He knows what I’m talking about—his wry grin confirms it. “She’s good. We need her.”

  “We don’t need anybody.”

  “We need Hastings and Key, and we need Raquel Morgan. She graduated at the top of her class.”

  “There wasn’t a man who spoke five languages?”

  “Haven’t you heard of diversity?”

  “An Arab man would’ve been perfect.”

  “Right.” He exhales a laugh. “That would go over great with our Nashville clients. They’re still our biggest book of business, you know.”

  “Remember when everybody spoke English?”

  “And the sun never set on the British Empire? Yes, times have changed.”

  Scrubbing my hands against my forehead, I start for the door. “This is a small office. We work in close quarters. Women cause problems.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You should’ve hired a man.”

  The door opens on its own, and my throat tightens. She’s standing in front of me, those gray-blue eyes fixed on me like some kind of witch.

  She’s the problem. It’s not women, it’s her.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  I feel Taron’s face turn toward us, but I can’t look away. Her black jacket is gone, and her cream silk blouse is thin, almost transparent. I can see the faint outline of the lace cups of her bra against her olive skin, and my mouth goes dry.

  Fuck, how long has it been since I’ve touched a woman? My fingers curl with wanting to touch her. What the hell?

  Clearing my throat, I turn away. “What is it?”

  “Sandra said you needed this translation before the end of the day.” She holds out the thin manila folder I gave to her earlier.

  “Is it on the server?” My tone is sharp.

  “Of course. I thought you’d want to know it’s ready now rather than having to find it later.”

  She’s so fucking strong. It’s her first day, and she acts like she owns the place.

  I try to say thanks, but it comes out more like a growl. Stepping around her, I head for my office, but the lingering scent of ginger and coconut clings to me like quiet heat following me down the hall.

  3

  Raquel

  Biting my top lip, I quickly review what just happened. I walked in on some meeting of the He-Man, Woman Hater’s Club having finished my assignment early, and… Did Patton Fletcher just growl at me? I grin smugly.

  People warned me about this job, about how impossible Patton Fletcher is to please. Well, take that, people. Round 1 goes to Rocky.

  Taron is across the room watching me, and I quickly compose myself. “I guess I’ll get back to unpacking my desk.”

  He slowly circles the table. “How’s it going?” Taron’s smile, his bright green eyes make him less threatening than Patton.

  Still, he seems uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want to be here. I wonder if that’s why he hired me—it’s abundantly clear he’s the only reason I got this job.

  “Going pretty well.” I smile up at him. “Lucky break my first assignment was in French.”

  “Is that lucky?” He nods, and extends a hand toward the hall. “I would’ve been screwed.”

  We take the short walk back to my office, where the banker’s boxes are right where he left them. The only thing I moved was my laptop, logging in and quickly starting on the new file as soon as Sandra loaded it on the server.

  “I figured I’d move these into the drawers in the same order you have them here.”

  He nods. “Familiarize yourself with them, but you don’t need to memorize. All the details are on the server. You can access it with your phone. Did Sandra get you set up?”

  “Yep.” I grin and nod. “I’m all set.”

  “I’m going to have to leave you with Patton on Madagascar. I’m working on a few new leads in the UAE.” He steps back and shoves a lock of brown hair behind his ear. “I think you can handle it.”

  He goes to the door, and I give him a smile. “Thanks for giving me a chance.”

  “You earned it.” He leaves, and I open the banker’s box on the desk.

  All of the folders are thin, with only a few very basic facts on single sheets inside. I assume because everything is on the G-drive. I’ve only sorted five when Jerry taps on my doorjamb. What is this? Grand Central?

  “How’s it going, New Girl?” Jerry Buckingham is completely different from Patton and Taron.

  He talks a lot, which I can’t imagine goes over well with the devil. His outfit is basic khakis and a button-down shirt, no tie and a blue blazer. Total frat boy, only he’s too old to be a frat boy. His hands are meaty with short fingers, but I suppress my nose wrinkle.

