Читать книгу: «Memo: The Billionaire's Proposal»
Anticipation shot from her lips all the way down to her toes. She swallowed. “Just one kiss?”
“Only one,” he whispered.
Slowly, as if giving her the chance to say no or back away again, he brought his mouth toward hers.
Every nerve-ending tingled in hope. But a voice—common sense, perhaps?—shouted a warning.
Too late. She raised her chin and closed her eyes.
His lips touched gently against hers, as if joining something delicate or fragile. Light, soft, tender.
The way he kissed made her feel cherished and adored, and she liked thinking he cared for her in that way. An inviting warmth, like a sunny day after a rainstorm, settled over her, making her feel as if she’d finally reached the destination she’d been seeking.
Drake kept his hands at his sides and only touched her with his lips. Yet she felt a closeness, as if she were being embraced.
Not at all how she’d thought Drake Llewelyn would kiss, but it was enough to tell her what she’d known in her heart, what she’d feared.
One kiss would never be enough.
9 to 5
From city girl—to corporate wife!
They’re working side by side, nine to five…
But, no matter how hard these couples
try to keep their relationships strictly professional,
romance is undeniably on the agenda!
Will a date in the office diary
lead to an appointment at the altar?
Find out in this exciting mini-series.
Look out for more office romances, coming soon!
With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing Melissa McClone ever thought she would be doing was writing romance novels. But analysing engines for a major US airline just couldn’t compete with her ‘happily-ever-afters’. When she isn’t writing, caring for her three young children or doing laundry, Melissa loves to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, her cats and a good book. She enjoys watching home decorating shows to get ideas for her house—a 1939 cottage that is slowly being renovated. Melissa lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her own real-life hero husband, two daughters, a son, two loveable but oh-so-spoiled indoor cats, and a no-longer-stray outdoor kitty that decided to call the garage home. Melissa loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 63, Lake Oswego, OR 97034, USA, or contact her via her website: www.melissamcclone.com
MEMO: THE BILLIONAIRE’S PROPOSAL
BY
MELISSA McCLONE
MILLS & BOON®
MILLS & BOON
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For my blog readers,
especially Amy, Brandy, catslady, Dru, Jane, limecello,
Nathalie, Rottie_mom, Sarita, Tori and Virginia,
Whose daily comments kept me smiling
while I finished writing this book.
Special thanks to Robin Barrett, M.D.,
Roxanne and Brian Coyne, Greg Taylor, Virginia
Kantra, Terri Reed and my family.
PROLOGUE
“I KNEW this internship was a chance of a lifetime, but I never thought I’d make so many wonderful friends.” As the smell of beer and grease wafted in the air at the Hare and Stag pub, Chaney Sullivan raised a pint of ale in honor of the twelve coworkers sitting around the table for her going-away party. Her chest tightened at the thought of leaving London. “I’m going to miss you all so much.”
“Just wait until we show up on your doorstep wanting to go to Disneyland.” Gemma, who rented a room to Chaney, tossed her mane of blond hair behind her shoulder. “You won’t be missing us then.”
“Disneyland, Universal Studies, Beverly Hills, Venice Beach.” The thought of seeing these people again brought a ball of warmth to the center of Chaney’s chest. She set her glass on the table. “I’m happy to play tour guide if any of you come visit Los Angeles.”
“Does that include me?” a deep male voice said from behind her.
The familiar Welsh accent filled her tummy with butterflies. The flapping of their wings matched the speed of her pulse.
She stood, turned and faced Drake Llewelyn, CEO of Dragon Llewelyn Limited. The top of her head came to his chin, and she stared up at him.
His glossy-magazine-model good looks and athletic build, hidden beneath an expensive tailored suit, always brought oohs and ahs from females. His way of making each employee feel as if they were the key to his company’s success had earned him the gratitude of all who worked for him regardless of gender. But in Chaney’s opinion his can-do attitude and work ethic were what made the man.
At twenty-nine years old—only seven years older than she was herself—he’d built Dragon Llewelyn into a successful multinational corporation with a global portfolio of media and telecommunications businesses. This he’d done through a combination of raw sweat and street smarts.
Her smile widened with admiration. She couldn’t help herself.
