by Nalini Singh
"And you need to let me do my job," he said, well aware his percentage of the company wasn't the majority--and also aware they needed him more than he needed them. He had shares in multiple national and international companies, a property portfolio that would make their eyes bulge, as well as a number of other highly profitable investments.
The only reason he worked with failing companies like Saxon & Archer was for the challenge of rescuing them from the scrap pile. His patience with idiots who kept him from doing that only went so far. "I am not a trained poodle who'll perform for you," he told them. "If you can't handle that, then fire me, otherwise this discussion is over." He paused--to shocked silence. "I'll give you a monthly report as agreed in our initial discussions. Any questions?"
There were none.
He left with a cordial "Good afternoon." Yeah, they could fire him, but they wouldn't. He was very, very good at saving sinking companies, and Saxon & Archer was definitely sinking, or had been until he came on board.
He checked in with Charlotte as he walked to his vehicle, the meeting having taken place away from headquarters so as not to spook the market. "Anything I need to handle?"
"Katherine Newton from Accounts called up to say she needed to check some expense reports with you--"
Gabriel groaned. "Did that idiot Hill micromanage all the stuff he shouldn't and ignore everything he should've handled?"
"--which is why I told Katherine to send the reports to me. I've authorized them on your behalf."
"As long as no one's charging strippers or Tom Jones CDs, that's fine," he said and thought he heard a quickly muffled laugh. Cheeks creasing, he said, "I'm on my way to the Queen Street branch." The company's oldest store was now smaller than the Sydney branch, but it had a sense of history about it that nothing could alter. "Don't interrupt me unless absolutely necessary."
"I'll make sure your calls are diverted for the interim."
"Thank you, Ms. Baird." God, he loved her voice.
Why the hell had he promoted her instead of firing her? If he'd done the latter, he could've pursued her straight into his bed, naked and sweetly curved and with that soft skin he wanted to mark all over with his kisses and his touch.
Scowling because ethics made for a damn cold bed, he headed to the store.
It wasn't until seven at night that he finally had a chance to check his e-mails. He'd texted Charlotte at five to tell her to take off, so he was alone in the office when he read what she'd written.
Dear Mr. Bishop,
Thank you, but I must decline your new contract terms. I believe the following to be a much more equitable alteration to the terms of my contract:
Charlotte Baird is to get a twenty percent pay raise effective immediately, in consideration of the fact her boss does not sleep and therefore expects her not to need sleep either.
Yours sincerely,
C. Baird
Leaning back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, he grinned. Oh yeah, he liked the woman beneath the shapeless suits and the prim metal-framed glasses. Actually, he liked those cute glasses too. The idea of seeing her with her soft blond curls loose around that face with its pointed chin and golden skin, her glasses on her nose and the rest of her bare...
"Inappropriate, Gabriel," he groaned, his cock shoving against the zipper of his pants.
He seriously needed to get laid.
Unfortunately, his body was showing a decided preference for the one woman he couldn't have.
Sunday morning, Charlotte smoothed her hands over the gray wool shift that was one of her new purchases; she'd jazzed it up with a double string of turquoise beads recommended by the shop assistant.
Her hair was up in a plain bun, but she'd spent last night practicing with bobby pins so her curls didn't escape. Makeup remained beyond her after so many years of not wearing it--not that she'd ever been anything but an amateur--but according to Molly, her skin didn't need it.
Carefully putting on the pale pink lip gloss she'd decided to chance, she took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. Okay, she wouldn't win any fashion prizes, but she looked professional, wouldn't embarrass Gabriel at the meeting.
Grabbing her purse, she set the alarm and locked up. The cab she was catching directly to the airport arrived seconds later. With it being so early on a Sunday, the drive was a breeze, and she was soon through security and waiting for Gabriel at the gate. He arrived close to takeoff, and from then on, it was all go.
They worked throughout the just under two-hour-long flight, landed, and went straight into unannounced site visits to a number of the boutiques before making their way to the restaurant she'd booked for the lunch meeting. The hotel managers, when they arrived, proved uniformly intelligent and financially savvy, but in the end, Gabriel got exactly what he wanted, his charisma potent.
