er.
The landline on his desk rang as soon as he ended the call on his cell. “Burke.”
“Sir,” the receptionist seated on the other side of his office door said. Her tentative tone suggested she’d been afraid to enter his office and have this conversation in-person. “Ah, sir, Mrs. Lindsey called. She wished to inform you that Ivy Grant is a scientist at the Burke Initiative Lab in Westchester.”
“One of the cancer researchers?” he asked. But he knew the answer. He’d met with the team on his last visit to the lab, when he’d agreed to further fund their research. And not one of those researchers was a woman who wore sparkling lip gloss.
“No, sir,” the secretary answered. “Dr. Grant works on a different project.”
“Thank you.”
He replaced the receiver, closed his eyes, and held his head in his hands. The mysterious Ivy Grant worked at the lab he had planned to close in the next fiscal quarter. And judging from the way she’d burst in here tonight, a designer gown, makeover, and fancy gala wouldn’t soften the blow.
“Ah, hell,” he murmured.
Tonight’s adventure might crash and burn before it even began.
Unless she falls for the dress.
Tonight, Ivy Grant was his date for a charity event at a five-star hotel. He would make damn sure she was the belle of the ball. Champagne, dancing, a late dinner at a table for two at one of the city’s best hidden restaurants—tonight, he would lead her on an adventure. They would forget about the Burke Initiative’s investments, her lab, and her research for a few hours. It had been so long since Carter had had any fun. Tonight would be the night—a no-strings-attached adventure around New York City with a beautiful, mysterious, glittering woman. Finally, a chance to live in the moment, for once.
He picked up his cell and dialed his number one contact. His assistant answered after the first ring.
“I don’t want just any dress,” he said. “Find Ms. Grant a gown that will make her feel like a princess.”
Chapter 4
“Shall we begin with your gown, Ms. Grant?”
The gray-haired woman, who’d introduced herself as Mrs. Lindsey, had issued an order disguised as a question. She wore a tailored pantsuit and a frown born from disdain.
Does this piece of clothing come with funding for a clinical trial?
But Ivy kept the question to herself and simply nodded. Only one person could give her what she wanted, and she’d left him in his office under the mistaken belief that she was his blind date for the evening. The people in this room couldn’t help her secure funding. But they were ready to transform her—or rather Mr. Burke’s mystery date—into a pampered princess.
She’d walked into the suite’s sitting room mere minutes ago. She’d frozen one step inside the door when six people had stood to meet her. They’d all known her name, grinning as they’d taken turns repeating their authoritarian leader’s sharp greeting.
If I had this many hands working in my lab…
But Ivy doubted the woman standing behind a table where a manicure station was set up would wish to trade her tools for a microscope—not when her current job landed her in one of New York City’s most opulent hotel suites.
Ivy stole a glance around the room as Mrs. Lindsey disappeared through a set of double doors. Into the bedroom? The current room held a dining table surrounded by six chairs that looked as if they’d come straight off the set of Downton Abbey, a marble fireplace, and a seating area that had been rearranged to accommodate Mrs. Lindsey’s minions.
Excuse me, but there’s been a mistake. I’m here for funding. Not pampering in a hotel room twice the size of my apartment.
Mr. Burke must have planned this elaborate set-up for someone else. When she told him the truth, he would be furious. Or maybe he’d already discovered his mistake. Maybe the formidable Mrs. Lindsey would kick her out of the suite herself. Any second now…
“Mr. Burke had this gown sent over.” Mrs. Lindsey returned to the sitting room and handed the hanger holding the silver tulle dress to one of her helpers. “The Marchesa arrived minutes before you.”
“I had trouble finding parking,” Ivy said, a defensive note creeping into her voice.
Because I refused to use the hotel’s overpriced garage, she thought. But no, she didn’t need to highlight her limited budget to the woman offering a dress that belonged on the red carpet. The gown beckoned like an invitation to stay, at least for now. Maybe Mr. Burke still hadn’t realized his error.
“We have two others if you don’t care for the Marchesa,” Mrs. Lindsey added.
“I love it,” she said softly. She should look away. She wasn’t here for gowns and manicures. She needed funding, not fairy tale dresses. But she wanted to try on the dress.
“I hope it fits you.” Mrs. Lindsey’s gaze scanned her hips.