Forbidden Affair: The Bold and the Beautiful (5 page)

Sasha rolled her eyes at Bill. “You see what I have to contend with.”

But Steffy heard the affection in the older woman’s voice. “What can I say, I have a good teacher,” she said.

Bill chuckled and it went all the way down to Steffy’s toes, and when she brushed past him on her way out of the office, she was conscious of his hand hovering near the small of her back. She knew he wasn’t touching her but it
felt
like he was, as heat exploded there, rippling out to her hips and down to the backs of her thighs.

“Night, Sash,” Steffy said as the older woman peeled off toward her office and Bill guided her to the elevators.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To a French restaurant not far from here,” he said as they stepped into the elevator. “I thought you might be missing the cuisine and I want to hear you speak the language.”

Steffy smiled but she was too conscious of them being alone in the elevator for a snappy comeback. His broadness, his sheer masculinity, seemed to shrink the spaciousness to just the air between them and she could feel the heat from his body twisting around her. She could smell the heady maleness of him.

This
was why she’d been avoiding having dinner with him.

“I don’t know, I’m probably already rusty,” she joked, clearing her throat of its sudden huskiness.

Bill chuckled. “I doubt it. I think you’re good at everything you do.”

Steffy glanced at him as his chuckle threw fuel on the flames, setting light to her underwear. Every breath she dragged in seemed filled with him, making concentration difficult. She shrugged. “I try.”

“Everyone speaks very highly of you.”

Steffy cocked an eyebrow. “Been checking up on me, Bill?”

He grinned. “Of course.”

The elevator dinged and Steffy was relieved to be out of the close confines as she stepped into the parking basement. He directed her toward his car, again with his hand just hovering over the small of her back and she was pleased to see he had his own transport this time—something low and black and sleek—and not the limo. At least he’d be too busy driving to touch her, to drag her into his arms again.

Ever the gentleman, he opened her door. Steffy wasn’t sure how she made it inside without pressing her nose into the tanned column of his neck, she was just glad she did, and she took advantage of the few moments alone to pull herself together.

But then he was climbing in beside her and he easily filled the space in the sports car interior and Steffy’s senses were scrambled once more. Man, she had it bad tonight!

Spending a year without male company had clearly not been good for her libido if it was choosing Bill to obsess about.

Thankfully, he didn’t require much conversation as he negotiated the peak-hour traffic and they were soon at the restaurant, having only exchanged a few words.

By the time they’d been seated and ordered drinks and their meals—in perfectly fluent French—almost an hour had passed and Steffy was feeling much more in control.

“French is a very sexy language,” Bill said as the waiter departed.

Steffy’s control faltered. “I suppose. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Oh come on, Steffy,” Bill teased, “it’s the language of love after all.”

Steffy sent him a weak smile.
Love.
Did she even know what that was anymore? It had been so long since a man had loved her. “Well, I wouldn’t know,” she said, “I haven’t exactly been lucky in that field.”

Bill nodded, taking a sip of his excellent French Sauvignon Blanc. “Liam came and saw me yesterday,” he said tentatively.

Steffy glanced at Bill over the rim of her wine glass. “What did he want?”

“The usual stuff about how worried he is about you being thrown in the deep end here, how he thinks you’re struggling and how you’d be better off back at Forrester.”

Steffy bristled. “I’m
learning
, not struggling. He doesn’t think I’m up to it?”

“No.” Bill shook his head. “He knows you’re thriving. He’s just worried I have ulterior motives.”

Steffy’s heart pounded as Bill gave voice to Liam’s concerns. This was it. This was the moment Steffy could confront this
thing
bubbling away between them, because she was sure he felt it too. She could see it in his eyes, the wicked way he looked at her mouth sometimes; the hover of his hand at her back. He’d given her the perfect opening and instead of feeling flustered around him, unsure of what to do with the heat and the buzz, she could maybe claw back control. Tell him to stop—stop looking at her mouth and lingering too close and undressing her with his eyes.

She cleared her throat. “And do you?”

Bill put his glass down. “I think you’re very attractive,” he said. “I think under different circumstances …”

Steffy nodded. Time to lay down her cards too. “I’m very attracted to you too, Bill, but there are a lot of good reasons why nothing can happen between us.”

“Like me being your boss?” he said. “And your ex-father-in-law and … well … I’m a lot older than you.”

“Yes.” Even though Steffy knew he looked better than a lot of men half his age. “To all of those things. But mainly the first two. I’m loving the job and I think I can be really good at it. I don’t want to screw that up by—”

“Screwing me?” Bill suggested.

