That explains why he’s home and in bed, rather than in his fancy downtown office. I really don’t know why he didn’t hire a nurse to help him if Wendy is gone, but I’m sure he has some reason. The crazy-rich are often eccentric.

  On the other hand, I know where I’ll be sleeping for the next couple of nights. In his incredibly luxurious row house isn’t at all bad. Renee would flip if she could see this place.

  “That’s no problem. How can I help you first?”

  “Do you need to go back to your place and grab a few things? I can hire you a driver to do that if you promise to be back in an hour sharp.”

  I can’t promise that for two reasons. First, my suitcase with all my worldly belongings is in Renee’s car parked outside the fast-food restaurant where she’s working. I didn’t know where else to stash it since I had no idea this morning that she’d wake up to an eviction notice for non-payment of rent. Second, I can’t vouch for Boston traffic. It looks far more brutal than anything I grew up with in small-town Indiana.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  Mr. Force looks as if he wants to probe my statement and ask a thousand questions. He doesn’t. “But you’ll need a toothbrush, a change of clothes…”

  Maybe there’s a drugstore down the street where I can grab a fresh toothbrush. Thankfully, the little bit of makeup I possess is in my purse. I’ll wash out my underwear each night and sleep naked. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Make a list of what you need. I’ll have it here within the hour.” He passes me a notepad and a pen, his hands strong with pronounced veins and long, tapered fingers. Is everything about him just naturally sexy?

  “Thank you. I’ll keep it short.” I jot down a few simple items, then pass the paper back to him.

  He scans what I’ve written impassively, then reaches for his phone, texts something to someone, then sets the device aside. The gravity of his undivided attention falls on me again. “Anything else you need before we jump in? Some water? A stretch? A trip to the restroom?”

  It will all wait. “No, sir. Tell me how I can help you.”

  “All right. I need updates on the Dow’s current numbers, as well as the ASX and Hang Seng futures. Focus on tech and biotech. Look for any movers and shakers out to an early rise, along with anything falling ahead of the open.”

  “Sure.” These are my areas of interest, too. I’m not surprised Mr. Force knows the future will be won in these two fields.

  “I need reports. Index them both alphabetically and by percentage of change in stock price. The Wi-Fi password is taped to the bottom of the sliding drawer, under the keyboard in my office. Feel free to hook up to it. You’ll see my printer on the network.”

  I pause. He doesn’t care about my problems. Nor should he. But I can’t accomplish what he wants me to with the tools I brought.

  “Do you have another computer in the house I could borrow? I wouldn’t presume to use yours—”

  “You don’t have one?”

  I do…but I hardly count the decade-old machine I bought off a former classmate years ago. “Not with me.”

  He gives me an absent nod, then reaches for his device again, shoots out another text, then darkens his phone. “You’ll have one within the hour for your use. Until that arrives, are you able to bring me some lunch?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  He asks for a sandwich and raw veggies, which I’m happy to bring him, along with a cold bottle of water. I’m starving since I haven’t eaten all day, but he didn’t invite me to eat, and he’s waiting. This job is more important than a couple of meals.

  Ignoring my rumbling stomach, I take his lunch up to him, then set it on a tray not far from his bedside. Frowning, I set his plate down and lift the tray beside him, swinging the table over his legs. Hades raises his head and eyes me, decides I’m no threat, then drifts off again.

  “This looks good. Thank you.”

  I nod. “If your housekeeper is on vacation, who’s been taking care of you?”

  “My previous assistant.”

  “When did she quit?”

  “Last night about six o’clock.”

  What was more important on a Sunday evening than taking care of a healing man who has no one else? “Was she insisting on going to a family dinner? A church service?”

  “A hot date with one of my junior executives.”

  “Seriously? Did you threaten to fire her if she left?”

  “No. She said she was done tolerating my arrogant, demanding ass. So I relieved her of her duty.”

  If she’d said that, I would have, too. “I’m not interested in dating any of your junior executives, sir. That’s a promise.”

