I try not to panic.

  “Well, if you won’t care about his health, Mr. Hunt, I will.” I gently extract the folder full of papers from Mr. Force’s grasp. “Lie down. These will be waiting when you’re awake and alert.”

  “He needs to sign them now,” Hunt insists through clenched teeth.

  I want to tell him to shut the hell up, but I might get fired before I’m even hired. “Unfortunately, he can’t.”

  Mr. Force is slumped against the headboard, lightly snoring.

  With a huff, Hunt plucks the papers out of my hands. “I’ll come back when he’s awake.”

  “Perfect. I’ll be here.” I smile acidly.

  But I’m aware that may not be true. I was just insubordinate with one of Mr. Force’s executives. Since he clearly trusts this person, my behavior may prevent him from hiring me. Sure, I meant to protect him. In fact, I felt compelled to. But how do I explain that? He won’t believe me.

  Just then, Mr. Force’s phone buzzes and lights up. The lock screen hasn’t engaged yet. I don’t mean to snoop, but I see it’s a text from Hennessey.

  Need to discuss next move for Cap Crossover Index? Available for a call?

  I set the phone across the room on Mr. Force’s dresser, where it’s less likely to wake him if Hennessey texts again. Then I kill the light on the nightstand and try to ease him into a more stable reclining position against the headboard.

  “Wha…” he murmurs, half-asleep.

  “Rest,” I whisper. “I’m taking care of things.”

  “’K.” He sighs and falls back into a deep sleep, Hades emerging from under the bed to curl beside him again.

  Maybe it’s just as well. I’ve got to start figuring some stuff out, and this will give me time. As much as I hate appropriating Mr. Force’s phone, I need it.

  I pluck the device off the dresser, dart into the bedroom across the hall, shut the door, and dial Renee. Thank goodness I know her number by heart.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Savannah,” I explain as I take the brand-new MacBook Pro out of the box and start booting it up.

  “Whose number is this?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Did I catch you on a break?”

  “Nope. Benji let me off early since we weren’t getting much business. I need the money, but I also need to finish vacating the apartment. My coworker Becky says I can crash with her for a few days…but she doesn’t have room for anyone else. I’m really sorry for the way everything has gone.”

  “It’s fine. I’ve got it covered.”

  “No surprise there. You’re so smart. You always succeed. What’s up?”

  “I could use an ear…”

  When I fill her in on my job audition, she squeals. “That’s fantastic. You’ll totally get it. He’d be a fool not to hire you, and from everything I hear, Chad Force is no fool. Every year he’s named one of Boston’s most eligible bachelors. Is he as hot in person as he looks in magazines?”

  Hotter.

  “I’m trying to work for him, not date him,” I point out, because if I encourage Renee at all, she’ll suggest I strip, shimmy my way into his bed, and sex him up.

  She’s been my best friend forever, but we don’t want the same things in life. She would never stay in a job that consumed her. Since she’s only passionately invested in having a good time, she works purely to live. She says I live to work, but she doesn’t understand my ambitions. I could never be satisfied without professional achievement, but now isn’t the time to hash out our differences. I need Renee for another skill. She’s great with people and she thinks outside the box. I tend to attack every problem head-on…and too often get smacked down.

  “Here’s the thing, Ren: Mr. Force and I just met, but I already know one of his executives is trying to screw him over. He deserves to know.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You know I usually blurt, but that won’t work.” I sigh. “I really hate unethical people. Any bright ideas how I can tell him without him kicking me to the curb?”

  “Off the top of my head? No.” Her tone is thick with apology. “I’d have to think for a while.”

  “I don’t have time. I’ll take anything you’ve got.”

  “Epic rap battle?”

  “What?” I love Renee…but sometimes her out-of-the-box translates to crazy.

  “Yeah. You tell him to throw down some lyrics about business, then you throw down some, too, and—”

  “How is that supposed to make him trust me?”

  “If you were lying, would you be singing it?”

  “I’m supposed to beat-box and freestyle with one of the brightest financial minds in the world to explain why one of his own intends to screw him over?”

  “Okay, so maybe that’s not my best idea. Um…what about watching a few episodes of Billions with him? See if you can segue from fictional backstabbing to the real-life kind.”

  That actually has some merit, but I still don’t see Chad Force wasting a few hours for me to get to the point.

  I’m going to have to figure this out myself.

  “Maybe. Listen, you’re okay for a few days?”

  “Totally. You? Force isn’t a creep, right?”

  “Not at all. I doubt he’s even realized I’m female.” Sadly.

  “Bummer. Can I call this number if I need to talk to you?”

  “No!” That’s all I need, for Mr. Force to realize I used his phone without his permission. “I’ll check in when I can. Promise.”

  “Okay. Talk to you soon.”

  “Bye, Ren.”

  With a sigh, I hang up and try to think of any other phone calls I need to make. Nothing comes to mind. But his device is sitting right here… Maybe I should look over his texts with Hennessey. Maybe some part of their exchange will help my cause?

  Nope.

  A few minutes later, I darken the device and return it to his dresser. Since spying is a dead end, I need to spend time prepping for when Mr. Force awakens.