He looked every inch a power broker, except for one thing—his hair. No neatly trimmed above the collar, corporate style for him. His dark wavy locks fell past his collar in the back, making him look more rakish than respectable.
She’d imagined running her fingers through his hair more than once. She’d imagined herself doing a lot of things with him. None of which had anything to do with her internship responsibilities.
He raised a brow, as if waiting for an answer. Which he was, she realized. Drake Llewelyn didn’t like waiting for anything or anyone. In the four months she’d been interning in the mergers and acquisitions department, she’d learned that much about him.
Chaney lifted her chin, acting bolder than she felt. The beer, she wondered, or maybe the realization she would be an ocean and continent away from him tomorrow night. “Of course that includes you, Mr. Llewelyn.”
“Drake,” he corrected. “As of an hour ago, your internship ended. You no longer work for me.”
His warm brown eyes with golden flecks gazed into hers, making Chaney feel as if she were the next special project he wanted to tackle. Her insides quivered.
Not that he would, with the bevy of beautiful women he dated and a supermodel currently being deemed his girlfriend du jour by the media.
But the thought raised Chaney’s temperature ten degrees. If this were a birthday party instead of a going-away party, she knew what she’d wish for when blowing out the candles.
“Drake.” She forced the name from her parched throat, feeling more like a tweener with her first crush than a twenty-two year old woman. Okay, she did have a huge crush on him, as did every other female who worked at the company. Probably every woman who breathed, no matter what age or marital status.
The man was a catch.
His chiseled cheekbones and jaw tempted a woman to reach out and touch them. His full lips hinted at long, hot kisses. And his bank account promised a life free from financial worry.
Prince Charming had nothing on Drake Llewelyn. He was King Midas and Adonis rolled into one. What woman wouldn’t want to be the one who captured his heart?
“Make a note of our new travel guide in Southern California, Gem,” he said in that halfteasing, half-serious tone Chaney had come to know and love. “With a cable channel in our portfolio now, we may be spending more time there.”
Adoration filled Gemma’s eyes. She, too, had fallen under the spell of the dragon, Drake’s nickname in the office. She batted her lashes and flashed a smile. “Already noted, sir.”
“Very good.” His easy smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.
Chaney bit back a sigh. She’d been longing for the unattainable—okay, him—since she met him on the third day of her internship.
Gemma scooted a chair to the table, right between hers and Chaney’s. Everyone else seemed more interested in filling their pints than staring at their gorgeous boss.
“But we’re not here to watch football on the telly.” Drake motioned to the table littered with half-filled glasses and plates of French fries. “A bon voyage party needs more than beer and chips. I’ll be right back.”
He strode away and spoke to the bartender. Soon plates of appetizers arrived along with bottles of champagne and glasses. The table resembled a buffet. Leave it to Mr. Llewelyn—make that Drake.
“Now we can send Chaney back to the States in style,” he said with a satisfied smile.
A barmaid handed her a glass of champagne.
“This is so…” Chaney felt as light and carefree as the bubbles floating to the top of her glass, but she didn’t want to sound starstruck even if she felt that way inside. “…thoughtful of you, sir. Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do after the hard work and long hours you’ve put in these past months, especially with the acquisition of the cable channel.” Drake raised his glass. “To Chaney, who will be missed.”
Her co-workers raised their champagne flutes and repeated the cheer.
Tears stung Chaney’s eyes. Her tongue felt two sizes too big. This was more of a sendoff than she could imagine. She muttered her gratitude and sipped her champagne.
He handed her a white handkerchief, the kind her grandfather had kept in his back pocket. She never thought a younger man like Drake would carry one, too. The chivalrous, old-fashioned gesture brought another well of tears.
Drake Llewelyn was almost too good to be true.
As Chaney dabbed her eyes with the cloth, her friends attacked the food like a pack of starving hyenas. She didn’t blame them. Everything looked delicious and smelled good, too.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Drake asked.
She nodded. “I’m trying to figure out what I want to try first.”
“I know what I want.”
“The shrimp?”
He moved closer, so close his warm breath fanned her neck, and the male scent of him surrounded her. “Too much garlic.”
Chaney shivered, a combination of excitement and fear. She was used to swooning from afar, not up close and personal. Though she worked on the same floor as him, their interactions had been limited to meetings and a few conversations in the hallway. Still she mustered her courage. “So what appeals to you, Drake?”
