"You're always so early, Ms. Hasegawa," he said, grinning widely. "I wish the bosses knew how dedicated you were. Why, they'd promote you so fast, your head would spin."
My laughter sounded forced, but I always tried to be friendly with the security personnel; you never knew when you would need to get into the building after work hours.
Besides, I liked them; they treated me better than everyone else here who looked down on junior secretaries. They thought we were right down there with cafeteria staff.
"You're such a flatterer, Hajime," I said as I swiped my security card in the reader and pushed through the metal gates that separated the lobby from the elevators.
His laughter followed me all the way to the elevators and, despite my dark mood, I kept smiling.
No matter how crappy I felt, walking through this huge, fifty floor building was always a heady rush. Shokogan Publishing was a big player in the industry and I was proud of my association with the company, even if I was just a minor player.
I got off at the seventeenth floor and walked down the dimly lit corridor, my three inch heels clicking on the polished marble floors.
It was not even six in the morning. The place was almost empty, with none of the bustling, crazy action that reigned from eight to five, Monday through Friday.
I cherished the silence, the still.
That's why I had always liked working in the Marketing department as Mr. Abe's undersecretary. While other employees slaved away on the weekends, mine were free because Mr. Abe was occupied with Aimi.
No more carefree Saturdays and Sundays for me.
Damn.
Well, this was bound to happen. It was stupid to think that Mr. Abe and Aimi could keep their affair a secret for long.
Still, it had gone on for two years. Over six hundred days of bliss, with the frequent longing for earplugs.
I missed it already.
The foreign marketing office was at the end of the hallway and my steps faltered as I noticed lights glowing through the frosted window panes on the doors.
Did the cleaning crew leave the lights on?
Unlikely.
A figure moved just beyond the doors and my pulse quickened.
It had to be the cleaning ladies tidying up because they had heard about the personnel change.
Yeah, that made sense. Kind of.
Chastising myself for being such a scaredy-cat, I threw open the doors with a majestic sweep of my arms.
"Good mo—"
My voice cracked as I gawked at the man moving purposefully through my office—through my desk, of all places.
He wasn't a cleaning lady.
He wasn't wearing the blue jumpsuit the cleaning crew wore.
Also, he wasn't a woman.
However, he was gorgeous.
Smooth, clean features. A jawline sculpted by Bernini himself. Beautiful, large brown eyes, ringed by a thousand lashes. An elegant nose and equally elegant, dusky red lips.
He wore a blue button-down shirt, tucked into a pair of light khakis, and I swear, he didn't have an ounce of fat around his waistline.
My mouth watered.
I stood in the open doorway, gaping at this exquisite being. It was a wonder my jaw didn't fall off and bounce all the way to the elevators.
He tucked a lock of shoulder-length chocolate brown hair behind one ear, his eyes on me.
His lips twisted, giving him a harsh expression.
"What the hell are you doing here?" His words were just as shocking as his appearance.
"What…what…" I stammered, hand on my chest in a futile attempt to keep my heart from pounding right out of my body. "I don't…"
His eyes narrowed and he put a hand on his lean hips. I wished I wasn't staring like some gauche country girl seeing skyscrapers for the first time, but the man had the face and the body of a supermodel. He should've been in a magazine spread. Why was he here?
I licked my dry lips. "I—"
"Are you mentally ill?" he snapped. "Can't you talk straight?"
I flinched at his abrupt tone. His eyes said that he had seen a lot disgusting things and I surpassed them all.
"Didn't your mother teach you not to stare?"
I shook my head and tried to gain some of my aplomb back. "Why are you going through my desk? Who are you?"
He slid the top drawer shut. I refused to feel even the faintest twinge of shame for the cookies and rice cakes stuffed in that particular compartment.
Although, when a pack of melon-flavored Doraemon crackers got caught between the drawer and the desk, my soul kind of shriveled.