  Setting aside the wrapped bundle of what I assume are my necessities, I configure the laptop quickly. Then I scramble down to his office and find the Wi-Fi password exactly where he said it would be, so I connect and surf to some of my favorite financial sites, pulling data I think he’ll be interested in and compiling it into reports I hope he’ll find useful. When I sort the data enough to spot a few interesting trends, I massage the report to illustrate my point and print it out.

  On my way upstairs, I peek in Mr. Force’s room. He’s beginning to stir, so I step into my bedroom across the hall and unwrap the personal items Mr. Hunt brought as Hades joins me with a meow.

  In addition to a toothbrush and toothpaste, there’s a boar-bristle brush, a sturdy wooden comb, salon-brand shampoo and conditioner, a luxury facial cleanser with accompanying moisturizer, a soft but lacy nightgown with delicate spaghetti straps in a blushing pink shade, two pairs of designer underwear, and an expensive bra that’s precisely my size.

  Holy shit. Mr. Force told Hunt what to fetch. Had he read my mind? Read my body?

  “Savannah?”

  Still reeling, I shove everything aside and head across the hall to find the man sitting up in bed expectantly. “Yes, Mr. Force?”

  “Marcus left?”

  “About ninety minutes ago, yes.”

  He nods as if he’s digesting that information. “Did you get your computer set up?”

  “Yes. I also pulled the information you requested and compiled it.” I hand him the report.

  He takes it with a nod. “I need a minute to study this. Would you hand me my phone and get me a bottle of water?”

  Clearly, I’m going to get that exercise I was lamenting earlier just running up and down these stairs. No wonder he looks amazing.

  “On it.”

  As I hand him his device and turn to head out of the room, he calls out to me. “Savannah?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re doing well. Carry on.”

  I’m hard-pressed to hold in a smile. “Thank you.”

  Then I remember the truth I have to lay on him and my smile fades as I head downstairs.

  Chad

  Working with Savannah is an utter delight—not that I’d tell her. With very little direction, she’s compiled a surprisingly insightful report and recognized trends that weren’t even on my radar. If I hire her as my assistant, I can’t keep her in that position long. First, she’s too bright not to promote. Second, she’s too sexy to have so close. If I’m aching to touch her after just a few hours, how will I resist her for weeks? Months? Years?

  As we pore over the data, I give her my thoughts. She asks astute questions, which saves on the time needed to introduce her to the ins and outs of my business. The rest? Intuitively, she fills in the blanks and offers to update the report to my specification with numbers from the Asian markets as they roll in.

  “Did you find something to cook for dinner? Obviously, this wouldn’t be one of your normal job responsibilities, and I should be back in the office soon, but until then I’m helpless.”

  “Chicken piccata and salad all right?”

  “Perfect.” But now that we’re not discussing data and market trends, she’s more reserved. Reluctant to engage, even. “Does my request that you cook bother you?”

  “No.”

  So she’s got something else on her mind. “Do you have everything you need to spend a couple of days here?”

  “Yes. Thank you. I’ll…um, start cooking now.” She rises from my office chair and heads for the door.

  “Before you go, Savannah, tell me what’s on your mind.”

  She pastes on a phony smile. “Nothing.”

  I want to vault from this bed, grab her shoulders, and shake the truth from her. Then I want to kiss that pouty bow of a mouth that tempted me the second she stepped into the room before I cover every part of her body with mine and put a real smile on her face. “Are you sure? Remember, I don’t like liars.”

  “Does anyone?” she murmurs as she disappears into the hall.

  “Fuck,” I snarl under my breath, reach for my phone, and ring Marcus, who answers immediately. “What happened after I fell asleep?”

  “Nothing. You drifted off, and I left so I could make my four p.m. with Legal. Everything all right?”

  “Savannah didn’t say anything to you?”

  “No.”

  I’m wasting my time. I’ll use dinner to figure out what’s up with her. “Meeting go smoothly?”

  “For the most part. Minor details, but nothing that will stop business. But I need you to sign something. Can I bring it by later?”

  “Yeah. Around seven?”

  “You got it. Oh, I was still answering Savannah’s Pacific Rim question when I had to leave. Do you have her number so I can finish filling her in?”

  I hobble to her résumé on the table near the fireplace and read off her digits. “Anything else?”

  “Just keep resting. We miss you around the office, and the rest of the basketball league is wiping the floor with our asses. We need our point guard.”

  “It’s going to be a while.” I wince as I settle back onto the bed. “Try not to suck until I get back.”

  He laughs as I disconnect the call. But less than a minute later, Marcus texts. Savannah’s phone can’t receive calls at this time? How is that possible?

  The question gnaws at me as I flip on a familiar cable business news station and half watch the chyron scroll across the bottom of the screen with weekly unemployment statistics, the price of crude, and the recent spike in gold while I skim my emails.

  Then I hear Savannah at the top of the stairs, panting. Instantly, I go hard. Fuck, I’d love to hear her breathing like that while I’m driving deep inside her. But those thoughts are both reckless and unprofessional, and I need to stop.

  Settling my computer over my lap, I close the lid and wait for her to enter.