“You.”
The air whooshed from her lungs. This couldn’t be happening. She clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms. Ouch. At least she wasn’t dreaming. “I, um…”
“I’ve been watching you,” he said quietly, regarding her over his champagne glass. “You’re smart, hardworking and sexy as hell. Don’t go back to the States, Chaney. Stay here in London with me.”
Her heart beat in triple time. Who was she kidding? The hammering of her heart was probably taking years off her life, but she didn’t care. Drake Llewelyn wanted her to stay in London. He must have broken up with the supermodel.
Anticipation danced through Chaney. Excitement, too. All the time she’d been dreaming about him, she had no idea he’d noticed her as anything other than one of the interns. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You do work for me, darling. Did,” he corrected himself. “I’m not in the habit of dating employees.”
None of her daydreams had ever been this good. Nothing in her life had ever made her feel so good. Chaney wiggled her toes. But she’d better not get too far ahead of herself.
“You really want me to stay?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
Oh, wow. She wanted to stay in London. With him. Mrs. Drake Llewelyn. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “For how long?”
His brow slanted. “For as long as we’re both having fun.”
Fun. She thought about his answer, repeated the words in her head. For as long as we’re both having fun.
Drake didn’t want forever; he wanted to have fun. What he really wanted, she realized, was sex. And then move on to the woman who caught his eye, the same way he had in the months she’d worked for him, the same way he did with the companies he bought, restructured and sold for a megaprofit once the newness wore off.
Disappointment ripped through Chaney. The legs of the pedestal she’d placed him on crumbled. She straightened.
No more getting carried away where Drake was concerned. She pressed her toes firmly to the bottom of her boots. No more crush, either. She wasn’t any man’s plaything.
What had she been thinking? The guy wasn’t a catch. He might be gorgeous. He might be rich. But he probably still had a girlfriend, too. That would make him a cheater.
Disgust slithered down her spine.
Drake Llewelyn was nothing but a player, a man who thought nothing of going through a slew of women all in the name of having “fun.”
“Sorry, Mr. Llewellyn.” Chaney squared her shoulders. “You’re targeting the wrong girl. Short-term investments, however appealing, are too risky for me. I’m only interested in a long-term investment strategy.”
CHAPTER ONE
“DAMSEL in distress here.” Struggling to carry a heavy box full of what felt like bricks, Chaney eyed the row of antique armor on display in the great hall of Abbotsford Castle. “Hey, knights in shining armor. Can I get some help please?”
The polished suits stood at attention, weapons in hand as if ready for battle, but not one moved.
The story of her life. Chaney laughed.
Okay, she might not have the happily ever-after ending she once thought she’d have, but she couldn’t complain too much. Not many people got to fly to London and stay at a luxurious castle with all expenses paid while working as the associate producer on a highly rated cable channel show for three days.
This was the kind of handson production experience her boss, Justin, said she needed if she wanted to have a shot at the promotion she’d been eyeing. Okay, dreaming about since the job notice appeared and she’d started filling in the application. Knowing finance was one thing, but knowing how projects got made and being in the trenches on a set was another. That was why he let her use her vacation days to come to England this week.
And she had one person to thank for the opportunity.
Gemma.
Her friend and former roommate was counting on Chaney to make sure the taping of The Billionaire’s Playground, a travel show profiling the vacation spots of the uber-wealthy, went off without a hitch. Gemma’s job required her to look out for the cable channel’s interest, to put out fires and most importantly make sure the show stayed on budget and on schedule. Chaney wouldn’t let her friend down.
The container full of electrical gear slipped in Chaney’s sweaty hands. Her arm muscles strained against the weight. Her eyeglasses slid down her nose.
Dropping the hefty box on the gleaming wood floor would be an expensive no-no, one that could have historical implications given the medieval age of the castle. She tightened her grip, but it didn’t help.
“May I help you, my lady?” a male voice asked from behind her.
The Welsh accent reminded her of Drake Llewelyn, but Gemma had said another billionaire would probably host this episode because he had a previous engagement. Chaney had been relieved to know she wouldn’t have to see him again.