  “Pretty busy, actually.” I smile and do my best to be nice but not encouraging.

  I walk around my desk and lift the other banker’s box from the floor, hoping to emphasize how busy I am, but when I straighten, I notice him obviously ogling my butt. Double ew.

  He coughs and grins, sliding his palm down his lapel. “On your first day? That can’t be right. We usually give a few days’ grace period before we work you to death.”

  “The boss didn’t get that memo. Patton assigned me a new client when I walked in the door. Skype meeting tomorrow.”

  “Madagascar.” He nods, leaning against the entrance. “That shouldn’t be too hard for an international whiz like yourself.” The way his eyes run down my blouse makes me want to put my blazer back on. “Hey, a group of us go out for drinks every Thursday after work. You should tag along.”

  I hesitate. “A group?”

  “Yeah!” He brightens, encouraged. “Sandra, Dean, and me. We go to AJ’s for happy hour.”

  Pressing my lips together, I consider the offer. Renée did tell me to make allies with Sandra. I just don’t trust drinks with Jerry. “I don’t think so.” I smile and do my best to be distantly friendly.

  He steps closer. “You’re missing out. We’ll be discussing all the gossip leading up to the company picnic on Saturday.”

  “Company picnic?” My throat goes tight. “Does that include me?”

  “You’re with the company now. It’s out at Percy Priest. It’s an annual thing to coincide with Labor Day—you have Monday off, by the way.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I wonder if I should visit Renée, make sure she’s doing okay, has enough money…

  “So you going?”

  “To the picnic?”

  He laughs. “To AJ’s. After work tomorrow.”

  “Oh, no.” I shake my head, and smile, looking down. “I’ll probably be up late tonight preparing for the meeting. By the end of the day, I’ll be ready to crash.”

  “The offer’s open if you change your mind.” He steps to the door, but pauses to give me one last look, coupled with an eyebrow raise. “Think about it.”

  I’m sure he’s trying to be nice, but it’s coming across as creepy. “Sure. Thanks.”

  Once he’s gone, I hustle over and shut my door. The rest of the afternoon, I spend sorting through the files. Even if Taron said I don’t need to memorize them, I still want to spend a few minutes on each one, familiarizing myself with the basics.

  I’m completely engrossed in my work when I hear a tapping on the glass. Looking up, I see Jerry standing outside holding his hands up. I look around and see the sun is setting. Shit, I worked straight through lunch. Another smile, a small wave, and he leaves. I stand and stretch, ready to call it a night.

  A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s after six, and it appears everyone is gone. Jerry, Taron, Mr. Randall who I have not met—all of their lights are off. A lone envelope is in the mail box outside my door, and when I pick it up, I see it’s addressed to George Fletcher. My brow furrows, and I glance toward the opposite corner. I’m not surprised to see his light is still on.

  Turning the business envelope over in my hands, I decide to check in before I go home. We do have a meeting together tomorrow with this new client, and who knows? This could be important. I toss my blazer over my arm, grab my bag, and pick up the small file for Madagascar, leaving my door open as I cross the corridor.

  I tap on his door lightly and wait. No noises come from inside, so I knock a little louder.

  “Yes?” His voice is stern, but I don’t let it stop me.

  “Sorry,” I speak as I open the door and enter, looking at the envelope. “I seem to have gotten someone’s mail by mistake.”

  When my eyes land on his, it’s like a little earthquake that shakes me all the way to my core. His brow is furrowed like a storm brewing over his warm brown eyes, and an unlit cigarette dangles from his perfect fingers.

  The inside of my lip slips between my teeth. I need to go on a date or something. I should not be responding to my new boss this way.

  “Should I give this to you?” I hold out the missive, and his eyes go to it.

  “There are at least four people between you and me. Give it to Sandra.” That voice.

