Can't Touch This by Marley Gibson Read Free Book Online

understands the party circuit of tradeshows.
    All right, I won’t worry what people back in Boston think and will simply hang with my co-workers.  As long as we do our job and come back with a ton of leads, that’s the main thing.
    The festivities open up with a gigantic reception in a grand ballroom of the Taj Mahal.  Attendees are dressed appropriately in khakis and company golf shirts.  I opted for a knee-length black skirt with strappy sandals and a scoop neck black top.  I’m clearly overdressed.  Ted’s in his standard casual Friday outfit and I’ve yet to see Kyle.  I’m sure he’ll look good no matter what.
    Buffet tables overflow with boiled shrimp, mini crab cakes, cheeses, fruit, eggrolls and chicken fingers.  Two open bars (sponsored by a social networking company) are at either end of the room and people line up double-fisting free drinks.
    “Fill up on food and we’ll use our bar bills later tonight as meal receipts,” Ted informs me.
    “Ah, I’m starting to understand how this works.”
    At the serving platter of chicken fingers, I pile a couple of the greasy treats onto my plate.  Sure enough, I drop a dollop of honey mustard sauce on my left boob.
    “Perfect,” I mutter under my breath.   Way to go, Grace.
    “Can I help with that?” a deep, husky voice asks.
    I look up—and I mean up —to see a blond, blue-eyed man staring down at me. 
    “I’ve got it, thanks.”  I dab my paper napkin into my Tanqueray and tonic and wipe at the spot.
    “Yeah, but it’s not as fun that way,” he teases while staring at my cleaning action.
    I can’t decide whether to be offended or flattered.
    He must pick up on my trepidation on judging the situation, and then adds, “You know, what happens at the tradeshows, stays at the tradeshows.  One of the best perks to being in sales, don’t you think?”  He tacks a wink onto the end of the sentence for good measure.
    I take inventory:  Caribbean blue eyes, long, lean chin, strong jaw, broad shoulders leading to a trim waist and legs that go on forever.  He must be over six-feet.  And older than me.  At least in his mid-thirties.  I wipe the corner of my mouth unconsciously as he gazes at me.
    Be charming.  Be cool.  Above all, be professional.
    “Boy, you don’t waste any time.”  No way this guy would pick me out of the crowd without a reason.  “The show doesn’t start for”—looking at my watch—“twelve hours and you’re already in sleazy salesman mode?”
    He laughs, a bubbly, rolling type, because he knows I’ve bested him.  Extending his large hand, he says, “Rory Ellery.  I’m with SalesTracker.”
    I stifle a snicker as I reach for his hand.  Ah-ha!  The competition.  Not what I expected.  They sure grow them nice and handsome at SalesTracker.
    But here’s my chance to play the corporate games.
    My brain sizzles with a brilliant idea.
    I’ll play him for information and score big at work.
    Reaching out, I give him my hand and shake firmly.  I’m bound and determined to win.  Look out SalesTracker, here comes Vanessa Virtue!

Chapter Six
     
     
    M y fingers tingle at the contact with Rory Ellery’s firm, warm grip.  “I’m Vanessa Virtue.  I work for DigitalDirection.”
    As I wait for his reaction, I wonder if I can find out anything that might help us get the edge back from SalesTracker.
    But he’s all charm and casualness.  “Nice to meet you, Vanessa.  So you came out from Boston?”  He piles a couple of eggrolls onto his plate and then steps out of the way so another man can reach the bounty.
    “Yeah.  We’re your competition, you know.”  I’m slightly offended that he doesn’t acknowledge this.  I want him to know I’m here to play, but he doesn’t flinch.  Instead he smiles.
    Deadly blue eyes lock on mine and I feel a slight tremor in my tummy.  “Well, Vanessa, I don’t consider DigitalDirection to be my competition.  It’s more like you’re in competition with