“Thank you.” She rested the container against her bended knee. “I should have borrowed a baggage cart or dolly.”
“Allow me.”
She glanced back at her rescuer. A man wearing chain mail, black leather and armor plates on his shoulders, chest and legs approached. And not just any man…
Drake Llewelyn.
Her breath caught in her throat. He looked like a knight from King Arthur’s Round Table, not a billionaire businessman whose latest pet project had him hosting a travel show for his cable channel.
She had to admit the look suited him. Awareness fluttered through her.
Too bad Drake Llewelyn wasn’t a noble knight. He didn’t follow any code of chivalry. His armor should be tarnished, not polished. She really shouldn’t care what he looked like.
He walked toward her with the grace and agility of an athlete. The armor didn’t slow him down one bit.
Uh-oh. She stiffened with apprehension. The costume must mean he was hosting this episode after all. That meant she would be working with him for the next three days.
“Hello, Chaney.”
The warm sound of his voice seeped through her. He took the box out of her arms as if it weighed no more than a container of laundry detergent.
She pushed her glasses back into the place. Her tired and dry eyes had made her take out her contact lenses three hours ago. “Thanks.”
“Thank you for coming at such short notice and filling in for Gem,” he said. “Are you up to speed on the show and this episode?”
Her heart thudded. “Yes.”
Though the show was the last thing on her mind at the moment.
Two familiar brown eyes, with gold flecks flickering like flames, stared into hers and sent Chaney’s temperature soaring. His mussed hair made him look as if he’d just returned to the castle after a crusade and was ready to bed the first female who caught his eye. And his beard…
She did a double take. He’d always been clean shaven before. “You grew a beard.”
“For the taping.” Drake ran his fingers over the hair on his chin. “Not as full as I’d hoped, but I thought a beard would look more knightly.”
“It does.” She normally didn’t like men with facial hair, but the mustache and beard, combined with the costume, made Drake look dark, dangerous and sexy. A black knight who, no doubt, had his pick of maidens, courtesans and queens.
Chaney swallowed around the crown-jewel-size lump in her throat.
“Where would you like the box?” he asked.
The deep rumble of his voice coupled with his accent made her stomach cartwheel and do a series of backflips like a gymnast during a floor exercise routine. The unexpected reaction put every one of her nerve endings on alert.
“By the lights.” Her voice sounded low, almost husky and totally unnatural. The same odd way it felt to be giving Drake Llewelyn orders or feeling the bolt of unwelcome attraction. She cleared her dry throat. “Please place the box next to the lights.”
As he carefully set the box where one of tonight’s scenes would be taped, chain mail clinked. The sound echoed through the cavernous hall until swallowed up by the tapestry-covered walls.
Drake stood, looking taller than she remembered. She hadn’t remembered his eyelashes being so thick and long, either. He seemed more handsome, if that were possible.
Maybe she was more tired than she realized. Exhaustion could easily explain her reaction to him.
His gaze raked over Chaney.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “If I’d known we were supposed to dress up, I would have brought my beer wench costume.”
Drake laughed. “It’s been too long, Chaney.”
Five years, one month and, she did a quick calculation, about five days. Not long enough in her opinion. “I’m only here as a favor for Gemma.”
“It’s still good to see you again.”
No way would she allow herself to be charmed by him. Being enticed by his knight get-up was bad enough. She straightened. “I doubt you missed me.”
“But I have.”
“Not according to the tabloids.”
He adjusted one of the chain mail sleeves, as if the leather pants, tunic and armor were his daily attire not a designer suit from Brioni. “You’ve been following me in the tabloids?”
“Not really. Just…when I’m in line at the grocery store.” And drawn to the stories of Drake dating women as if they were library books to be checked out and returned before their due date. A leopard didn’t change its spots, and so it seemed, neither did a dragon.
“Grocery shopping. For your family?”
Her chest tightened. “Myself.”
“Gemma told me you were engaged.” He glanced at her left hand, at her bare ring finger to be exact. “I thought you’d be married by now.”
Her, too. “Nope.”
“Let me guess, you found the long-term investment strategy lacking.”
Her cheeks burned when she remembered what she’d said to him five years ago. If she’d known then…Who was she kidding? She probably wouldn’t have done anything differently.
“No,” Chaney admitted. “He did.”
