“So let me be clear about this. For a million and a half dollars, you expect to hire a woman to become engaged to, marry, and have sex with for a year?” Sierra inquired, desperately trying to sound matter of fact. “That’s a pretty tall order.”

     They’d never taught these particular kinds of negotiations and arrangements in business school.

     A glint appeared in Michael’s eye. “Who said anything about sex, Sierra?”

     “But you said — ‘in every sense of the word’ — so I assumed you meant …” Sierra floundered.

     God, she was out of her depth.

     “I meant only that a legal wedding will take place. It’s you who mentioned sex, not I.” Something shimmered in his gaze. “Somehow I find that very intriguing.”

     “You know what?” she asked as she averted her eyes and stood, once again gathering her handbag and jacket. “I’m done with this conversation.” She made a production of donning the wet jacket and straightening it before looking at him again across the desk. “Please convey my thanks to Mr. Murdoch for arranging this meeting today, and of course, I thank you as well for the opportunity to discuss this … idea … with you, but I’m afraid I’m not the right person for the position you have in mind.”

     Too late she realized that, in Michael Donovan’s company, virtually every remark she made took on a sexual innuendo that she swore she hadn’t intended.

     He rose from his seat behind the desk. “Oh, I disagree with you, Sierra. Strange as it may seem, I think you may be exactly the right person for what I have in mind.”