"Looks like we have two hours to spare," he said afterward. "Come along, Ms. Baird, you can help me choose a gift for a beautiful woman I know."
Charlotte couldn't think of anything worse. "I'm sure you have excellent taste, Mr. Bishop."
"I insist."
That was how she found herself traipsing from one high-end jewelry boutique to another. She pointed out items just to end the whole excruciating exercise, but he wasn't satisfied. In the end, he bought the only piece she'd truly loved. It was her own fault: she'd been sneaking a photo of the delicate, one-of-a-kind bracelet when he'd caught her.
And now, she thought as she collapsed into her bed that night, he'd give the exquisite piece to some woman who probably wouldn't appreciate the delicate artistry of it. Punching her pillow into shape, she glared her way into sleep. Her mood wasn't much better the next morning.
Having arrived at the office before Gabriel returned from his run, she'd just made herself a cup of coffee and taken a seat when he came in. He looked as rawly sexy as he always did. He even smelled good, and that should've been impossible. The scent of clean sweat over warm skin worked where Gabriel Bishop was concerned. Charlotte didn't think any woman would push him away if he hauled her close for a kiss right now.
"Morning, Ms. Baird."
"Morning, Mr. Bishop." At least she could speak now in his near-naked presence.
Grabbing what he needed for the shower, he pushed a hand through his sweat-damp hair and turned at the glass doors. "Ms. Baird."
Charlotte jerked her eyes guiltily up from his thighs, face red. Thankfully, he was scowling at something on his phone, which he must've picked up from the office since she knew his run was the one time of day when he made himself unreachable. As a stress-relief measure, she approved. The fact she got to start her day by seeing him sweaty and hot and in running shorts? A bonus.
"I'm sending you an address," he said now. "Have a dozen roses delivered."
Her happy mood dived. "What color?"
"Red, of course."
For once, she didn't watch him leave, didn't give in to the temptation to sneak a glimpse of the seriously built male who was her boss. Instead, she checked her e-mail to see who was about to receive a dozen red roses from Gabriel Bishop--likely the same woman to whom he'd given the bracelet.
Fabiana Flores.
Charlotte would've had to have lived under a rock for the past week not to recognize the name of the glamorous model with the bee-stung lips who was in the country for a perfume launch. As she contacted a florist to place the order, she told herself not to be surprised. Athletes and models--it was a predictable combination. And why not? Both took care of their bodies, were often of heights that complemented one another--
"Stop obsessing, Charlotte." After all, fantasies about him aside, it wasn't as if she'd entertained any serious hopes of Gabriel looking in her direction. In fact, she couldn't think of anything worse: the brutal truth was that she'd most likely panic, fear clutching her throat and stealing the air from her lungs, and it would wreck everything.
It hurt to admit that, admit her deficiencies so bluntly, but Charlotte had stopped lying to herself the day s
he'd broken things off with Richard. Lies and false hope only ever led to pain and betrayal.
Gabriel Bishop was simply out of her league.
9
The Mouse Growls
Two and a half months later, and Charlotte had sent countless bouquets of red roses on Gabriel's behalf, each one to a different woman. Models, actresses, television anchors, two doctors, a long-haul commercial pilot, three fellow CEOs, and a chef. The chef returned the roses with their heads lopped off.
Seeing the beheaded stems when she took the open box into his office, Gabriel winced. "You see why a second date would've been a bad idea, don't you, Ms. Baird?"
Charlotte didn't know why she said what she did when she'd been the perfect personal assistant for so many weeks, discreet and efficient and invisible except when he needed her. Well, okay, there had been that incident with the muffin, but he'd driven her to it, so it didn't count.
She couldn't explain today's response as easily. Maybe it was the sad, beheaded roses. She felt an acute sympathy for the angry chef, for all the red-rose women. Or perhaps it was the fact the florist now knew her by name, saying, "The usual?" when Charlotte called.