He pulled the package out and glared at the label. "Aren't you a little old for these?"
"I've got to keep up my energy. It's hard working here," I blustered.
"Yes..." he drawled, poking the plastic packaging back through the gap of the drawer so he could work it closed. "I can see that."
Gazing at me with those caramel-colored eyes and sensual lips with a cruel twist, he opened the second drawer.
"Get away from my desk," I said, walking on rubbery legs. "You can't do that!"
One elegantly winged eyebrow went up.
"Private property?" He pulled out a file and rifled through the pages. Meanwhile, I was choking on rage. "Allow me to ask you what you're doing here so early."
I blinked. "I...work here! Put that file down."
"Oh, do you? And no, I don't want to put it down, thank you."
His voice was like wet, heavy velvet and a shiver of unadulterated delight ran through my body.
"Put the file down," I repeated.
He smiled, but it wasn't friendly.
It was the kind of smile the evil witch gave Snow White before she bit into the poisoned apple. "No."
"Get away from that desk, or else I'll…I'll…"
His other brow went up—way up. "You'll what?"
He slammed the drawer shut and walked towards Mr. Abe's office.
I bashed my shin against a chair leg as I rushed to intercept him.
"Stop! Don't move any farther!"
He paused, one hand on the doorknob. "Why not?"
"Because!" I sputtered, resisting the urge to rub my bruised shin. "Because that's the office for the marketing manager. If you don't leave at once, I'll be forced to ask security to escort you off the premises! I'll call them right now if you don't back off!"
He turned the knob, smiling coldly at me.
"Go ahead. Call security," he said. "I dare you."
For just one moment, an implausible thought entered my mind.
What if he's the new boss?
But that was impossible.
One, he was too young, much too young. Hiroyuki Abe was over fifty. He was also pudgy, with the complexion of Swiss cheese. I knew Aimi was just doing him for the money and gifts.
Second, this guy was too good-looking. Sure, there were plenty of handsome men working here, but none of them came close to him. They didn't have his cheekbones, didn't have the chiseled features that would've reduced Raphael to tears of joy.
Damn it. I needed to quit waxing poetic over this asshole.
Pretty is as pretty does and where it counted, he was uglier than the Wicked Witch of the West.
"Fine," I snarled and dove for the phone next to the computer—which was turned on and perused, I assumed, which made me angrier—and stabbed the button for security. "I hope they throw you out on your good-looking ass!"
He smirked. "Good-looking ass?"
"Tell me who you are," I snapped. "Tell me your name or I swear, I will call security."
He took his hand off the doorknob, opting to lean against the formidable door that Mr. Abe had used to its full potential.
The interloper crossed his arms, that same sardonic, sly smile on his lips. "Why would I stop you? I'm enjoying myself thoroughly."
I saw red for a moment and almost broke a finger stabbing the security button again. Why the hell weren't they picking up?
Finally, the i
ntercom hissed and an indolent voice answered, "Yeah? What do you need?"
I hovered over my desk and didn't bother to mask the triumphant smile on my lips. "There's a man in the office. He refuses to give me his name and I caught him going through my desk. That's against company policy and I'm pretty sure it's against the law. Please remove him from the premises immediately."
Meanwhile, the handsome bastard stood there, taunting me with a confident tilt to his lips.
"What're you smiling at?" I raged, slamming the receiver back into its cradle.
He shrugged. "Nothing. Although your loyalty to this company is laudable. Even if your desk looks like it belongs to a child. Honestly, how many bags of potato chips do you need?"
"For your information, I don't—"
"Er, miss?" The phone squawked, making me jump, and I pressed the intercom button, not willing to turn away to pick up the receiver.
I wished the stranger would quit looking at me like that, as though he knew something I didn't.
"Ye—es?" I croaked, staring at the handsome bastard who continued to smile à la the Cheshire Cat.
"Miss, I'm told that the foreign marketing manager went up there half an hour ago. Isn't he there now?"