“Well … yes,” Steffy admitted. Crude but accurate.

“People can work and maintain relationships, Steffy. Your grandparents did it for decades.”

“True,” she said. “But that’s not the only reason, is it, Bill? If Liam’s suspicion is any indication, I don’t think he would like the idea of his father and his ex-wife together.”

Bill couldn’t believe that after all Steffy had been through with Liam, she was still looking out for him. “You still love him?”

“No,” she said. “But I don’t want to hurt him either. I think there’s been enough hurt between us and I think you and me—that would cut a little too deep for him.”

Bill raised an eyebrow. Liam got to wreak havoc on two women yet it was
his
feelings that needed minding? “Maybe Liam’s been protected just a little bit too much?” he suggested.

Steffy knew exactly where Bill was coming from but two wrongs didn’t make a right. She slid her hand on top of his. “Oh, Bill, you don’t want to lose him over me. You’ve fought so hard for him in the past.”

Bill nodded, looking down at their joined hands, knowing she was right but wishing things were different anyway. Wishing he could have his cake and eat it too. “Yes,” he murmured.

“Good,” Steffy said, withdrawing her hand. “I think this is the only time we should have dinner together, don’t you? I’m going to get a cab home from here and from Monday we meet only at work, we keep things strictly business, and we don’t see each other outside of Spencer Publications. It’ll be easy enough to do with the crazy hours we both work. We just have to commit to it.” She raised her glass. “Colleagues?”

Bill smiled and raised his too, tapping the rims together. “Colleagues.”

Another month passed and Steffy was utterly content with her life. Her work at the magazine was fast paced and hectic but she thrived on it, quickly becoming part of the team. Her family had grudgingly come to accept that Forrester Creations was not going to be a part of her foreseeable future and, apart from attending one board meeting, she hadn’t even set foot in the building.

Her relationship with Bill had stayed on an even keel, too.

Their talk at the restaurant that night had done much to clear the air and they’d kept things strictly professional ever since. In fact, she rarely saw him—which was a good thing, because even a glimpse was enough to get her stupid heart pitter-pattering.

She’d also started dating again. There hadn’t been anyone particularly special, certainly no-one she’d wanted to get intimate with, but it distracted her from the fact that she went home to an empty apartment at the end of each day. It felt like a step in the right direction, another step toward making a new life for herself.

It certainly kept her mother off her back.

She didn’t know why, then, she felt the need to rock the boat. But she’d been working at
Eye on Fashion
for two months and the same things that annoyed her about the fashion channel on television were starting to annoy her about the magazine. Because it wasn’t so much about the actual fashion, it was more about the gossip. Who was with who; who was having an affair with who; which celebrities were seen doing what and with whom in which fashion label; which designer’s children were suing them for something. Blah, blah, blah.

Steffy had been too busy learning the ropes to pay content much heed but now that she knew what she was doing, it bothered her—a lot. Having been the subject of an incredible amount of fashion gossip, it left a bad taste in her mouth.

Did she want to be a party to that?

No, she did not.

So her only hope was to convince Bill to change the focus of the magazine.

*

Steffy knocked on Bill’s door, her nerves jangling. She was more anxious than she had been that first day. Back then she’d been petrified she’d screw up; today she was still petrified she’d screw up but not because she was a novice, but because she was about to suggest something so out of left field she may be sacked for even thinking it.

She hadn’t rung Bill’s assistant for an appointment and she was pleased that the woman who guarded his calendar with an iron fist wasn’t at her desk. She didn’t want Bill prepared. She wanted him a little off balance, maybe even a little pleased to see her outside the rigid boundaries they’d set themselves.

Maybe a lot pleased to see her.

His deep, commanding, “Come in,” poured syrup over her stretched nerves, conjuring up a bunch of very bad, very wicked things, and she added turned-on to the mix of feelings churning in her gut. How could he reduce her to a pile of mush with just his voice through the thickness of a fancy solid door?

“Hi,” Steffy said as she stepped into Bill’s office.

Bill looked up from his work and half stood, surprised to see Steffy standing there. Pleasantly surprised. Since their chat at the restaurant, she never made unannounced visits. She looked good. He smiled at her. “Steffy?”

Steffy waved him back into his seat, her heart pounding in her chest. His quarterback shoulders filled out his business shirt to absolute perfection. “Have you got time for me to run an idea past you?”

“Of course.” Bill nodded. He indicated the seat opposite him. “Sit.”

He did that a lot, she noticed, one word commands.
Sit
.

