At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

  I have a feeling she could be so much more, though. In fact, I’m seeing an opportunity to have the best of both worlds… But I need more information before I decide whether to proceed.

  “What do you think about Marcus?” I change the subject.

  Her face shutters so fast it’s almost dizzying. “I don’t know him.”

  “First impressions. Gut instinct.”

  “I’d rather not speak until my opinion is fully formed. Excuse me. I forgot something in the kitchen. Do you need anything else?”

  She’s lying, but I let it slide…for now. The evening is young. Savannah is sharp, no denying. But she’s not used to playing with the big boys. I’ll win.

  Savannah

  Downstairs, I take a deep breath and press a hand to my chest. I hope I didn’t just make a huge mistake. Mr. Force gave me an opening to tell him about Marcus Hunt’s duplicity and I didn’t. My gut told me he wasn’t ready to listen.

  But I need to confront this situation. Nothing good will come of waiting.

  With ideas floating through my head, I grab the salad bowl and the bottle of dressing, then head back upstairs. Mr. Force is still at the table, his plate mostly finished. He’s poured me another glass of wine.

  “Sit.” He gestures.

  I comply. “Salad?”

  “I’m full. Why did you run off?”

  “I wanted more.” I scoop romaine onto my plate, despite the fact I’m not hungry. “To answer your question, I’m reluctant to talk about Marcus without a deeper conversation.”

  “As it happens, he’d like to talk to you, too.” Mr. Force shoves his plate aside and props that intriguing square chin on his big fist. “When he tried to ring your cell earlier, he got a message that your number is unavailable.”

  Instantly, my face goes up in flames. “I, um…need to add more credit to my phone. It must have run out during my move and—”

  “I’ll take care of it.” He grabs his own device, presses a few buttons, then sets it aside. “You’ll have a new one in the next two hours.”

  Certainly he doesn’t mean to keep. “I appreciate you letting me borrow—”

  “It’s yours. It will be paid up for the next six months.” He smiles. “That way, when you need to make another call, you don’t use mine.”

  I wince. Shit. I forgot to delete my call history. “I’m sorry. I had to check on Renee. She got evicted and—”

  “I take it that means you did as well?”

  Could this get more embarrassing? “By default. I was only there for two days. I just moved to Boston.”

  “Well, maybe things are looking up for you.”

  “Maybe.” God, I hope so. “This is the oddest job interview I’ve ever been on.”

  “It’s the longest I’ve ever given. Consider it a compliment. I usually know in the first two minutes how long the candidate will last in the chair. You, I’m still trying to figure out.”

  “I’ll always do my best to give you what you need and perform above expectations.”

  “I have no doubt of that.”

  Mr. Force looks like he has something else on his mind, but he drops the subject and glances at the clock on his nightstand. “Shall we dive into the Asian markets?”

  “Let me clear the dishes away, then I’ll be right with you.” It will be a treat to see how the famously brilliant Chad Force breaks down emerging financial information. Even if he doesn’t hire me permanently, I’ll have learned something valuable.

  But you’ll still be unemployed. And you’ll have to give up your time with this amazing man. Face it, you’re into him…

  It’s true. And some part of me wonders if he’s into me, too. It’s nothing he’s said, per se. But I’ve caught an occasional flash of interest in his expression. He got hard when I walked in the room after his shower. And he probes me mentally. Any chance he’d like probe me in other ways, too?

  “You can set the dishes in the sink later.”

  “All right, but who’s going to do them?”

  “I’ll hire someone. You’ve already gone above and beyond by cooking. I don’t expect you to clean, too.”

  “Whatever you say…”

  We dive into the data as it scrolls across the screen of his massive TV and pops up on reliable sites. Slowly, we discuss and compile. He’s every bit as interested in emerging markets and technologies as I am. We’re also both keen on international food markets and their yields—anything that may disrupt world stability.

  “You see things through the lens of the worst-case scenario,” he observes. “Because you grew up in a single-guardian household and lost your one stabilizing force so young?”