  “Everything should be ready in the next twenty minutes,” she says, looking slightly flushed. “I’ll bring your plate up then.”

  I’d rather not eat alone. No, that’s not entirely true. I’m used to being alone. I enjoy the quiet. But tonight, I’d rather be with Savannah.

  “Thank you. I’ve been using the card table in my closet for dinner. Set that up in here for us. We didn’t finish our interview earlier. We’ll talk while we eat.”

  “If I have to bring all that food up five flights of stairs, it will require more trips than I have lungs.”

  “You only have to make one trip. Send the food up the dumbwaiter, along with a bottle of wine.”

  She frowns. “Should you be drinking if you’re taking pain medication?”

  Her attempt to protect me is surprising. “Should you be questioning my judgment?”

  “You don’t want me interested in your safety?”

  Touché. “What if I told you I would fire you unless you retract that question?”

  Savannah pauses the split second it takes to smooth away her alarm. “Obviously, that’s not what I want, but at least I’ll know I tried my best to look out for you.”

  Her answer has me suppressing a smile. “The wine is for you.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Unless I’m way off, you’ve had a rough time lately.”

  She stiffens. “I’m fine.”

  Savannah is only saying that because she’s a fighter who doesn’t want my pity. I respect that. But I want to help her, too. “You’re also entitled to a glass of liquid relaxation.”

  She cocks her head. “Have you been told that you can be difficult?”

  “Not today. Are you rectifying that?”

  “Absolutely. If the rest of your staff has been remiss, that might be why you need me.”

  My grin widens. Working with Savannah would never be dull. “You might be right.”

  With a shake of her head, she crosses my room and opens the door to my closet, then emerges with the card table. She sets it up by my bedside, then drags my office chair closer. “I’ll send the food up and be back shortly.”

  “You’ll find the dumbwaiter—”

  “I’ll figure it out. You rest.”

  If she was auditioning to be something other than my assistant, I’d spank her for her sassiness. But I like it. She’d be an interesting woman to spar with between the sheets.

  A few minutes later, Savannah rushes back up the stairs, carrying napkins, silverware, and an open bottle of wine. She plunks everything on the table. Then she exits again, searching the floor until she finds the dumbwaiter. She returns with our food, a bottle of water, and an empty wineglass.

  Dinner smells amazing, and the first bite is like heaven. “This is fantastic. Thank you for cooking.”

  She pours herself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and sips. “You’re welcome.”

  “You cook much?”

  Her face closes up. “I used to.”

  “When?”

  She stalls by taking a bite, then going back for another drink of her vino. “As a kid, I cooked a lot for my grandmother. I enjoyed it.”

  “Did you stop when you went away to college?”

  “No, when she died five years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Savannah tries to shrug off her pain. “She was old. I wasn’t surprised when her heart gave out.”

  But I can tell she was devastated. It’s all I can do to resist giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “How old were you?”

  “Not quite seventeen. After she passed away, I didn’t have any other family willing to take me in, so I went to live with my best friend, Renee, and her parents. They were great. Very supportive.”

  “What about your parents?”

  Her face closes up. “I don’t discuss them.”

  I change tactics. “Are you and Renee still friends?”

  “Yes. She’s the one who convinced me to move here after my graduation in December. I had other opportunities back in Indiana—”

  “But none of them could give you the professional advancement you wanted.” It’s not a question; I know the answer.

  “Exactly.” As I fork in another bite, she cocks her head. “Why the personal questions?”

  “It’s important to know the person I might spend seventy hours a week with, don’t you think?”

  She nods. “Fair point.”

  “You can’t convince me you didn’t come to this interview prepared. You know far more about me.”

  “But I don’t know what makes you tick.”

  “Profit.”

  She scoffs. “You inherited enough money to make Midas jealous. It’s the hunt you enjoy. It’s the kill.”

  A slow smile creeps up my face. This woman gets me. “What if I do?”

  She swallows a bite of chicken, then washes it down with wine. “We’re a lot alike.”

  Yes, she has a similar instinct. I have the advantage of experience. She has the benefit of being underestimated. I won’t make that mistake. “You’re right.”

  “Why haven’t you ever married?”

  I shrug. “Not a priority.”

  Savannah rolls her eyes. “I’m calling BS. According to the press, you’re a notorious loner who barely dates.”

  True. “What’s your point?”

  Maybe the wine has made her bold, because she finishes off the glass, despite the fact she’s hardly touched her food. “You’re the kind of person who will insist on spending your life with someone who shares your passions. You just haven’t found her yet.”

  “Are you insinuating I’ve never known passion?”

  “I’m sure you have, but I’m not talking about the physical kind. You won’t be happy with someone who’s not your intellectual equal.”

  “How do you know? Opposites attract.”

  “That kind of attraction doesn’t last.” She leans in, warming to her subject. “I’ve cut every one of my exes loose because they couldn’t keep up with me intellectually and didn’t want to try. Tell me you haven’t been down the same road.”

  “I can’t without lying.”

  This is another reason it will be so fucking difficult to resist Savannah if I hire her. She’s gorgeous, ambitious, and smarter than hell. It’s a rare combination. But she needs a job and I need an assistant far more than either of us needs a romp in bed.