help in case you guys start running behind on your schedule."
Carson nodded. Kat was right. No need to play for time when she'd already decided to sign on the dotted line.
Kat rose and pocketed her phone, then hurried out in a flurry of perfume and threats if Carson didn't obey her instructions, leaving her alone with the letter and her thoughts.
Carson sighed and reached for the contract, then skimmed through it, figuring there was no time like the present. She took the business card that Kat had so efficiently clipped to the top of the contract and dialed the number without missing a beat.
She was surprised when a woman picked up, her voice slightly raspy in a sexy way. She immediately got Carson's hackles up with her request that she spell out her name, and explain her reason for wanting the appointment.
Was she a servant or a personal assistant?
Carson shook her head. It didn't matter, did it?
Before the conversation was over, the woman had confirmed a dinner reservation with Mr. Sarkozy at Joshua's, a well-known restaurant where patrons usually booked days in advance.
Carson was impressed.
Eight sharp, dress code formal, and a car would pick her up at seven thirty.
The woman hung up before Carson could stress the fact that she hadn't wanted dinner, nor did she need the car. She just needed five minutes to show up, say yes, and sign the paperwork.
Carson glared at the phone. Too bad phones didn't come with cradles anymore. It was a damned sight more satisfying than slamming it on the table.
She had the whole afternoon to decide what to wear, eventually settling on the same dress she'd worn the previous night. It was partly because it was either that or the scarlet number that Kat had bought her in an effort to sex up her image, and partly because she wanted to ensure that Sarkozy got the message that he wasn't anything special, and that she wasn't going out of her way for him.
She got in a few hours of practice, going over the songs in their latest album since that would be the one they were touring. She was good with words, and it didn't take long before she was familiar enough with more than half the album to sing along with confidence.
The ringing of the phone disturbed her as she was hunting in her closet for her heels. I was Miss Annoying Raspy Voice advising that Carson hadn't left an address for the car.
Carson gave it to her through gritted teeth. The woman put the phone down before Carson could even say thank you. For the second time in one day, Carson wanted to smash the phone. Who was she, this woman who had the ability to rile Carson up with one misplaced husky breath? And why the hell was she allowing her to do it?
Carson slid into the dress, adjusting the generous cleavage so it wouldn't look too much like her boobs were overflowing from the neckline. A light dusting of makeup later, she slipped on her heels and had just picked up her clutch bag and the contract when the doorbell rang.
Carson grabbed a brilliant aquamarine silk shawl from behind the door and was throwing it over her shoulders when she opened the door to find herself face to face with Marek Sarkozy.
"You." The word slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.
"Yes. Me." His lip curled up in one corner, although the amusement didn't reach his eyes.
Oh, boy.
"Sorry, I thought..." She decided to stop talking because she had to close her mouth or she'd be gaping at how good he looked. A black tailored jacket hugged his broad shoulders, and he'd deigned to wear a tie tonight. She imagined it must be uncomfortable for him, considering the last time she'd seen him he'd been unbuttoned and untied.
He nodded briskly. "Normally I would have sent the driver up, but this isn't normally. You're to be a member of our team and you will be treated as such. The contract may be temporary, but you are far from the inadequate understudy in this equation."
Nice of him to say so.
Carson merely nodded, unable to come up with a