There was only so much a PA could take.
"It appears, Mr. Bishop," she said from her standing position on the other side of his desk, "that you don't believe in second dates at all." The parade of stunning women in his life was endless--and no face was ever repeated.
One date and they were out.
Leaning back in the black leather of his executive chair, arms folded behind his head and the fine gray cotton of his shirt stretched across the defined ridges and valleys of his chest, Gabriel grinned. It was as devastating as usual, but Charlotte had learned to deal with the dip in her stomach that was her response to her boss's smile. Unfortunately for her, her susceptibility to him had increased rather than decreased in the time they'd worked together.
His physical attractiveness was only a small part of it.
Gabriel might not know the meaning of commitment when it came to women, but you could take his word to the bank in business. His employees--and the entire board for that matter--remained more than a touch intimidated by him, but they respected him and his promises. Not only was he fair, he worked harder than any one of them, and the company was going from strength to strength under his leadership.
Smart, driven, gorgeous, he was more compelling than anyone she'd ever met. He was also the most arrogant.
"I wouldn't want anyone to get ideas," he said, the glint in his eye familiar. "Second date and women start thinking about monogrammed towels and engagement rings."
Charlotte rolled her eyes.
He caught it, of course. "You disagree?"
"I wouldn't presume to comment on your private life." No matter how much she wanted to.
"Come on, Ms. Baird, don't get shy now."
Charlotte didn't trust that tone in his voice--it was a dare. Charlotte didn't take dares. Especially from T-Rexes with very sharp teeth. "Would you like these in water?" she asked, holding up the box of stems.
"You have a mean streak." Lowering his arms with a scowl, he glanced at the face of the heavy metal watch he always wore. On him, it was in perfect proportion, suiting the heaviness of his bones, the taut lines of muscle in his forearms.
"Damn, I have to deal with the mess Clarke's made in his region."
"I'll get the files." She stopped in the doorway, the same strange something that had made her comment on his dating tactics poking at her until she said, "Want me to call up the chef and ask her to send you dinner tonight?"
He wanted her.
Petite, intelligent, with a hidden fire in her eyes when he pushed too hard, and a smart mouth he wanted to taste, Charlotte Baird was Gabriel's version of perfect. "Thank you, but no," he said to her retreating form. "I prefer not to die from food poisoning."
Nearly three frustrating months on from their first meeting, and Charlotte was at last no longer so skittish around him. Her quips today cemented his conclusion that she was ready for the next step in this game they were playing, a game of which she was currently unaware. The fact she remained his subordinate at work meant he'd have to take care when it came to how he went about this, but he was going to have Charlotte Baird.
No one and nothing had ever stood in his way when he set his mind on something, and his mind was set on Charlotte, had been for a long time. The patience he'd displayed these past months... she had no idea.
Once he had her, he was going to take her. Over and over and over.
"Ms. Baird, I'm growing a beard while waiting for the file," he called out, well aware she was printing the latest dispatches on the situation so he could get a full picture.
She strode inside a minute later and placed the file very carefully on his desk, though he could tell she wanted to slam hard, maybe kick him while she was at it. He wouldn't mind if she tried--he really liked her legs.
Scowling at the professional but bland three-quarter-length black skirt that hid most of the view, he grabbed the file and flipped it open. "This is missing the second half. The entire section to do with the tactless incident that landed his branch on the six-o'clock news." He'd thought he'd weeded the idiots out of Saxon & Archer, but clearly not.
"I didn't print out all the documentation, since it'll be easier for you to click through to related files using the link I've just e-mailed you." She gave him a smile so sweet he was quite certain his PA wanted to strangle him. "I basically set up a private internal wiki for you."
He was impressed, but he was also having fun riling her up. "Fuck that," he said and watched her cheeks go bright red, her eyes fiery. "I want a printout of everything and I want it now. I have to read the entire lot before I go screw his head on straight."