"Um." Heat flooded my face and I put a hand on the desk to steady myself. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"Yeah, we sent a guy up there with the keys to let the new boss in. Hold on a sec, Raimon! You took a guy up to the fifteenth floor, what, thirty minutes ago?"
I heard a second voice, fainter, but still audible.
"Yeah, why?"
My throat tightened but I squeezed some words out. "What…what does he look like?"
"Uh, tall guy. Blue shirt. Light pants. Nice shoes."
The stranger tilted his head to one side. He was tall and wore a blue shirt tucked into light dress pants, and yes, he had on a pair of polished black shoes.
They were very nice shoes.
I snatched up the receiver and screwed it to my ear, speaking low, knowing the interloper couldn't hear me. At least, I hoped so.
"So what? You just let all sorts of people in here now? Tell me, did you at least get his name?" I was struggling to rein in my growing desperation, sensing a pit growing right under my feet. "What the hell is his name?"
I was mortally offending whoever it was on the other end of the line, but that was a problem for another day. "What, you think we let every random stranger through here? He had the proper identification. Besides, HR already told us to expect him."
My jaw tightened. I wished to hell the asshole and his Cheshire cat smile would go away. "His name. Please."
"Hold on a sec. Hey! Raimon, what did he say his name was?"
"Uh. Let me think. Nobuki…Miyano. Yeah. Nobuki Miyano."
"Thank you," I said and then sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so rude."
"Yeah, whatever. Heard that one before. Need anything else?"
A new life? A hole in the ground to sink into? A foot to stuff in my mouth?
"No, no, that's okay and like I said, I'm sorry," I said, tongue tripping on the words. "Tha-thank you."
I hung up, a lump in my throat that wouldn't go away no matter how much I coughed and cleared my throat.
"Your, uh, name," I squeaked. "Please. This isn't funny anymore. What did you say your name was?"
Something flickered in those chocolate-colored eyes. Pity?
"My name?"
I nodded.
He pushed away from the door and sauntered towards me, looking like hot sex on long legs.
"My name is Nobuki Miyano," he said quietly. "And I'm the new foreign marketing manager."
I trembled, mortified beyond belief. "I'm…I'm so sorry, Mr. Miyano."
"Yeah," he replied. "Yeah, me too."
What the hell did he mean by that?
"Why?" My lips were so dry. "Why didn't you tell me who you were? Why did you let me go on like that?"
He was close enough to touch, close enough for me to catch a citrusy, evergreen fragrance emitting from his perfectly ironed clothes. "Because you seemed pretty certain about my origins. It never once occurred to you I was supposed to be here. Why is that, I wonder?"
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but closed it again.
What was there to say?
My new boss reached for me and I flinched. "Wha…what are you—?"
"Just getting the folder from before," he said, his breath hot on my ear. "Is that allowed, Madam Secretary?"
"Yes, of course!" My voice went up an entire octave. God, I felt like I was back in high school again, talking to my crush. "Why—why wouldn't it be allowed? It's yours now."
"Hm," he said with a soft laugh. Yeah, he definitely knew what he was doing to me. "That's good. That's very good."
Then, he pulled away, the folder in one hand.
Meanwhile, I was trying to learn how to breathe again.
His lips curled up. "You want to know why I did it?"
My hands curled into tight fists as I tried to regain a modicum of sense. "Why?"
His smile widened. "Because I'm twisted, that's why."
Then he whirled around on one polished heel and walked back into Mr. Abe's—no—his office.
As my new boss.
I staggered into my chair and almost slipped right out of it.
Things did not get any easier after that.
***
A few hours later, my new boss stopped by my desk on his way to lunch.
He paused, fingers trailing along the varnished, dark surface. As much as I hated to admit it, he had lovely hands with long, thin fingers that might've belonged to a pianist or a classical guitarist.
I looked up and locked gazes with him.
