ready to get together."

He took it, giving the surface a cursory glance. "On second thought, I do have something I want to go over before you leave."

"Won't that take up too much of your precious time?" I mentally patted myself on the back for that one, even while I kicked myself for such blatant sarcasm. The man had many influential friends who might one day need a party planner. But damn it, my knees still ached.

"For this, I'll make an exception," he said. "I have a stipulation you need to agree to before I officially hire you."

Officially hire me? I gulped. O-kay perhaps he did plan to get in touch with me later on. Oopsie. "Stipulation?" I asked, breathless.

"Prerequisite. Condition. Term."

"Thank you, but I know what a stipulation is."

"While you're working for me," he continued smoothly, "I want my mother's party to be your first and only priority."

Every muscle in my body stiffened. I should have realized this the moment I stepped inside the office, but it just now hit me. The man is a Triple C. Corporate. Controlling. And a total Commando. "I'm sure, as a businessman, you understand my unwillingness to allow someone to take my business decisions away from me."

"Yes," he conceded, but didn't rescind his request.

Make that Triple C slash Single B. Bastard. "I promise you, I'm quite capable of handling several functions at once."

"I didn't say you weren't."

"Never have I allowed one event to overshadow another." Not that I'd ever had enough events at one time to worry about it.

"I don't doubt your ability."

I nearly stomped my foot in vexation as he waited patiently for my agreement. "If you're going to insist on this-"

"I am."

"-then I suppose I'm forced to accept." I truly hoped one day soon someone would put Royce Powell in his place. Under a woman's three-inch spiked heel!

As if he read my thoughts, he flashed me a not-in-this-lifetime grin.

My blood instinct must have finally kicked in because my palm itched to slap it right off him. Jonathan, my stepdad, would have told me this rare bout of violence was because my teenage need to rebel was resurfacing, or something equally stupid.

"So we have a deal?" Royce asked.

"First, I have a stipulation of my own," I said. "I expect dou-triple my normal fee because I'll be turning clients away. It's only fair."

"Of course."

He wasn't balking? Why wasn't he balking? His easy acquiescence shocked me and nearly toppled me out of my chair. Maybe I should have asked for more. "So I'm officially hired, without having faxed an estimate and at triple my normal fee?"