Drake reached his hand toward her, but she stepped away from him. “Chaney—”
“I’m not looking for sympathy,” she interrupted. “I got enough of that when Tyler, my fiancé, broke up with me.”
“I wasn’t going to say I’m sorry, because I’m not. The man is obviously an idiot.”
She bit back a smile. She’d forgotten how Drake could put things into perspective with only a few words. “He married my sister.”
“Then your brother-in-law is an idiot,” Drake said.
Chaney laughed. “You’re right about that.”
“You’re too young to settle down.”
“Well, I don’t plan on settling down anytime soon.”
“We have something in common.”
“That makes two things,” she said.
Drake gave her a puzzled look.
“Gemma.” Chaney picked up her clipboard from the top of the box. “We have her in common.”
His eyes darkened. “Yes, we do.”
“I don’t see her much, but thank goodness for the Internet. I don’t know what I would do without her.”
“Me, neither.”
The emotion in the two words, as well as the concern in his eyes, caught her off guard. “You know, Gemma’s going to be fine. Her baby, too. I spoke with her this morning after I arrived. She is sure the bed rest is temporary, and with the way Oliver is spoiling her, she’ll be good to go for the rest of this season’s tapings.”
“Let’s hope so, but until then…” A smile touched Drake’s lips. “I have you.”
The approval in his eyes let Chaney know he liked what he saw. She wouldn’t let herself care.
“Only on the set,” she said crisply.
“Of course.” His eyes laughed at her.
Flustered, she clutched her clipboard. “I’ll make sure things stay on schedule so you can catch your flight out of Heathrow. Gemma said that was important.”
“Still the same industrious, competent Chaney. This arrangement should work out well.”
She raised her chin. “I think so.”
His lips curved into a full smile, showing two rows of straight, white teeth. He did have a nice smile. “I always knew you’d go far, but I thought you were going to work with your father, not take your financial skills and go into show business.”
“Well, my parents did name me after Lon Chaney,” she admitted.
“Lon Chaney, that old actor?”
“They were die-hard horror fans, but preferred the older black-and-white flicks to the newer slasher movies.” She remembered how Drake had kept their conversations focused on business when she was an intern. Well, except for her goingaway party. “I once called my mom ‘mummy’ and she gave me a cookie.”
“That’s—”
“Weird, I know, but Chaney’s better than Karloff or Lorre. Though Bela might not have been too bad,” she admitted. “But in spite of my name, I actually got my first taste of television during my internship when you acquired the Dragon Network. That experience led me to the job at the studio where I work.”
“It’s amazing how an internship can change a career path.”
He had no idea. She nodded.
“And now you’re back in England working on the show we brainstormed.”
Her mouth gaped. She closed it. “You remember?”
“Your name is in the credits.”
“That was a nice gesture, but it’s not the same show we’d talked about.”
“Maybe not, but The Billionaire’s Playground wouldn’t exist if not for that meeting you attended.”
His words meant a lot to her and echoed what Gemma had said. “Thank you.”
“So how does it feel?” Drake asked.
“Pretty cool.” Chaney wiggled her toes. “I remember watching the premiere episode and thinking, wow, this is what all those ideas we were tossing back and forth turned into. Though I never thought you’d host the show.”
“Me, neither,” he admitted. “But I had a free weekend when they were set to shoot the pilot. We hadn’t found the right talent to host, and Gem said I should do it. I had fun, so I decided to make it a regular gig. Though we’ve started using guest hosts.”
“Gemma told me.”
“Do you have a favorite episode?” he asked.
“I’d have to say it’s the one with kite surfing on the coast of Greenland.”
“That was an exciting episode to tape,” he said. “The Google guys took a vacation there and gave us the idea.”
“Whose idea was it to use a medieval castle this weekend?”
“Gem after she nixed my idea of base-jumping in Norway.”
“Good call,” Chaney said. “Previews of you in your knight costume will bring in viewers and increase ratings a lot more than you doing a crazy stunt.”
He raised a brow. “You sound confident.”
“It’s my job to understand viewers and translate ratings into advertising revenue,” she explained. “All you have to do is take a look at yourself in any one of the gilded mirrors around here. The knight look will be huge with female viewers. You may span a whole new following with Sir Dragon Knight.”
