by Quinn, Cari
They’d turned the gas off this afternoon and air conditioning was a thing of the past. I should count my lucky stars on the warm snap. All too soon, the cold would settle in, and I’d be layering up with fisherman’s sweaters to survive.
If I didn’t get kicked out first.
My nipples tightened as the cold front battling with the warm won out. Was that because of the air or because the idea of getting kicked out ended in thoughts of Blake Carson?
His hazel eyes had chased me into dreams for the few hours I’d managed to sleep. The first crack of thunder had saved me from whatever shenanigans my subconscious was trying to start.
He was the enemy.
I had to remember that.
No matter what my poor, neglected breasts thought about that subject.
The mist turned to an all-out downpour, and I had to finally step back. My clothes stuck to me, and I shivered against the brutal wind. I crossed my arms, and again, my breasts reacted. Where was the fairness in this? Even an innocent brush against the tight tips made me moan.
I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been wound up like this. To the point that I’ve often wondered if something was wrong with me. I’d never had that indefinable pull to get horizontal with anyone. The moments of loneliness had pushed me into accepting a few dinner dates, but the lack of chemistry had fizzled any action I’d been tempted to take.
One lover in college and one since I’d graduated had been enough to convince me I just wasn’t a sexual woman.
Ten minutes with Blake Carson was not the kind of reassessment I was looking for. In fact, it was dangerous. I had to remember that today when I reported for work. I flicked on the light switch as I entered the kitchen.
Nothing.
“Fuck.”
Evidently, they’d cut the power now too.
“Dammit.” I ducked through the narrow hallway to the maid’s quarters. I’d been staying in my studio most nights, but it looked like that was going to be out of necessity now instead of insomnia.
I slipped out the side door and held my hand up against the rain ripping at my cheeks. I had to pray there was kerosene in the generator.
My hands fell to my sides as I glanced around. What the hell? The larger generator was gone.
When had that happened?
I tipped my head back and swiped back my hair. I rushed to the garage, my bare feet currently blocks of ice thanks to the dropping temperatures. My fingers shook over the access panel and finally, the stupid thing opened. Thank you, battery power.
The smaller generator was still in the corner, but it was way too heavy to carry. I spotted my old Red Flyer hanging from a hook. I monkeyed my way up onto a shelf and managed to get it down.
Perfect.
Getting it onto the stupid wagon was a bit more of a challenge. Three broken nails and a swollen toe later, it was balanced on the lip. The trip across the driveway was slow and the puddles were growing into small ponds. The sandy incline couldn’t hold up against the relentless rain.
I was ankle deep in water by the time I’d pushed it up the small incline to the side of the house. I’d bought the generator for my workshop before we’d upgraded to the bigger model. Either it had been stolen, or my grandmother had sold it.
Just the idea of her having to actually put an ad in the paper or putting the word out that she was selling such a pedestrian item made my stomach hurt.
Why hadn’t she come to me?
I wasn’t sure when the rain had blended into tears, but I was sniffling as I found the old hookups and connected them. The skyline was lightening when I finally got the stupid thing to start. All I wanted was a hot shower, and that was definitely not going to happen. There was no way I could wait for the ancient water heater to warm up.
I turned the taps on the hottest setting and prayed that the tepid water would last through a shower. I’d take the room temperature water over the cold at least.
Luck was not with me.
I laughed bitterly as I soaped and scrubbed. Did I sound mad? I wasn’t sure, and far too afraid to look at it too closely. I yelped my way through my conditioner rinse before slapping the taps off. I wrapped myself in two towels and stood in front of the radiator at the end of the room. If I dove under my covers, I might just be able to warm up, but I didn’t trust that I’d stay awake.
Not being this cold.
I plugged in my travel hair dryer with trembling fingers and tried to get the worst of the water out of my hair. All my products were in the bathroom upstairs, but this was where the electricity was—so, a wet ponytail day was in my future.
I grabbed my phone and flicked on the torch app so I wouldn’t kill myself on the stairs and went to hunt down clothes.
What a way to start to my first day.
Deciding not to press my luck, I grabbed a pair of sturdy leather boots without a heel to pull over my opaque tights. A wool blend skirt and burgundy sweater was suitable for the office.
I hoped.
It worked in the gallery—it should be okay for the office. Jack certainly hadn’t been overly formal with his suit. Mr. Carson had been a bit more of a stickler, but I had to work with what I had. I definitely didn’t have the money to buy another wardrobe.
Finally, my hands stopped shaking enough so I could put on enough makeup to look professional and not feel like a hooker. I spritzed on my perfume and flipped my ponytail over my shoulder. It was as good as I was going to get.
The commute was a cherry on my super-shit sundae. Parking in Boston was either nonexistent or expensive enough to come with its own rental agreement. I opted for park-and-ride, and instead of waiting for the Blue Line, I hoofed it half a mile. My feet were the only things dry when I pushed through the door to the vestibule. I dug my temporary identification out and tried to open the inside door.
Locked.
I waved the ID over the little silver panel and remembered that I wasn’t chipped yet. Wonderful.