No, no, no. She gave herself a mental shake as she sat in the indicated chair. She mustn’t think about how long it had been since a man had held her close and rocked her world. That would not be conducive to coherent thought.

Bill waited patiently for Steffy to say something, his eyes trained firmly on her face, because if he let them stray elsewhere they were going to be glued to the way the little buttons on her designer blouse gaped slightly at her cleavage. And that would be bad. “Well?” he said.

Steffy didn’t know where to start now she was sitting here. She’d rehearsed her pitch all morning but it had completely flown out of her head at the sound of Bill’s voice.

“It’s a little left of center,” she started.

Bill quirked an eyebrow. “I like left of center.”

That should have bolstered her confidence but it didn’t. Steffy knew her idea was
very
left of center.

“Just say it, Steffy. I’m not going to bite.”

Steffy nodded to hide the fact that her head was now full of erotic images of his teeth grazing all the sensitive areas of her skin—areas craving the delicious friction of a man’s touch.

Bill wasn’t sure what was going on behind Steffy’s blue eyes but they were suddenly smoky, her pupils dilated, and he couldn’t help but think that her thoughts were not in this room. Not in any room that didn’t contain a bed.

He cleared his throat. “Steffy?”

“Right,” she said. Then she stood. “Do you mind if I walk around?”

Bill shrugged and indicated for her to take the floor. He watched her pace for a few moments.

Steffy stopped and looked at him. She folded her arms and took a deep breath, plunging in feet first. “What would you say about changing the direction of the magazine to less gossip and more
actual
fashion?”

Bill placed the pen he’d been holding down on the papers in front of him. Steffy Forrester was starting to show some gumption, some leadership. He’d wondered how long it would take for her to finally come into her own. He’d known she’d be a good lateral thinker once she got the hang of things.

“I would say,” he said carefully, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

“I don’t think it’s broken. I think it can be improved. I think
Eye on Fashion
’s potential as a true leader in the fashion field is being stymied by its tabloid tendencies.”

“You don’t like the direction of the magazine?”

Steffy knew she had to tread cautiously; the magazine was the jewel in the Spencer Publications crown and she was just the new kid on the block. “I think it could be better.”

“It’s a market leader in its category.”

Steffy nodded. “I think it could be a market leader in a different category. A more lucrative category.”

“It makes me an obscene amount of money as it is. Why would I risk a sure thing for a
could
?”

“Because it will make you
more
money.”

Bill regarded her steadily. “You seem very sure of yourself.”

Steffy placed her hands on her hips. “I’ve done my homework.”

He liked the way she stood with confidence, exuding belief in herself. And he liked those buttons playing peek-a-boo with the little diamante he could just see twinkling in the depths of her cleavage. “What did you have in mind?”

Steffy’s heart was crashing madly in her chest but she hadn’t been tossed out and Bill seemed prepared to listen. She strode purposefully to the chair, sitting in it again as her pitch came back to her. She crossed her legs and tried not to notice how Bill’s gaze dropped to follow the movement.

“Focus solely on the fashion. No gossip. We can do what we’ve always done—go inside the fashion houses, report on the collections and the designs. What’s new. What’s coming out. The people in the industry. Cover all the shows. But focus on the fashion, not which A-lister had front row seats.”

Bill admired Steffy’s enthusiasm but he wasn’t swayed. “There are already market leaders in the high-end field.”

Steffy shook her head, leaning in closer. “But they’re big and glossy and
expensive
. They’re marketed to the fashionistas, the women with power and choice and money to burn. Just by their very nature they put the average woman off fashion. But if we don’t just cover high couture, if we look at knock-off designs and the other end of the market we can try and bring a whole different demographic to the magazine. I want to make fashion accessible. Make it available to the working woman. To the suburban mom. To the college girls. To the club crowd.”

Bill frowned. “You want to cover affordable fashion?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and leaning in even further. “I want to bring couture to the masses.”

“Even if they can’t afford it?”

“Ah, but,” Steffy said, sitting back, “I’m going to make them believe they can. I want to get them
talking
about it.
Passionate
about it.”

Bill almost laughed at her enthusiasm. Her blue eyes were glittering now, almost feverish in their zeal. The idea obviously excited her and he liked watching her come alive like this. That didn’t mean he was going to be swayed by her; he’d been in this business a long time and he knew what their demographic wanted.

“But our readership is used to different things,” he said. “Our weekly circulation is five million, Steffy. You know why they buy
Eye on Fashion
? Because of the gossip. Our readers like celebrity gossip.”