He laughed. “And I thought women were only after my bank account.”
“I’m sure there are those, too, but all women are susceptible to the archetype of a knight. Even if they’d never admit it.”
“Do you admit it?” he asked.
“Well, I definitely had a thing for knights when I was younger. Galahad was my favorite, but the whole fairy-tale thing seems a bit…outdated. I don’t need anyone to rescue me. I can do it myself.”
Even if she still might dream of a happily ever after of her own someday.
“Very modern. Very practical.”
“I am practical.” She’d had to be. “Anything wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all.” The devilish look in his brown eyes matched the grin on his face. “I’m curious how your practicality has affected your current investment strategy philosophy. Do you prefer short-term, long-term or day trading?”
“None of the above.” She raised her chin and met his inquisitive gaze. “I’m currently on hiatus from…investing.”
Talk about a marathon session tonight. Drake had almost been grateful when the clock struck midnight and the chimes interrupted the taping.
Of course he was the executive producer as well as the host, or talent as the crew called it. He could have shut down production at any time except he had a helicopter to catch on Sunday afternoon so he could make a flight at Heathrow. He didn’t want to cause any delays.
Hot lights shone on him. Sweat dripped down his armor-clad body. Even though he was wearing a costume, the armor was metal not plastic. Drake was going to need a shower, and maybe a massage, when they were finished. He knew exactly who he wanted to help him with both.
Drake couldn’t see Chaney Sullivan. He surveyed the drawing room looking for a peek of her caramel-colored hair, but couldn’t see her with the two cameras in front of him and the crew milling about behind them. Maybe she was hidden in the back.
The antique one-of-a-kind clock continued to chime. Ten, eleven, twelve…
Quiet. Finally.
“Okay, people.” Milt, the director and producer, clapped his hands. “Let’s get this final scene wrapped up so we can call it a night.”
Drake was all for that.
“One sec.” The hair-and-makeup stylist, a woman named Liz who preferred soda to wine and pretzels to caviar, ran up to him. She fluffed, finger curled and sprayed his hair, making him feel like a fancy show dog. She smiled, satisfaction filling her eyes. “That’s better.”
For her maybe. At least the wardrobe stylist, a guy named Russell, wasn’t trying to spit shine the armor. Just buff it with a soft, white cloth.
“We only need the last line,” Milt said.
Drake stretched his neck. “No problem.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Milt’s eyes narrowed. “I only want you to do one thing differently this time. When you smile at the camera, make it really count. Make the female viewers wet between the legs.”
“I’m a businessman, not an actor.”
“You’re neither of those things tonight.” As Milt patted Drake’s shoulder, his ring clanged against the armor. “You’re Lancelot, knight and lover extraordinaire. Guinevere, your queen, is alone in the castle, naked in her bed, and watching you. Make her wish you were there with her.”
Drake fought the urge to roll his eyes. And laugh.
This part of show business was something he would never understand. Still, doing the show was good publicity and PR for the channel and his company. He trusted his gut, and his instinct said do what Milt wanted. That was what Drake had done for the past two seasons and saw no need to change now. “You’re in charge, but let’s hope Guin’s covered herself with a blanket. Castles can be drafty this time of year.”
The crew laughed. Even Milt cracked a smile.
Liz came after Drake with the eyelash curler. “I forgot something.”
“Is that really necessary again?” he asked.
She winked. “Absolutely, Sir Lashalot.”
Drake grimaced, allowed the deed to be done and readied himself for the scene.
Holding a gold goblet precariously with his gauntlet-covered hand, he stood in front of an elaborately carved fireplace complete with an ornate coat of arms being held by two lion-faced cherubim.
“Ready, Sir Lancelot?” Milt asked.
Drake nodded once.
Milt looked at Tony, one of the two cameramen on the crew. “Let me know when you have speed.”
“Are the mikes working?” Tony asked the audio person, who gave him the thumbs-up. “Speed.”
A few seconds later, Drake saw his cue.
Show time.
Once he nailed this line, he’d be free to do whatever he wanted. And he knew what—make that who—he wanted.
Forget Guinevere.
The adulterous queen had nothing on his new associate producer. An image of Chaney wearing her sexy, smart-girl glasses flashed in his mind.
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