“We don’t open until eight.”
I jumped at the clipped female voice. “Um…” Was I supposed to talk into the box? “I’m new.” Lame.
“Name?”
“Grace Copeland.”
“Sorry, no such name.”
“Wait!”
“I don’t have time for games, ma’am.”
I tipped back my head and watched the raindrops slip down the domed top of the vestibule. “Give me a break. Today sucks.”
“Not my problem.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Good, then talk outside. Have a good day.”
“I’m the new executive assistant for Mr. Carson.” Frustration overrode my whine this time. “If you don’t let me inside in exactly…” I looked at my phone. Nearly seven, dammit. “In two minutes, I’m going to be late.”
Silence.
“If you get me fired before I can report for a full day, I’m going to rip your tonsils out.”
The woman’s response was almost maniacally calm. “Not if you don’t get into the building.”
Five
I slapped my hands against the glass. “Please just call Jack Hollister—he knows me. Or better yet, do you want to call Mr. Carson?”
More silence.
Then a soft click as the locks disengaged.
I swung the door open and knuckled under my eyes. Makeup was smeared on my skin. Of course my waterproof mascara didn’t hold up against the tsunami outside. Why would it?
A statuesque brunette stood at the desk. Not George. The smoky and clipped voice from the vestibule fit her. And the cocked hip definitely matched the attitude. I straightened my shoulders. “Hi.”
“Ms. Copeland, Jack will be down for you shortly.”
Yep. The smooth, succinct voice was definitely hers. And she owned her R’s as well. I couldn’t decide if she was a transplant or had just educated them into her vocabulary. “Thank you. Was Mr. Carson advised?”
“Mr. Hollister will make sure that you still h
ave a job. Don’t worry.”
I pressed my lips together. I’d already started on the wrong foot with this woman. Silence seemed to be the better part of valor at this point.
“And look at that? You do know how to keep quiet.” Her blue eyes danced, and a smirk slid across her wide, wine-colored mouth.
“I’m assuming you’re the one who’s going to chip me and take my picture.” I shrugged. “Helps if you don’t hate me.”
Her smirk bloomed into a full-blown smile. “I like you, Blondie. Even if you did threaten my tonsils. I could fit you in my pocket. So, I think I’m safe.”
My lips twitched. “I’m a ninja.”
The husky laugh that filled the wide lobby made my eyebrows shoot up. “For that one, I’ll even make sure you look good in your badge picture.” She nodded to me. “Stand over there on the fourth tile from the desk.”
I took a few steps and spun to face her.
She tapped on tiny camera on the top of her monitor. “Say ‘rain sucks’.”
The smile popped out before I could stop it.
“See? Didn’t even have to say it.” She pushed the iPad at me. “Fill out your pertinent info, and I’ll order your badge. It’ll be ready when you finish your day. Just stop over and pick it up on your way out.”
“Thanks.” I went to the U-shaped set of chairs around a coffee table. Instead of magazines, there were slots for four full-sized iPads charging in a large hub. There was also a place to plug in cell phones.
I filled in my name and social security number, but paused on my address information. I couldn’t exactly put my grandmother’s house there. At least not until I got it back. “Philomena, forgive me,” I muttered. Most of my life was spent in the Lady’s Cove Gallery, so I used the building space behind it as an address. The owner, Philomena Stanwick, was my first patron and my first boss.
Saving her gallery should count for at least a tiny white lie.
The rest of the details were fairly easy to fill out. My twenty-five years on the planet had netted me a pathetic work history. The gallery had been my internship and my main job until my glass had started turning a profit.
I went back to the desk and set the iPad on the ledge.
“That was quick.” She took the tablet.
“My résumé is small but mighty.”
“Well, nice to meet you.” She glanced down at the iPad, tapped around before looking satisfied, and put it down. “I’m Violet Donnelly, head of security.” She looked over my shoulder. “And there’s Mr. Hollister.”
I turned around. Jack was in a gray suit today, and his tie was still on, though it was already loosened at his neck. “Morning, Mr. Hollister.”
“Ah, c’mon now, Grace. We went through this. Jack.”
“Jack.”
He nodded at the security guard. “Hiya, Stretch.”
Violet sighed. “Can’t even let her think we’re professional for one day?”
“Why bother? She already has to work with Blake. That’s enough to handle for anyone. She might as well know the rest of us are friendly.”
She crossed her arms and cocked her hip again. “Don’t mind this one. Blake isn’t bad, he’s just driven.”
“If by driven she means an insane workaholic who doesn’t believe in sleep, then no—he’s not bad at all.”
“You love it, Jack.”
“Yeah, I do.” He waggled his brows. “See ya, Stretch. Thai for lunch?”
“Yes,” she said with a happy sigh. “I’ll have it here for two.”
Jack looked down at me. “You like Thai?”
Oh, it was my turn to talk. “Who doesn’t? Anything with chicken and spicy peanut sauce works for me.”
“See? She’s going to fit in just fine.” He put his arm around my shoulders and dragged me against him. “Okay, let’s go do this, shall we?” He peered down at me. “Did you forget your umbrella?”
