Wedding Vow of Revenge

By: Lucy Monroe



“You’ve definitely done your homework.”

She blushed at the compliment and he filed the reaction away for future reference. From the way she presented herself, he had to assume her beauty was of much less significance to her than doing well at her job.


Interesting.

And unusual.

“Many of your suggestions fly in the face of corporate policies the world over.”

She leaned further forward in her chair, her oval face animated and flushed in a way he’d like to see somewhere besides the boardroom. “Those management styles are as outdated as the all-male executive staff. They don’t work in today’s dynamic workforce, particularly the organic environment found in the hi-tech industry.”

“Why did you go for a job in hi-tech? Your résumé shows a strong liberal arts background for your business degree.”

She looked disconcerted by his question and settled back in her chair, biting her lip uncertainly. “The job description did not include a requirement in technological education.”

“I’m aware of that, but you did not answer my question.”

She smiled slightly. “Sorry. You’re right.” Her smile grew and her demeanor relaxed. “I like the stimulating atmosphere. Things are always changing, not just the products, but the face of the workforce as well. The job is challenging. But most importantly, I wanted to work someplace I could make a difference.”

“And you thought Primo Tech would be it?”

“Yes.”

He lifted the report that would have caught his attention even if it hadn’t been the ideal conduit for their first meeting. “I would say you are well on your way to doing so.”

“I’m glad you think so.” She beamed and he found himself smiling in return, something he rarely did.

His phone buzzed at exactly the moment he had instructed his secretary to ring through.

He lifted the receiver. “Gordon here.”

“Mr. Gordon, I’m ringing as instructed.”

“Thank you. And my other arrangements?”

“The reservations are made. Dinner at seven-thirty in the restaurant of your hotel.”

“Hold on just a moment.” He pressed the hold button and schooled his face into an apologetic expression, another one he used infrequently. “I’m sorry, I have to take this call.”

Tara stood hurriedly. “Of course.”

She was halfway to the door when he said, “Miss Peters.”

She turned. “Yes?”

“I would like to discuss the report further. Can you meet me this evening for a business dinner at my hotel?”

Despite the fact he had specifically referred to it as business, her eyes filled with wariness. “Dinner?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?” he asked, inflecting his voice with just the right amount of superiority and disapproval to remind her who he was.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, her lips flattened in a determined line. “No. I’ll be there. What hotel and what time?”

He told her and then watched her walk out of his office, his attention on the way her slacks outlined her heart-shaped behind. This aspect of his plan for revenge was shaping up to be more pleasure than work.

Seducing Tara Peters would be no hardship at all.



Tara got ready for dinner, her nerves more on edge than they had been in two long years. Why? Because the minute another magnetic, sexy tycoon came on the scene, her body had started reacting. She couldn’t believe it and was thoroughly disgusted with herself.

Worse, she’d seen immediately the unexpected feelings of attraction were mutual. She might have very little practical experience with men, but she’d been on the receiving end often enough to identify when a man was attracted to her. She’d learned early in her modeling career to recognize and avoid it.


Her one failure being both spectacular and devastating.

She hadn’t spent the last two years avoiding men and entanglements just to fall for another Baron Randall. No way. She was smarter than that.

Even brief contemplation of a relationship with a man like Angelo Gordon would be stupidity itself.

Right. Remember that.

Only instincts that had nothing to do with intelligence and everything to do with emotion were sending all sorts of messages to her brain. They urged her to put on a little makeup, change into a more feminine dress and brush out her long hair for goodness sake! She’d done her best to sublimate such impulses for two years.

Her mind said now was not the time for a resurrection, but her heart and body said otherwise.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she muttered under her breath as she put the final pin in the sleek French roll on the back of her head and surveyed her appearance. She’d changed her slacks for a black skirt and her blouse and blazer for a matching jacket meant to be worn buttoned up as a top.

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