  “Probably. Why do you?”

  “My father was a bastard who expected perfection and would rain down the wrath of hell if he didn’t get it. I learned quickly to estimate the likely outcome of anything he considered a screwup so I could decide if it was worth the shit he’d heap on me.”

  “That sounds horrible. My Grandma Lienna loved me unconditionally.”

  He shrugs. “I think my father meant well. He kept that spoon in my mouth from being pure silver.”

  “Were you a rebellious teen?”

  He snorts. “That’s an understatement. But he finally let up when I beat him at his own game twice—simultaneously.”

  “Game?”

  “From the time I turned ten, we started each new year with a competition. We’d invest the same amount in the same sector, and whoever had the most money at the end of the year got bragging rights. When I turned nineteen, I finally finished on top. In fact, I wiped the floor with his ass and I never lost again.”

  Impressive. By all accounts, his father had been a reknowned wealth builder. “What was the other game?”

  He raises a brow at me, his grayish eyes now a sparking silver. “I seduced his mistress out from underneath him. I think that rankled him even more.”

  I’m not as shocked as I probably should be. “You know that’s horrible and disgusting?”

  “I dealt with him in the only way I knew he’d understand.”

  “You’re not what I expected.”

  “You thought I’d be uptight and cold. Self-centered. A tyrant.”

  “More or less.”

  “You’re not what I expected, either.”

  That makes me grin. “You expected I’d be young and naïve. Inexperienced. A twit.”

  He sends me a lopsided smile that tells me he’s teasing. “Maybe a little.”

  I’m having more fun sparring with him than I should, and if he hires me, I have a feeling days in the office won’t feel much like work, but for now I clear our plates from the card table and stack them in the dumbwaiter, carefully sending them down. Then I follow to unload them.

  Mr. Force said not to bother washing them, but it’s hardly a chore to shove them in the ungodly expensive dishwasher of some unpronounceable European brand. The cooking pans I did by hand before I went upstairs.

  Since I also managed to toss together a quick, no-bake pie, I cut two slices and send it up the dumbwaiter, along with forks and napkins.

  As I’m brewing a pot of coffee in the kitchen, the lock on the front door clicks again. Moments later, I hear footsteps and turn to find Marcus Hunt standing in the kitchen.

  “Here’s your phone.” He hands me a brand-new iPhone, along with a screen protector and a case. “It’s already been programmed. Your new number is written on the back of the box.”

  “Thank you.”

  He sizes me up with a dark stare. “You know he’s probably going to hire you.”

  “That’s my goal.”

  “And I think it would be a mistake.”

  I bristle. “I’m perfectly qualified for this position.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m good at reading people, and I don’t trust you.” He surges closer, getting right in my face. “Look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t thought about him sexually.”

  “That’s insulting,” I say, though I can’t stop the flush that splashes my cheeks. “I’m completely professional, Mr. Hunt.”

  “You might be, but your thoughts aren’t. More problematic, neither are his. He doesn’t need you distracting him.”

  “I’m only here to help.”

  He looks me over, cocking his head to view me from the side. “In your clinging dress, swishing your pert backside every time you walk by? You may mean to help, but you won’t.”

  This rude, judgmental prick is getting the best of my temper. I shouldn’t let him but… “Well, I’m still one up on you since you don’t mean to help at all.”

  He narrows his eyes. “What does that mean?”

  I bite back my scathing reply. If I tell this snake I know he’s slithering around Mr. Force’s feet, he’ll likely tell his boss I’m a problem—one he needs to show the door. Mr. Force has no way of knowing he can trust me, and I’ll find myself out on my ass.

  “He’s supposed to be resting,” I improvise. “And you keep barging in, pushing him to do more work. It’s nearly seven. Let him be for the evening.”

  The rise of his slashed brow mocks me with a silent you’re really going with that? “He told me to bring the office to him whenever duty called. But I don’t think that’s what you meant at all. Is there something you want to say, little girl?”