  “Are you always so angry, Mr. Fletcher? Or is it just me?” I’m being playful, but I’m instantly locked in his gaze again.

  For a moment, I can’t breathe.

  He stands, rising to his full six-foot-who knows what. All I know is I’m down below him, where I’m sure he thinks I belong. “Give it to me.”

  I step forward, holding it out to him, hating that my fingers tremble slightly. He snatches the letter, gives it a quick glance, then tosses it in the trash.

  “But…” I move like I might catch it. “It might be important.”

  “I don’t go by that name. My father retired six years ago. How important can it be?” He still isn’t smiling. He’s watching me like a predator, waiting to see what I’ll do next. Waiting to pounce. Everything about him feels dangerous and thrilling… which is very unprofessional.

  “Well, goodnight.” I start to leave, and he takes a seat. At the door, I pause, thinking. “George?”

  “No one calls me that.” His tone drops lower, and for some reason, it makes me feel naughty.

  “Someone does.”

  “No one who expects me to answer.” His eyes are on the papers in front of him, and I don’t want to stop looking at him.

  I want to memorize everything about him. He’s so perfect in that leather chair, his dark hair pushed back behind his ears, skimming his collar, long fingers rolling that cigarette back and forth. Cigarettes? Seriously? I mean, it looks sexy as hell in a daring, bad-boy way, but still…

  “You’re not really going to smoke that, are you?” My nose wrinkles, and again, those brown eyes snap up to mine. So hot.

  “In case you missed it, I’m the boss. I do whatever I want. Now if you don’t mind…”

  I don’t know why I’m taunting him. I really need this job, and I can’t afford to get fired—not only because it would look bad on my résumé. I literally can’t afford to get fired. I need the money for me and Renée.

  My hand drops to the door handle, and I soften my tone. “I’m sorry. I’m ready for the meeting tomorrow. See you then.”

  He doesn’t even look up.

  4

  Patton

  The door closes, and I lean back, trying to escape the lingering scent of her. It’s a faintly persistent sweetness in the back of my throat. It’s like everything about her, bright and tempting and refusing to be ignored… or bossed around.

  I don’t know what to make of it. One minute she acts shy, the next she’s taunting, like some fucked up mix of a kitten and a minx.

  Was she seriously criticizing me? I’ll smoke if I want to.

  I toss the unlit cigarette onto my desk and run my hands over my face. It’s irritating that I’m attracted to her. I don’t even know her. I need to stay focused on the big picture, our future plans, and launching this new commercial app.

  Instead, my thoughts are dominated by flashing blue eyes, full lips parting to reveal straight white teeth, that sheer top…

  The way she laughed and said my name…

  It took all my willpower to keep my hands off her.

  Fuck that, I will keep my hands off her.

  Standing, I walk to the window and watch the nonstop stream of headlights flowing in and around the city. Our building is only a few blocks from Printer’s Alley, which means even on a Wednesday, the streets are crowded with tourists partying and being loud.

  I need a drink…

  Which reminds me, Where the fuck is Marley?

  I step back to snatch up my phone when it rings in my hand. The name grinds my jaw, but if I ignore him, he’ll only call again until I answer. Then we’ll both be pissed.

  I exhale my annoyance and touch the green circle. “Hi, Dad, what’s up?” Why aren’t you in a musty old club with your retiree pals smoking cigars and drinking scotch?

  “I heard the deal with Hastings and Key fell through.”

  Of course, he’s calling about that. “It’s on hold. Taron wants to follow up on some leads in the UAE, and Hastings wants to see if we land them.”

  He makes a noise of disapproval. “When I ran things, we didn’t do business with the Arabs. Or the Chinese. Or the Russians.”

  It takes all my strength not to point out the obvious—he’s no longer running things.

  Instead, I am a diplomat. “Taron’s smart. He wouldn’t deal with questionable firms.”

  “If he knew about it. I’d keep Fletcher all-American. You can always trust Americans.”

