Her Secret Thrill by Donna Kauffman Page A

her…well, she simply couldn’t give that up for conversational fodder. Not yet, anyway.
    â€œWell, the only exciting thing on the dating spectrum for me is another one of Sabrina’s charity balls,” Natalie said. At least it was the truth. “To make it worse, Melissa has managed to dredge up the one remaining eligible bachelor under the age of fifty that she hasn’t already shoved at me. At least, I assume he’s under fifty. I don’t think she’s gotten that desperate.”
    Liza smirked. “Yet.”
    â€œGod help me when that time comes.”
    â€œâ€˜When’ is right. There is no ‘if’ with your sisters. When they set their minds to something, nothing so trifling as a twenty-year age gap would stop them.”
    Natalie merely nodded, taking no offense, especially as Liza was absolutely correct in her assessment. In fact, Natalie was ever grateful for Liza’s take on her whole family situation. It made her feel less like an ungrateful spoiled brat and more like the intelligent woman she hoped she was—one who’d naturally run screaming from a family as controlling as hers.
    â€œSo, who’s the victim du jour? ”
    Natalie made a face. “Preston Albert Markwell III. Sounds about as dreamy as a tax audit, doesn’t he?”
    â€œOnly if he actually calls himself Preston Albert.”
    Natalie grinned. “Probably does.”
    Liza pretended a swoon. “Oh, Preston Albert, do it to me again!”
    Natalie swatted her, but laughed all the same. Thankfully the maitre d’ came over and told Liza their table was ready, saving her. Natalie was able to turn the conversation to the menu, which then launched Liza into tales of the latest weird diet fads of some of her celebrity clients. All of which they discussed and analyzed as they wolfed down their filet mignon and cherries jubilee. Natalie would have to drag herself off to the gym as penance in the morning, but that was hours away. In the meantime, she dug in and enjoyed the time with her friend.
    And tried like hell not to think of what Jake could do with those damn cherries.
    Â 
    â€œY EAH, DAD . I’ve worked through the probabilities schematic and I think I’ve got the shipping problem figured out. It’s not going to be cheap, but they stand to do pretty well if they can move the beef overseas more easily.” Jake flipped past the notes he’d been consulting and picked up the engraved manila envelope he’d tucked underneath. “I’m meeting with Ray and John this afternoon.” He turned it over, looking at his name in neat, black ink on the back. “Yes, they’ll go for it if they want to deal with us.” He chuckled. “Yes, Dad, I’m playing hardball just like you taught me. I expect to be out of here by six. I’ve already contacted the pilot, and he’s filed our flight plans.”
    Company jets were an absolute luxury, but they were the one perk he’d guiltlessly accepted after too many years of cramming his six-foot-two body onto crowdedcommercial flights heading to points all over the globe. “Give Mom my love and tell her I’ll see her this weekend.” He hung up, still fingering the envelope, then finally gave in and pulled out the single folded piece of stationery that was inside.
    He read the note for what was probably the twentieth time since it had arrived at his hotel the night before, then folded it and slid it back into the gold-edged envelope. Good thing he was alone. He had a permanent grin…and what he feared was a permanent hard-on. And probably would be until he laid eyes…and hands on the sender of that note.
    â€œAn art museum,” he murmured, shaking his head. A very public one, too, as it was the Art Institute in Chicago, where they’d both be doing business ten days from now.
    Doing business. He supposed that was one way to put it. Best damn business meeting