  A lot of things, but I won’t let him goad me into tipping my hand. “You have no idea what I think, and don’t ever call me little girl again. It’s demeaning, dismissive, and incredibly unprofessional. If my business decorum isn’t perfect, people will chalk it up to my inexperience. What’s your excuse?”

  “Chad needs an assistant to keep him organized between meetings, not a temptress to distract him on her knees.”

  He did not just say that.

  But his smirk says he totally did and he’s not sorry.

  I drag in a deep breath and square my shoulders. “I’m auditioning to be his assistant, not a blow-up doll. If I’m successful, I will ask that you show me professional courtesy. If I’m not, I’ll suggest that you stop insinuating women are whores. Now excuse me. Mr. Force is waiting for coffee. He’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I turn to pour us each a steaming cup and set Mr. Force’s in the dumbwaiter with our pie. Hunt’s silence behind me simmers with something I can’t place, but I know better than to hope it’s regret. Even Hades gives me an assist, rushing through the kitchen to rub against my ankles before hissing the insulting executive’s way.

  Mr. Hunt frowns at the feline, then turns his scowl to me. “Chad will see me tonight. I have something he needs to sign.”

  When he makes for the stairs, I cut him off, blocking his path and holding my mug of steaming coffee between us like a threat. “Leave the document with me.”

  “It’s sensitive.”

  “Then return tomorrow. But Mr. Force is done for the evening.”

  “He won’t appreciate you butting in like this. It’s one way not to get hired.”

  Hunt may well be right, but I’m not letting the prick swindle Mr. Force before I’ve found an opening to tell him what I overheard. “I’ll take my chances.”

  The man sneers at me. If I get hired, I’ll have to watch my flank or he’ll be a thorn in my side. But when he curses under his breath and spins toward the door, I know I’ve won the battle.

  But the war is far from over.

  Hades puts the exclamation point on the asshole’s departure with another hiss.

  As soon as Hunt disappears, I race to lock the door behind him, then I reward Hades with a couple of kitty treats from the pantry for backing me up. He thanks me with another prowl between my ankles, a rub against my calf, and a meow that tells me I have permission to pet him now.

  “Good boy.” I scratch him between the ears, then head up the stairs before our coffee gets cold.

  Hades races past me, and he’s on the bed, curled against Mr. Force’s feet by the time I return with steaming mugs and dessert.

  “This looks great.” My prospective boss forks his way into his pie.

  “Hope you like it.” According to an interview he once gave, he’s fond of butterscotch. I hope that wasn’t BS.

  A bite has him groaning. “If I wasn’t thinking about hiring you, I’d marry you.”

  His words make me smile. I’ve enjoyed my afternoon with him—way more than any guy I’ve dated. The attraction is stronger, too. I’m starting to wonder if being married to him wouldn’t be equally awesome.

  But my ambitions have nothing to do with being a rich man’s trophy, even if I wouldn’t mind a night or two in his bed. “I’m not in the market for a husband.”

  “At all?”

  “I have trails to blaze, and as you pointed out, working for you would be nearly a twenty-four-seven job. But if you hire me, I’ll throw in a butterscotch pie whenever you want.”

  He laughs. “Bribery? Did you learn that in college?”

  “No, but any smart person knows grease makes the wheel turn faster.”

  “That it does. You’d be surprised how many people aren’t smart.”

  Like Mr. Hunt. “I’m well aware.”

  He sips his coffee, then frowns. “Where’s Marcus? I buzzed him in a few minutes ago.”

  I scan Mr. Force’s face. His expression is like a fortress. My gut still tells me it’s too soon for the truth, so I paste on a smile. “You’ve had an eventful day, and I knew you wanted to study the Asian markets a bit more. I suggested he come back tomorrow.”

  “He actually took that suggestion?”

  “Well, I strongly suggested.”

  Mr. Force laughs. “I’m betting Marcus wasn’t thrilled.”