I could've had said anything. I could've asked him if he expected to be back in time for his meeting with one of our acquisition editors.
I could've asked him if I should book his tickets for his flight to Los Angeles next week or if he preferred to do that himself.
I could've even asked him if he liked his coffee black.
Instead, I came up with this gem:
"Is it fun for you to watch people squirm?"
His fingers drummed on the table and a moment of silence settled between us, thick and heavy.
"An interesting question," he said thoughtfully. "Did you squirm?"
"You could have said something," I said, my cheeks heating. "When I was yelling at you to get out, you should've said you belonged here. I was just trying to be a good employee."
Or something like that.
A corner of his lips flicked up, turning his emotionless mask into something else that made my mouth go dry.
Jesus, he was a handsome devil.
"What if I said I don't tolerate bullies and impetuous loudmouths?" he asked.
I blinked. "What?"
Did he just call me an impetuous, loud-mouthed bully?
He leaned in close. I could've counted all of his eyelashes, although it would've taken me forever.
"Next time, why don't you ask instead of just assuming?" he said. "But yes, I enjoyed watching you squirm."
He straightened back up, the smile gone from his lips, once again my implacable boss who had never learned how to smile.
Meanwhile, I was still reeling from his words.
"Hold my appointments. I'll be back tomorrow. Send all messages to my phone," he said and walked out, leaving me staring after him.
His cologne tantalized me; it was something clean and almost refreshing, like a snowy pine forest.
He smelled wonderful.
A pity it didn't match his personality.
Hey, you're no catch either.
Ignoring the sarcastic jab in the back of my mind, I leaned back in my seat and sighed.
God, I had been such an idiot.
Assuming there was no way such a good-looking, young guy could've been my new boss—I had jumped the gun.
If Mr. Miyano had fired me right then, there was noth
ing I could've said or done about it.
In fact, if I were him, I would've done just that.
So, why didn't he?
Counting my lucky blessings, I grabbed my lunch and headed to the cafeteria on the second floor for my break.
Ayaka was waiting for me at a patio table in the corner of the room and I hastened towards her, my neck prickling.
People were staring at me.
A lot of them.
As soon as I stopped walking, they turned back to their lunches, as though the last ten seconds had never happened.
But they didn't fool me. I knew what I had seen.
I should've never left my desk.
Ayaka winked, a wide, knowing smile on her pale pink lips.
"Enjoying the attention?"
I snorted and opened my small Tupperware. Mom's sautéed mushrooms and beef. Normally, my favorite dish, but today I wasn't sure if I could stomach even a piece of toast. "Didn't they learn it's rude to stare?"
Ayaka put down her fork. Grilled chicken salad, not a drop of dressing in sight. No wonder men idolized her; she had a figure that would've made Aphrodite weep with envy. "It's not you, you know. They're just curious about…you know."
I took a lackluster bite. "Know what?"
She raised a brow. "You know. That delicious man you call your boss. Aren't you the lucky one?"
"Delicious? Trust me, you can have him," I grumbled.
She tilted her head to one side, playing with a lock of her honey-brown, wavy hair. "Really? You sure about that?"
My face went red. "He said he liked watching me squirm."
Her jaw stopped moving as she stared at me. "He said that? Out loud to you?"
"Yeah," I said. "Unbelievable, right?"
She sat back in her seat, awe on her pretty face. "You know, there have been rumors flying like mad. He's famous around here."
"Yeah?"
She nodded, her large eyes sparkling with excitement. "Yeah, so get this—"
I listened to her outrageous gossip while shoveling food half-heartedly into my mouth.
She explained how Nobuki Miyano had been working for an overseas publishing company and was personally head-hunted by President Hamazaki.
That he'd dated several celebrities and had a torrid relationship with a gravure idol that ended when she'd claimed her child was his. A DNA test proved the toddler was her manager's.
The Handsome Devil (Kissing the Boss Book 1) Page 2