  “I’ll hold you to that—at least until I’m on my feet and back in the office.” He unscrews the bottle of water.

  I feel awkward hovering over him. “Would you like privacy to finish?”

  Mr. Force doesn’t answer right away, and my stomach chooses that moment to protest its empty state. “When was the last time you ate?”

  Lying isn’t worth it, especially since I’m sure he can see straight through me. “Last night.”

  Slowly, he sets his water bottle down and—there’s no other word for it—glares at me. “Are you skipping meals in some unwarranted attempt at a diet?”

  “No.”

  His expression relaxes. I can’t say it softens; I’m not sure that’s possible. “Make yourself some lunch. Help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen. If you don’t see something you need, make a list. I’ll have it taken care of.”

  He knows I’m hungry and he probably knows I’m broke. It’s humiliating, but if I refuse him, I might be out of my dream job. Besides, dented pride is better than starvation. “Thank you. When would you like me back upstairs, sir?”

  He glances at the clock on his nightstand. “Forty-five minutes. Your new things should arrive by then, so we can dive into work.”

  “I’ll be back.” I head out his bedroom door, determined not to glance over my shoulder at him, despite the fact I feel his stare all over me.

  “While you’re down there, find something you wouldn’t mind cooking for dinner. I’m bored with takeout.”

  I was hoping I’d get a chance to cook in his amazing kitchen. “Of course. Any particular allergies, dislikes, or diet I should follow?”

  “I hate cabbage and beets. Beyond that, I’ll leave it up to you.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Excellent. When you come back, I’ll have more questions for you.”

  No surprise there. “Looking forward to them, sir.”

  As I exit the bedroom, my gaze lingers on him far longer than it should, almost as if his commanding presence compels me. When I make it into the hall, I let out a pent-up breath.

  Could I really work for Chad Force and not make a fool of myself? He’s been all business, and I’ve wondered more than once what it would be like to get naked and share his bed.

  Idiot. Don’t risk blowing this opportunity. Get your brain out of your vagina and focus.

  On the first floor, I head into the kitchen and make myself a sandwich. A few chips and a banana later, along with a chewy chocolate chip cookie I found in a package in the pantry, and I’m pleasantly full. It will definitely tide me over until dinner. And it’s such a huge relief not to worry how I’m going to eat or where I’m going to sleep for the next two days.

  I’d love to call Renee and tell her what’s going on, but without any credits on my phone, I can’t. And I don’t see anything that resembles a landline around Mr. Force’s big-ass mansion.

  Once I right the kitchen after my meal, I prowl through the refrigerator to get a sense of what he has on hand so I can cook dinner. He likes fresh ingredients and he’s a minimalist, but there’s enough here for me to work with.

  With recipes flitting through my head, I flip on the light in the pantry to see what else I can whip up to complete dinner when I hear a buzz and a click, followed by a swish, then a footfall before the door softly closes.

  Who’s here? Hopefully, it’s the person delivering my necessities.

  I mind my own business and continue scanning the pantry shelves when I hear the stranger’s low voice. He sounds as if he’s trying not to be overheard.

  “I’m in. Give me five, then start calling and texting him. Keep him distracted. Thirty or forty minutes ought to do the trick. That will give me long enough to administer the pain meds he asked me to pick up from the pharmacy and let them take effect. Then I’ll get him to sign.” A long pause. “He won’t realize what he’s signing. He trusts me. Then we’ll have our insurance policy. After today, we’ll be rich—at that fucking bastard’s expense. I can’t wait to see his pampered ass in prison.”

  Prison? The person Mr. Force just let into his house works for him, and he wants to see his boss go down for whatever nefarious crap he’s up to?

  Yes.

  The stranger’s footsteps click across the tile before being muffled by the luxurious carpeting on the stairs. I stand rooted in place with shock, my hand over my mouth covering my seemingly too-loud breathing.

  I have to stop this plot before this stranger succeeds.