“Today was so far past an umbrella, I gave up.”
He laughed. “Well, I’ll give you the three-cent tour. The bulk of Blake’s empire hinges on glass. We use it for security measures, both to shield and protect.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“Well, if you notice—the glass looks opaque from one side and translucent from the other.”
“Yes. It’s interesting.”
“Innovative, really.”
“What makes it so special? We already have tinted glass that does the same thing.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yes, but tinted doesn’t let in all the light that ours does. And it’s far more aesthetically pleasing for those who value their privacy and want something less dark and gloomy. We actually have a satellite office in California just to deal with the crazies out there.”
I tilted my head. “The Hollywood set?”
“Exactly. Add in the protection against UV rays, dirt, and smudges, as well as bulletproofing for those who want that sort of thing.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“Yeah. And I’m not saying that doesn’t exist already, but Blake created glass that can do all of it and be beautiful enough to use for an entire house.”
“Oh.” Well, that explained the billionaire status in a few short years. I’d noticed the non-smudge aspect the day before. “No washing windows?”
He grinned. “Thinking like a consumer.”
“Especially with all the glass in here.”
“Exactly. Most offices have a service come in to keep them looking tidy. Add in the security aspects we use for home and office, and you can see the appeal.” He tapped the button for the elevator. “The first six floors are sales, marketing, security, human resources, research and development—which is where Blake disappears to. So if you ever need him and he’s not in his office, he’s usually on the fifth floor.”
“And the sixth?”
“That’s my domain. Personal security. We’re expanding there, and it’s my specialty.”
“Really?”
“Shocking, I know.”
I laughed. “I don’t know about shocking, but I figured you were sales.”
“There’s a fair amount of that too. Blake is all about the innovation, I make it practical for the civilian sector.”
My eyebrows shot up. Seemed to be a constant facial expression for me today. “Army?”
“Ranger,” he corrected.
“I’m trying to picture that.”
“I hate suits, but I’m used to them. It’s just a uniform without the cool medals.”
The door opened on the executive floor. “So what about the seventh floor?”
“That’s our showcase floor.”
“I thought that was the lobby.”
He grinned. “Well, that definitely shows off our goods, but the seventh floor is even more impressive. Blake will show you around there tomorrow.”
My belly flipped at the thought of Mr. Carson showing me anything. He was…intense. But maybe if I got him alone to talk, he’d be a little more approachable. “So, I just keep him organized? Which he needs. There’s no reason that he should have this much trouble keeping an assistant.”
Jack laughed. “I’ll remind you that you said that tonight.” He showed me to the desk he’d been at the day before. Their system was Macintosh-based, which made sense with the iPads I saw all over the building. Two large monitors were now on the desk, as well as a keyboard, mouse, and mouse pad with the Carson Covenant Inc. logo on it.
“We have closed circuit security here. No other signal will work in here except for ours. So your phone is pretty much a brick until you’re one hundred feet from the building.”
“Whoa.” I took my phone out of my purse and sure enough, it worked just fine, but no signal.
“Don’t worry, we can get calls on the system. Your phone number is there on the little keypad.”
“But everything’s recorded?”
Jack shrugged. “Pretty much, but if there’s an emergency and someone needs to contact you, they can. Do yo
u have kids?”
“No.” I glanced at the frosty gray glass box that was my boss’s office. Was he going to come out?
“Husband?”
“Definitely not.” I turned back to Jack. “It’s just me. No family.”
He frowned. “No one?”
The pang hit me. No, there really wasn’t anyone except for my small family at the gallery. I had friends, of course, but I’d been so focused on my work that most of them had faded into the Christmas card contact category. My entire world had been my glass and my grandmother.
He cleared his throat. I’d said too much, of course. People didn’t know what to say when you sounded too close to orphan status. I pasted a bright smile on my face. “I guess I don’t have anyone to train me if he chases away all the help.”
The relief on Jack’s face melted into a charming smile. “That’s why I’m the CEO. Blake wants to create, but he’d rather stay behind the glass, so to speak. I make sure people like us.”
“I bet.”
He leaned down and tapped the keyboard. When the system came to life, he pulled up a few screens. “Sit down and make yourself a password.”
I did, then scooted over when he leaned in again.
“This folder? It’s your lifeline.” He tapped it and a whole world opened up. Folders and names, spreadsheets, and a little icon that looked like an old-fashioned phone. He opened the drawer to my right. “Your headset is in here, but you’ll rarely use it. Just when fielding calls for Blake. Most people email or use the message feature through the system.”
I looked around at my desktop and saw a folder marked daily. I opened it and managed not to groan aloud. A to-do list—that looked more like a damn directory—was bulleted with instructions for how my day was going to go.
At least it didn’t look hard.
Jack closed the top drawer and opened the lower. “This is your stash drawer.” A glass cooler filled the space. I lifted the lid and gasped. It was ice cold. “Wow.”
“There’s six bottles in there now, and that cabinet has the rest of your case.”
I took one of the bottles of Pepsi Max out and set it on my desk. “Perfect. I have a week’s worth right there.”