  Another slow inhale, exhale. “It wouldn’t be Fletcher International if we did that.”

  “You know, you don’t have to do this launch. We’re making plenty of money in the Nashville market.”

  “We do have to do it, and you’ll be glad once it’s done and the value of your shares goes through the roof.”

  He exhales like I’m a petulant teen, not the CEO of this company. I wish he’d stick to playing golf and watching 24-hour news.

  “Bill said Martin was on one of those gossip shows today. They’ve got pictures of him partying with Sissy Faith. On a Tuesday. Is he having issues again?”

  “Sissy… the country singer?” I’d like to change my wish. Nothing is worse than my dad knowing more than I do about anything. “Tabloid gossip. Marley’s working PR angles, picking up endorsements, you know.”

  He’s quiet, and I hope I’m in the right ballpark with that lie.

  “I’d hold off on partnering too quickly with young talent. You never know when they’ll do something like twerk on national TV.”

  I don’t even want to know where my aged father learned the word twerk. “Yeah, it was an idea, but I think you’re right.” Telling my father he’s right is the best way to get him to roll over and go back to sleep.

  “I trust you’re keeping an eye on him, getting him help if he needs it.”

  “Of course.” Another lie. Is Marley slipping? I need to find him.

  “You boys did a good service to our country. Still, I can’t have him mucking up our reputation—”

  “He’s not handling frontline business. I have him on social media and marketing.”

  “Social media.” He grumbles, and I know I’m in for more bloviation. “Nothing beats good old-fashioned, face-to-face interaction.”

  “Right.” I’m distracted by this new wrinkle in my day, and an awkward lull falls between us.

  He clears his throat, lightening his tone. “It’s after nine. You shouldn’t work late every night, you’ll burn out.”

  Like he didn’t work late every night of my life. Where does he think I learned it? At least I don’t have a wife and kid waiting for me at home. The thought pricks at my mind. I look at the envelope in the trash and think about ginger and coconut…

  I don’t want that. My life is great as it is—except this Marley thing.

  I’m ready to disconnect and track him down. “I was just finishing up when you called.”

  “Are you smoking in my office again? Nasty habit.”

  “Like anything could cut through thirty years of scotch and cigars.”

  “Cigars bring out the character in the wood. Cigarettes are just dirty.”

  “Was that all you needed?” I’m at the end of my patience now.

  “If you’re dead set on this expansion, lock down Hastings and Key. They’re good people. Good Americans.”

  “Right.”

  “And get a handle on Martin. You don’t need another situation with him.”

  Those words coming from my father’s mouth make me furious.

  “Night, Dad.” I disconnect quickly, before the conversation goes completely south.

  Even when I agree with him, the way he states his views makes me question myself. I don’t have time for that tonight.

  Holding the phone, I’m about to call Marley when a noise in the corridor makes me freeze in place. A bumping sound is followed by the sound of paper falling, more bumping, then a crash like a pen holder falling over on a desk.

  I stride over and jerk open my door. “Who’s there?”

  Small lights around the Exit signs illuminate the empty space, and I squint into the darkness. A figure steps around a file cabinet.

  “Patton! What the fuck are you doing here?” Marley holds out his arms, grinning like this is normal, as he walks to me.

  “Work starts at 9 a.m., not 9 p.m. Where the fuck have you been?”

  “Is it nine?” He laughs like it’s all a big joke and pushes past me, going into my office, and dropping into one of my leather chairs. He’s wearing the same blazer and slacks he had on when I left him yesterday evening. “You won’t believe what happened.”

  My fists clench and unclench as I follow him inside. “Sounds like something I won’t like.”

  “Have you heard of Sissy Faith?”

  “Yes.” My tone is sharp.

  Celebrity or not, the girl is barely twenty-one, twelve years younger than us. I don’t have time for his bullshit. He drops his leg and leans forward, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a blunt. He grabs the lighter off my desk and fires it up, taking a long pull.