  A glance at the clock tells me that Mr. Force isn’t expecting me for another twenty minutes. But I don’t dare wait that long to go to his rescue.

  On the other hand, what happens if I charge upstairs, full of accusations? Mr. Force apparently trusts this stranger. He met me less than two hours ago. Why should he trust me over this other guy?

  It’s a valid question…and I don’t have a valid answer. But I can’t stand injustice, so I don’t want Mr. Force going down for someone else’s crimes. There’s no question I have to do something…

  But maybe that something is merely keeping Mr. Force from signing whatever documents the stranger brought. At least for now. If I can win my prospective boss’s trust over the next two days, I’ll tell him what I overheard. Maybe then he’ll believe me and refuse to sign.

  But what if he doesn’t?

  I ignore the doubt, along with the fear that he’ll fire me for even suggesting his trusted employee is crooked. Keeping quiet isn’t an option.

  After using the powder room I find on the first floor, I give myself a silent pep talk in the mirror. I wish I felt better afterward. Sure, I’m smart. But I’m hardly used to swimming with sharks. So far, Mr. Force has only circled me to determine if I can keep up enough to be helpful. He didn’t move in for any sort of kill. His treasonous employee? He’s a guy willing to commit a crime and throw his boss under the bus for his own gain. So he’s definitely the killer kind of shark. If I’m the thing that stands between him and a long stint in the slammer, he’ll definitely try to take a bite out of me.

  Are you really prepared for that?

  Probably not, but I have to try.

  After flipping off the bathroom light, I make my way back up the stairs. As I reach the top floor, huffing and puffing again, which only reminds me that I need to get more exercise, I hear a low, mumbled exchange of voices at the end of the hall, then make my way to Mr. Force’s bedroom.

  Nothing prepares me for the sight of him standing beside his bed, naked except for a pair of white boxer briefs. He leans on a claw-foot cane while a man in an impeccable pale gray suit helps him into a clean pair of black pajama pants. Since his hair is wet, it’s obvious Mr. Force has showered while I ate. He shaved, too, freshly exposing all the sharp angles of his jaw.

  Our eyes meet, and I stand, still and stunned. But I can’t stop my gaze from wandering down to his bulging-wide shoulders, his broad, hair-roughened chest, his multi-pack of abs that attests to his obvious exercise and clean-eating regimen, and his sizable bulge that seems to be swelling in his underwear—until the stranger cuts off my view by settling the pants in place.

  Finally, I have the good grace to cast my gaze down to his expensive carpet, but my cheeks heat and my heart revs. I hate to think about how damp my panties suddenly feel. Is there any way I can work for Mr. Force without throwing myself at him or falling madly in lust?

  I turn and peer down the hall. If I don’t, I’ll only gawk again at his impressively male body and lickable abs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

  “It’s fine,” he says amid the rustling of cloth. “You can come in now.”

  I take my time looking his way again, then enter the room, not because I don’t want another peek but because I need the time for my blush to fade. Finally, I clear my throat, paste on a businesslike smile, and step into the bedroom like nothing happened.

  Fake it until you make it, right?

  “Savannah, this is Marcus Hunt, my senior VP over the Foreign Investments team.”

  The thirty-something guy is ridiculously attractive—sandy hair, green eyes, shoulders for days—but I’m not drawn to him. He has a sharp, watchful stare far more suited to a mafia enforcer than an executive.

  He sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Same,” I lie through my teeth as we shake.

  Instantly, I resist the urge to wipe my hand on my skirt. Nothing in his eyes says he’s evil, but his plan to intentionally set his boss up as the fall guy says otherwise.

  “Marcus, Savannah is auditioning to be my new assistant.”

  “Ah.” He raises his brows at me.

  What the hell does that mean?

  Before I can figure it out, Mr. Force turns back to me. “Marcus brought your things. They’re in the bedroom across the hall.”

  “Thank you,” I manage stiffly.

