The Millionaire's Makeover
Rowena gritted her teeth and held her clipboard more tightly, as if attempting to get a literal and physical grip on her fast-disappearing patience. "And one final question…" she said.
"Final? Really? Thank heaven for small mercies," muttered the man who stood beside her.
Without so much as a glance in her direction, he reached into the inner jacket pocket of his perfectly tailored business suit and brought out a cell phone. Apparently empires might crumble if he didn't have it pressed to his ear within three seconds.
And apparently he'd already dismissed Rowena as the slightly prim, conservatively dressed, uninteresting academic type that she was—which, actually, she was quite comfortable being most of the time—and didn't look at her for long enough to revise this impression. His steely gaze missed the region of her face by at least two yards.
She ignored his rudeness and persisted, "Do you like barbecues?"
"Do I like what?"
"Um, when you have friends over, there are salads and beer, you cook outside on a grill…? Bar-be-cues," she articulated clearly and helpfully, as if speaking to someone who'd begun learning English yesterda ... read full excerpt from The Millionaire's Makeover ebook
