LITMIR.BIZ

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woman answered, motioning to the suitcases. “I was planning to move in here today. Now, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

      Sam knew despair when she heard it. “This is your lucky day. I work for a hotel. Therefore, I can promise you won’t sleep on the street tonight. And you can treat yourself to a nice, hot bubble bath.”

      “I can’t—”

      “Oh, I got that part. You’d be in one of the unrentable rooms. No charge.”

      Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”

      Oh, good grief. When had a good deed become a threat? “Because I can. Because helping the sisterhood was something my mother drilled into me. And, hey, I get off on warm, fuzzy feelings in my tummy.”

      There was a crack of laughter from the other woman. “So do I, but they don’t come from giving away freebie hotel rooms,” the woman said with a smile.

      Sam grinned down at her. “Samantha Baldwin.” She stuck her hand out at the exact moment the other woman stuck out hers.

      “A. J. Potter. You sounded like a madam gathering the poor waif into her house of ill repute. I already made the same great impression. I think we scared her.”

      “I’m not scared,” denied the other woman, still sitting on her suitcase. “Just fascinated by abnormal human behavior. Abnormal for a New Yorker, anyway.”

      A.J. turned her attention back to Sam. “This place has three bedrooms.”

      Ooo. She cut right to the chase. Sam liked her. “I don’t smoke. I can go eighteen hundred a month, but I don’t want to.”

      “Non-smoker, I’m in for two grand.”

      “You’d get the big bedroom, then.”

      They looked down. “What’s your name?” A.J. asked the woman on the suitcase.

      “Claire Dellafield. Why?”

      Sam gestured to her. “Get with the program. We’re forming a rental coalition. You want in?”

      Claire stood, revealing that she was as short as A.J. “You mean we’d room together?”

      “Mental functions appear to be intact,” A.J. said. “You smoke?”

      Claire shook her head. “But I can learn.”

      Sam laughed. “She’s in for the entertainment value alone.”

      “How much can you contribute to rent?” A.J. was displaying a practical side.

      Claire drew a deep breath. “Eight hundred.”

      “That’s forty-six hundred.” A.J. exhaled. “Surely the rent won’t go as high as that.”

      They looked at the remaining women arguing with the brokers.

      “Then again,” Sam began, just as the door opened and the men from the post office walked into the room.

      “Tavish!” several voices squealed. Others snarled.

      “Let this play out,” A.J. advised and Sam totally agreed.

      The three of them watched women practically pawing at Tavish. Sam hoped one of them would paw off his green vest, but no such luck.

      The more she watched, the more her hopes sank. Sam had spent years honing her negotiating skills and knew that the key to a successful deal was figuring out what the other guy really wanted and seeing that he got it. Tavish, she realized, wanted to be adored by his social circle—or the social circle he wanted to, uh, circle in. She remembered French Twist talking about bribing him during the year and remembered his summer itinerary—he was “guesting” everywhere.

      Clearly, the key to this deal was more than money. Tavish would probably rent out his apartment even if he weren’t going anywhere for the summer.

      Sam glanced at her two potential roommates. She liked A.J. already. Claire, she didn’t know as well, but she had potential. They needed an edge. Something to offer. Something to make them attractive renters to Tavish.

      She was figuring out how much it would cost her to let Tavish throw a ritzy party in the flagship Carrington’s presidential suite when she refocused on the scene. All those beautiful blond women vying for his attention…he was lapping it up.

      Though A.J. did have blond hair, Sam couldn’t see her as the fawning type.

      Sam shifted her package to the other arm. The thing was so hot. She didn’t need to feel hot right now. She needed to be hot…

      Sam stared at the wrapping surrounding the skirt. Yeah, sure it was supposed to be a real man magnet, but that was just a story, right? It didn’t really…

      “Stand in front of me,” she said to the other two, as she tore off the brown paper.

      Claire’s eyes widened as Sam unzipped her skirt. “What are you doing?”

      Sam told them the gist of the skirt legend as she pulled it on.

      “You’re kidding.” A.J. looked as though she wanted to reconsider rooming with Sam.

      “Look, I don’t believe it, either, but it can’t hurt.” She handed her jacket to Claire and smoothed the skirt over her thighs.

      It was a great fit. Must be another sign. They were meant to have the apartment.

      “Follow me, ladies.” As Sam walked forward, the black fabric whispered over her legs and she found herself changing the way she walked in order to accommodate it.

      She imagined herself walking in slow motion, hair rippling over her shoulders, her eyes on the prize—Tavish.

      As she drew closer, the women moved to one side, eyeing her and the two behind her. Sam cut right through until she was standing directly in front of Tavish, the two brokers, and French Twist.

      “Hello,” she purred.

      Three pairs of male eyes swiveled her way.

      “I’m Samantha Baldwin.” She held out her hand and Tavish stepped forward to grasp it.

      “Tavish McLain.” He took her hand and held it, never once blinking.

      The two brokers attempted to introduce themselves, but Tavish wouldn’t relinquish Samantha’s hand.

      Propelling Claire with her, A.J. stepped into the breach and occupied the brokers.

      “You have the perfect apartment,” Sam cooed. All this cooing and purring was new to her, but it was amazing what it did.

      “I c-call it home,” Tavish stuttered, still holding Sam’s hand.

      “I’d like to call it home, too—for the summer at least.” She sent him a limpid gaze and squeezed his hand.

      “Well, I…well, I’m sure—”

      “Just a minute! I’ve given you a check for forty-five hundred dollars!” French Twist wasn’t giving up.

      “Roger, give Meredith back her check,” Tavish instructed.

      “So I’ll give you another for six thousand.” Boy, the woman was persistent.

      “Would you want all the rent up front?” Sam asked.

      Tavish creased his brow. “Oh, no, no, no. Not if it wouldn’t be convenient for you.”

      Sam still held Tavish’s gaze. He still held her hand. She was going to have to blink soon or her eyes would start watering, but he seemed utterly entranced by her and she wanted to take advantage. What she really wanted to do was quickly scribble out a check.

      Fortunately, A.J. had grasped the situation. Sam heard a rip and a blue rectangle appeared in Sam’s peripheral vision. With her free hand she took the check and offered it to Tavish.

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