  The stranger nods with a smile that doesn’t look real. “You’re welcome. You’ll need to set up your new Mac, but that shouldn’t take long.”

  “Why don’t you work on that while Marcus and I finish our conversation?”

  So he can pull a fast one on Mr. Force while I’m busy? A glance at the nightstand shows me a bottle of prescription pills that wasn’t there before Marcus’s arrival. I can’t read the label from this distance, but since the lid is off and there’s a half-empty glass on the nightstand, I can only surmise Mr. Force has taken something for the pain.

  Which means he may not be thinking clearly.

  Suddenly, his phone dings and he lifts the device with a scowl. “It’s Hennessey. Large-cap group,” he tells me. “I need to answer this.”

  Hennessey is also probably Marcus Hunt’s partner in crime and Mr. Force’s distraction.

  I’ve got to do something now. “I have a few questions for you, Mr. Hunt. Since you’re here and all…”

  Both men send me sudden, sharp glances. Hunt looks somewhere between taken aback and suspicious. Mr. Force seems almost amused.

  “What kind of questions?”

  I was afraid he was going to ask me that. I have to think of some query that sounds halfway intelligent, but I confess that since I’ve been moving these past few days—and trying to convince myself it wasn’t a mistake—I haven’t paid attention to the financial news like I usually would.

  “Um…given rising tensions in the South China Sea, how do you see international trade affected in the Pacific Rim countries? Are you bullish or bearish on continuing deals and profits into next year?”

  “That’s a deep question. Got an hour or two?” Hunt quips dismissively.

  Mr. Force’s phone dings again and he regards it with another scowl, thumbs flying as he eases down to the mattress.

  Is he taking a load off because the meds are working?

  I need to stall Marcus Hunt a bit longer.

  “To learn? Always. You and Mr. Force will both find that I have an insatiable curiosity and I want to understand how people and finances are affected, especially by politics. What do you think is the world view on China’s seeming aggressions in the region?”

  He blinks, clearly surprised, then casts Mr. Force a questioning gaze.

  My prospective boss gestures to Mr. Hunt to continue. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes, after I clear up some things for Hennessey.”

  “Sure.” He sends me a tightly polite smile. “Another time, maybe? I need to get back for a four o’clock. Can you just sign these real quick, Chad? Then I’ll be on my way.”

  Finally, I see an opening and grab the folder. “Leave them with me. I’ll make sure they get signed the moment he’s available.”

  Marcus snatches the folder back with a scowl. “These are critical. I can wait a few more minutes.”

  So he can screw up his boss’s life? Not happening. “Great. While Mr. Force is busy, why don’t you give me the short answer to my question?”

  “There is no short answer. It requires an understanding of existing trade deals, international politics, and—”

  “Don’t sell her short because she’s young, Marcus. She’s smart.”

  He huffs, then launches in. “Taiwan and Philippines represent the best pushback to Chinese dominance in the region but…”

  I half listen to Marcus and instead watch him fume. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mr. Force text something else, then glance my way. He looks glassy-eyed and lax. Whatever he took for the pain has started taking effect.

  Suddenly, Hunt cuts his explanation short, which is fine. He’s knowledgeable and he understands the nuances of the region better than I do, so I give him props for that, but he’s eyeing Mr. Force so impatiently it sets me on edge.

  “If the boss hires you, we can finish this conversation in the office, but I really need to run now. Chad?” He shoulders his way past me and holds out the manilla folder. “If you’ll just sign these, I’ll get out of your hair. It’s paperwork we’ve already discussed.”

  “Hmm,” Mr. Force mumbles as his phone dings again.

  “Would you like me to handle whoever’s texting so you can focus on the documents?” I offer.

  Slowly, he shakes his head. “I got it.”

  “Or I could read them to you—”

  Hunt whirls on me. “Are you an assistant or a babysitter?”

  I have a feeling Mr. Force would normally put his executive in his place for that comment. But now, he’s slumped against the headboard, eyes half-closed, as he sets his cell aside and reaches for the folder.