"Here." Striding around his desk as if she'd lost patience with him--and he'd been trying for a hell of a long time to get Charlotte to lose patience--she picked up the tablet computer he used mostly to watch rugby games when he needed to clear the cobwebs, and switched it on.
Tapping on it, she said, "Input your password."
He raised an eyebrow. "I am your boss, Ms. Baird," he said, just to see if she'd give in and kick him at last.
Because that would be first contact, and then he could go after her no holds barred.
Instead, she said, "Please, sir," in such a sincere voice that he narrowed his eyes.
Tapping in the code, he watched her download his e-mail, frown, then lean forward to access his computer. He didn't like anyone in his personal space that he hadn't invited in, but he liked Charlotte there just fine. Leaning back in his chair, he enjoyed the shape of her ass as she worked.
The skirt was tight enough at least to stretch nicely over the curve of her butt.
The urge to stroke his hand over those luscious curves was seriously tempting, but he wasn't stupid. After all these weeks of very careful strategy to get her to stop seeing him as her boss and start seeing him as a man, no way would he give Charlotte any excuse to pull away. Not only did he have no intention of losing the best damn PA he'd ever had, how the hell was he supposed to get her permanently into his bed if he didn't have access to her twenty-four seven?
No, he'd wait. And he'd do his stroking in private, after he had her bent naked in front of him, that pretty butt tilted up for his pleasure and hers. He wanted to hear Charlotte moan his name and then ask him to do dirty things to her, her prim little spectacles fogging up with heat.
"There!" Getting up, that stupid skirt sliding over the heart-shaped beauty of her ass to hover around her calves--what woman-hating designer had created that abomination?--she grabbed his tablet and tap-tapped once more. "All the files at your fingertips."
Gabriel took the tablet, swiped through. "It'll do," he said, though he was seriously impressed at how she'd put everything together in a way that made it effortless for him to access what he needed.
He saw her hands curl into fists, but once again, she restrained her violent impulses.
A pity. He'd have liked the excuse to tumble her into his lap when she took a swing at his jaw, that sweet ass coming down over his thighs.
Putting down the tablet on that pleasurable thought, he picked up the digital recorder he'd been using before she came in with the rose stems. "I want you to personally type this up." He didn't trust the pool of typists who handled most of the general data input, not with a document that needed to say exactly what he wanted it to say without him having to go over it ten times to make sure they hadn't misplaced a comma or inserted a word.
"Of course." Her eyes flicked to her watch after she checked the length of the recording. "Did you need it tonight?"
"Why, hot date with Ebenezer?"
Red cheeks again, her chest rising as she took a deep breath. "My personal life," she said after she exhaled, "is none of the company's business."
No, but Gabriel was going to make it his damn business. He'd been trying to put the kibosh on her dating thing with Ernest ever since she became his PA--but though he hadn't managed to cut that off, the man clearly wasn't taking care of her. If he had been, she wouldn't feel the need to wear calf-length skirts with white shirts that buttoned up to her neck or shift dresses two sizes too large. The clothes might be professional and absolutely unobjectionable from a business standpoint, but they totally overwhelmed her petite frame.
In point of fact, Gabriel was dead certain Ernest hadn't made any kind of a move. Charlotte just didn't act like a woman who was taken--and every time Gabriel called her late at night to check on something, she was at home. That meant Ernest was a dimwit, because what kind of man wouldn't make a move on Charlotte if he had her?
Yeah, well, the dimwit's luck was about to run out.
"Yes," he said aloud, "I need it tonight." It wasn't a lie, not this time. "This agreement could significantly cut our transport costs, but we're on a strict timetable."
A quick nod. "I'll start on it right away."
Charlotte sat down at her desk, a desk no one in the company had ever expected her to possess, least of all Charlotte herself.
Just like she'd never have predicted she'd one day just grab her boss's tablet and force him to move into the twenty-first century, but he'd been pushing and pushing and pushing until she couldn't take it anymore. Using the headphones she preferred over earbuds, she connected the sleek black recorder he liked to use, and his deep voice filled her ears.
