Chapter 2

2

Ben wandered over to the gigantic wall of windows to take in the view and attempt to slow his breathing. His entire body was alive with awareness. He'd found women attractive before, but damn, that blonde was a knockout—in the truest sense of the word. She'd knocked the wind right out of his lungs—and apparently knocked the sense right out of his head.

She was elegant, sophisticated, and beautiful beyond belief. When he was a boy, growing up in circumstances that could in the kindest possible terms be described as "humble," he looked at women like her—high class, graceful—and they represented to him a life that he knew he would have to claw and fight his way into.

So he fought his way up the ladder of success. At eighteen years old, he'd taken a hard, realistic look at what his assets were. What did he have to offer? He settled fairly quickly on two things: one, he was not bad to look at, and two, he had always possessed a formidable power of persuasion.

He quickly realized what career would make the best use of those assets—sales. He started out selling vacuum cleaners door to door. It was a miserable experience, but it taught him valuable lessons about human nature that have served him well in his career to this day. He learned the single most valuable skill that any sales person must possess, whether the product was a three hundred-dollar vacuum cleaner or a million-dollar home—the ability to read a person and instinctively know what approach would get them to close the deal.

Some people wanted just the facts and figures and stats—hard numbers made them feel safe and secure when making a buying decision. Some people were all about emotion—they needed to feel right about making the purchase. Some people needed to be charmed. Some people needed to be sympathized with. Some people needed a hard sell.

It wasn't about what approach the person liked. That was the mistake made by unsuccessful sales people. They went with the approach that their prospect felt comfortable with. No. A sale was never about the person's comfort. It was about pushing them out of their comfort zone and getting the "yes". It was all about closing the deal.

It was a delicate balance. You make them feel too comfortable with you and then they feel comfortable telling you ‘no'. You make them feel too uncomfortable with you and they abandon the transaction. When it came to walking that tightrope, there was no one better. Ben Stevens was the master.

So why was he screwing it up so royally with Lauren Harrison?

He could see that the 'over-the-top charming' approach was falling completely flat with her. It wasn't premeditated. He just opened his mouth and the words flew out. Instinctively, Ben sensed that Lauren would respond best to no "approach" at all. He could feel that she was an excellent judge of sincerity and bullshit, and that if he had even the smallest shot with her, he should stop trying to sell himself and just be himself.

He knew that in his head. Yet he'd been powerless to stop putting on the act with her. He watched himself fail at his most basic skill—human connection. It was like he was standing outside himself, not able to control his own words and actions.

Why was he behaving this way around this woman?

The better question was...why the hell couldn't he stop?

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Lauren just wanted to get this portion of her day over with. She wasn't sure what Ben's game was, but she was sure she was over it.

With determination, she marched over to where Ben stood gazing out the windows and said briskly, "Mr. Stevens, I only have a limited amount of time to discuss the details of the property with you before filming begins. Shall we get started?"

Ben turned to her, flashing that too-brilliant smile again. It put Lauren's teeth on edge.

Ben dialed down his over-the-top smile as he said with a casually friendly tone, "Please call me Ben. Would it be all right if I call you Lauren?"

"If you'd like," Lauren replied, careful to keep all traces of the irritation she felt towards him out of her voice. "Now, shall we get started?"

"Actually," he said, maintaining his new down-to-earth persona, "I got the breakdown on all the pertinent details of the home last night and I've been studying them. Plus, they'll be written on cue cards."

"I'm sorry, then why am I even here, if you can just read the details of the property off of cue cards?" Lauren said in the chill, distant tone that only her closest friends knew signaled the fact that she was absolutely livid. "Can someone please explain that to me?"

Ben winked at her. "Maybe someone thought you would have fun."

Lauren raised one eyebrow. This guy could not be for real. She really wanted to lose it but would never give him the satisfaction of screaming or yelling at him. That was not in her character.

Rather, she simply replied with a small half-smile, "Well, I assure you that "someone" could not have been more wrong. I have a full schedule this afternoon, and since I strive to always be on time to all my professional and personal appointments, I will leave you to your cue cards."

With that, she spun on her heel and glided gracefully out of the living room, across the entryway, and through the front door. Again, she would never give him the satisfaction of storming out, even if every cell in her body was burning with the desire to stomp out to her car like a toddler throwing a tantrum. That might feel satisfying in the moment, but it simply wasn't in her nature to indulge in public displays. She would have to take what satisfaction she could from the small barb she had leveled at him on her way out.

The fresh, crisp smell of pine instantly calmed her as she stepped outside. Her heels clicked on the brick pathway as she walked down to her car. Slipping on her Coach sunglasses, she thought about her parting remark.

Her little dig was innocuous enough that it probably didn't even register as a blip on his radar. Still, at least she didn't merely bow to his "star" attitude and fade away into the background like one of his admirers. At least, whether he registered it or not, she told him—albeit in her classy, roundabout way—precisely what she thought about him and the way he represented the profession that she loved.

She climbed into her Mercedes, turned it on, and placed her hands on the wheel, surprised to find that they were actually trembling. Was it out of anger? Irritation?

Lauren shook her head. This was so unlike her. Why was Ben Stevens, of all people, having such an unprecedented effect on her? Yes, he was a jerk—but Lauren had met some prize jerks in her time. None of them ever engendered frustration to the point where she was shaking.

He was arrogant and entitled and completely and totally aggravating. He behaved totally unprofessionally, indirectly treating others as if they didn't exist. He was the human embodiment of every single trait she found distasteful in another person, let alone in a man.

But this caused her to ponder an enigma that was a little more disturbing. Yes, there was one thing about the encounter that truly bothered her above all else. One question that nagged at her and wouldn't leave her alone.

Why was the back of her hand still tingling where he had kissed it?