Steffy nodded, ignoring the spurt of anger she felt over Bill’s declaration. He was just stating a fact, even if it was repugnant and a poor reflection on today’s society.

“And we’ll give them that. Just in a more in-depth way. Go into celebrity homes, look in their closets, get them to talk about their favorite designers—Who? Why? What’s their most treasured article of clothing? Whose fashion sense do they admire? What’s their process when they’re planning on what they’re wearing to the latest gala event? Et cetera. Focus it on the fashion, not who they’ve slept with.”

“I think you’ll find our readership will still be resistant,” Bill said.

“I propose a transition to a kind of a hybrid magazine over the next year. Slowly pare back the gossip pages.”

“Slowly?”

Steffy nodded. “Yes.”

“The advertisers won’t like it,” he said.

“We may lose some, yes, but we’d gain a whole range of others. Especially as we gain popularity with women who haven’t read us before. And we
will
,” she added. “Advertisers flock to mediums that attract women.”

Bill smiled. Steffy had thought of everything. She was right, it was left of center, but he hadn’t risen to where he was without taking risks. And this sounded so crazy it might just work.

“Why?” he asked. “Why are you so keen to do this?”

Steffy took a deep breath. She could tell him some pretty lies about renewal and reinvigoration and how good it was for business. But she’d come this far, it would be pointless to blow her pitch by lying. And something told her Bill would know if she did.

“Because I came back from Paris determined to be a better person. To leave bitterness and regret and revenge behind and start anew. And I think this magazine can do the same thing—start anew. I think it can be a
better
magazine.”

She hesitated for a moment but, what the hell, she’d come this far.

“I know your magazine isn’t about me, but I want to be proud of where I work, to hold my head up in this industry. To have their respect. And I want
Eye on Fashion
to do it too. Don’t you want that?”

Bill stroked his beard, unsurprised at her passion. She’d told him as much in the limo the day he’d driven her home from the airport and she’d proven she was serious. Bill didn’t care what the fashion industry thought of him but their respect would make things easier for the magazine.

“Do you have figures? A proposal?”

Steffy shook her head, her pulse tripping a little at the thought he may be considering her idea. Also at the way the delicious rasping of his bristles against his hand pricked at her nipples. “I didn’t want to presume. But I can do one, complete with projections and I can have it to you within the next month.”

He nodded after a few moments. “Okay. Go ahead. Get something together.”

Steffy’s heart just about burst out of her chest as she leaped to her feet. “Yes, sir.” She grinned. “Yes, sir!” She’d felt for sure he would laugh her out of his office. Or pat her on the head and tell her to run along and not to think for herself.

Or possibly sack her.

Bill held up a hand. “This is just a preliminary thing, you understand?” he clarified. “I just want to see some projections, explore its viability. It’s not a done deal, Steffy. It’s not a rubber stamp.”

Steffy nodded vigorously. “Of course.”

He shook his head, grinning back at her. “You look like it’s a done deal.”

“Nope, not at all. I’m just relieved you didn’t toss me out of the company on my ear.” Bill chuckled and Steffy allowed herself a triumphant moment as the throaty noise spread like a warm breath over her skin. “I understand that it’s a big change and it has to be viable. I understand that you’re probably just doing this to humor me. But I appreciate it anyway.”

Bill laughed again at Steffy’s self-deprecation and astuteness. “Oh, you’re a mind reader now?”

“Nope.” She smiled. “Just a business person, like you. One who understands the realities of a tough economy.”

“So if I come back and say no, you’ll understand?”

Steffy nodded. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop thinking it’s a good idea or stop trying to chip away at you.”

“Well,” Bill murmured, acutely aware of how good it might be to have Steffy chipping away, constantly seeking him out, trying to wear him down with her charm and her smiles and her easy-on-the-eyes manner; slowly eroding him with all the silky coolness of water over rock. “I’ll look forward to that.”

“Hah.” Steffy grinned. “You have no idea how persistent I can be.”

Bill quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, I think I remember.”

Steffy became conscious of his eyes on her mouth and her grin faded a little. Her exuberance had led them into dangerous territory and she became aware of a primal pull, aware of being a woman standing in front of him instead of a colleague. Aware of the way his gaze had changed from business-like to personal—or maybe predatory. Either way, she was glad for the solid barrier of the desk.

“Well … I guess I’d better get on it,” she said.

Bill nodded, pulling his gaze back to her eyes, ridding his brain of the images of reaching across the desk and pulling her onto it. “Good luck.”