  Nope, but I don’t want Mr. Force to think I’ll be trouble in the office. “If you hire me, my allegiance is to you. Only to you—unless you say otherwise. I will work tirelessly to that end.”

  He continues staring with a wily grin. “I’m beginning to believe you.”

  After another couple of hours studying the incoming results from Asia, I took the dessert plates away. Mr. Force refused another pain pill, so I said good night, then indulged in a long shower in the most elegant bathroom I’ve ever seen.

  The roomy rectangular sink with a mother-of-pearl inlay and its silver-legged vanity alone probably cost what I paid for my crappy apartment near campus all last semester. But everywhere I glance in the room, refined details like floor-to-ceiling marble, towel warmers, and a floor mosaic wow me.

  Life doesn’t suck right now—except that I still need to find a way to tell Mr. Force about Marcus Hunt’s subterfuge before business hours tomorrow. And I still have no plan.

  As I step out of the shower, I wrap the plush towel around my dripping hair and slip into my new nightgown. There’s something subtly sexy about the pink cotton nightie, but it doesn’t cover much. Narrow straps hang over my shoulders, holding up a thin triangle of fabric over each breast. A little black bow punctuates the V where they meet over the shadow of my cleavage. A strip of white lace inlaid with black ribbon sits just under my breasts and edges the two halves of the gown that caress each other a scant inch below my pussy before they flow apart like the petals of a tulip across my thighs. I also have a matching robe and fuzzy slippers, but after my scalding shower, I don’t need them.

  Quickly, I braid my hair, then head to my bedroom before pulling my new phone from the box to text Renee my new number. Since I don’t get a reply, I’m assuming she’s gone to bed. It’s nearly midnight, after all. I should be exhausted.

  But when I settle onto the cloud of a mattress and lay my head on the pillow, sleep won’t come.

  How will I convince Mr. Force that his right hand is a Judas? He trusts Marcus Hunt and he’s known me less than twenty-four hours. Blurting the truth seems like a recipe for disaster.

  An hour later, I’m still turning solutions and scenarios over in my head when I hear a crash followed by a groan across the hall. “Fuck.”

  Mr. Force—and he sounds as if he’s in pain.

  Tossing off the covers, I scramble out of bed and dart across the hall to find my prospective boss on the floor, cradling his injured knee with one hand, grabbing the bedpost with another. Moonlight streams in, illuminating his bare, muscled shoulders with a silvery glow.

  As I flip on his bedside light, I rush to his side and wrap my arm around him. “Let me help you up.”

  Together, we pull him to his feet. His harsh breathing renews my worry.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. What the devil did I trip over?”

  A glance around me reveals the answer, and I nearly fling the rolling desk chair to the other side of the room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t move this far enough away.” And in the dark, he wouldn’t have seen it before he tripped on it. “It won’t happen again. Did you need something?”

  “Water,” he croaks, reaching for the forgotten bottle on the nearby dresser.

  Quickly, I put it in his hand. He takes a long swallow, his strong throat working as he hobbles toward his bed. Suddenly, he winces, his whole body tensing.

  “Are you in pain?” Without thinking, I crouch at his feet to take a closer look at his knee. Thankfully, I don’t see an opening, any bruises forming, or potential new swelling.

  “Savannah?”

  I mean to gaze up at his face. Really, I do. But I realize in that moment he’s wearing nothing except a clinging pair of boxer briefs that does nothing to hide his muscular legs, his six-pack abs, and his steely, sizeable erection in between.

  I blink and stare at him. Right there, where I shouldn’t. But I can’t stop. I’m shocked. I’m embarrassed. And I’m unbearably hot.

  Every tug of attraction I felt for him this afternoon comes rushing back, shoving over all my good sense and leaving a throbbing need in its wake.

  He’s even more gorgeous than I thought. Way more. And for a moment, I find myself wishing I wasn’t auditioning to be his administrative assistant but his woman. I would show him the best time in bed, heaping more attention and pleasure on him than he’s ever known.