He turned his chair and swiped his fingertip over his screen first in one direction, then another, then a third. He had long, tapering fingers, so he looked rather like a magician casting a spell. “I’ve just sent you a report one of my associates drafted. It needs cleaning up. That’s your first job.”
“Yes, sir,” Chloe said.
His brows drew together. “Sir?”
“Mr. Trainor.”
He seemed about to say something, but instead shrugged and turned back to his computer screen.
Chloe returned to her desk, fighting down the mix of gut-punching attraction and mild resentment Trainor evoked in her. She didn’t mind the resentment, but she needed to eliminate the attraction. He was the CEO of a giant, heartless corporation, just like the one that had sucked her father dry.
The report Trainor had sent her—an analysis of a recent marketing campaign written by someone named Richard Sinclair—needed more than just cleaning up. She debated a moment before she hit the intercom button. “Mr. Trainor, may I suggest some edits for this report? I’ll use tracking so you know what I’ve changed.”
“You want to edit the report?” His surprise came through her headset clearly.
“For clarity,” Chloe said. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ve worked in marketing before, so I know the jargon.”
She’d also worked in sales, accounting, and just about every other department a business could have. That was the joy and pain of working for start-ups; they were understaffed, so she filled in wherever she was needed. Unfortunately, she also brought the Russell jinx down on them. No fewer than three of the last four companies she’d worked for had failed. It had taken only three months from the day she was hired for the most recent one to close its doors. However, she refused to give up and work for a soulless corporation like Trainor Electronics except on a temporary basis. Her father’s experience had convinced her to avoid that career path. His employer had used his brilliant mind and given him a pittance in return.
A moment of silence. “Go ahead,” Trainor said and hung up.
She set alarms to remind herself to alert her boss about his meetings, and dug into the mess of charts and graphs and disorganized analyses. It got so bad that she created a whole new document with her changes. There were interruptions, of course, as the phone rang and a parade of visitors had to be vetted. However, the phone wasn’t as busy as she’d expected because Priscilla screened all the calls first and only put through those she thought Trainor might have an interest in taking.
“This job is cake,” Chloe muttered to herself as she attached the rewritten report to an e-mail and hit “Send.”
Trainor’s office door swung open, and the man himself emerged. Her gaze went straight to his sculpted forearms, then lifted as he ran one hand through the thick waves of his hair, making it look tousled, as though he’d just gotten out of bed. He frowned down at her from his considerable height. “Did you go to lunch?”
She glanced at the time on the computer screen: 2:03. She’d been so engrossed in the editing, she’d missed her one o’clock lunchtime. Her stomach growled. “Should I go now?”
“Could you order in sandwiches for both of us? I have a meeting in thirty minutes, and I’d like you to take notes.”
“I don’t know shorthand,” Chloe confessed. Almost no one did anymore, but maybe he was old-school.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re just window dressing.”
Maybe she should be insulted, but that reminded her that she was underdressed for her new position. She wasn’t going to add any luster to her boss’s reputation in this outfit.
But that wasn’t a problem she could fix. Lunch was. Not that she knew where she was going to get lunch in less than twenty minutes. “What would you like on your sandwich?”
He hesitated, the first time she’d seen him do that. “Keep it plain.”
“No food allergies? You’re not a vegetarian?” Better safe than sorry.
Trainor shook his head, making one hank of waving hair fall onto his forehead. Her fingers twitched with a longing to feel the texture as she brushed it back. He removed temptation by striding down the hall to enter another office door. She couldn’t help watching the way the fabric of his trousers shifted over the muscles of a very tight behind. Chloe shook her head. Not going there.
Chloe hoped Priscilla was at her desk and knew the drill. CEOs didn’t like to be bothered with mundane details like buying lunch. She’d had to pay for a few herself when she could ill afford it. Luckily, Judith always paid her back.
She pushed the intercom button. “Priscilla,” she said in a low, urgent tone, “how do I get sandwiches for the big boss pronto?”
“Executive dining room,” the other woman said in her musical voice. “I’ll e-mail you the menu and phone number. Just tell them who the food is for and they’ll get it here fast.”
“Do you have any idea what he likes to eat?”
“Wish I could help, but Janice always handles that. He has cold beverages in his office refrigerator, so you don’t have to worry about those, at least.”
The promised e-mail appeared in her in-box. Scanning it, Chloe decided to go conservative and easy to prepare, although her mouth watered over lamb sausage on focaccia with chutney. However, she needed to be able to give him a choice of two. She would take the other one.
The executive dining room didn’t let her down. The sandwiches arrived in minutes and were accompanied by beautiful green, leafy salads, fresh fruit, and a bowl of multicolored chips that looked healthy. “Mr. Trainor likes the taro chips,” the young man who slid the tray onto her desk said. “And the chocolate chip cookies.” There was also a carafe of coffee that gave off a heavenly aroma.
She had no idea how to page the office Trainor had gone into, so she followed in his footsteps down the corridor and knocked on the open door. “Lunch is here,” she said, leaning in to see her boss with his hip propped on the low back of a chair as he scanned a piece of paper. A man wearing a boldly striped shirt and brilliant red tie watched him from behind a desk.
Trainor pushed away from the chair. “Phil, I’ll look this over after my meeting.”
Phil nodded. “It’s preliminary, but the numbers seem promising.”
“Agreed.” Trainor folded the paper in half and joined Chloe at the door, falling into step beside her as she walked back toward her desk. “Meetings and reports,” he muttered.
Chloe stopped by her desk. “Turkey and swiss, or roast beef and muenster?” she asked, gesturing toward the sandwiches.
He scooped the entire tray off the desk and headed into his office. “Join me.”
She stared after him. CEOs didn’t carry their own lunch trays or invite their temps to eat lunch with them. She realized that he’d disappeared from view so she jogged forward.
He set the tray on the conference table before pulling a chair out from the corner of the table and looking at her. She stopped again.
“Chloe,” he said, angling the chair with a touch of impatience.
“Oh, right.” She hurried across the expanse of plush carpeting and plunked ungracefully down into the oversize leather chair.
He lowered himself into the chair at right angles to hers and slid the tray so it was in front of him. “You believe in the classics,” he said, lifting the clear plastic lids off the plates.
The scent of balsamic vinaigrette wafting up from the salads made Chloe’s mouth water, but Nathan’s jaw seemed to tighten with distaste. She thought he looked a little queasy. “Do you mind if I have the turkey?” he asked.
“Of course not. I like red meat,” she said, taking the rejected roast beef. She glanced around the huge room, searching for the promised refrigerator. All she saw were bookcases and paneling. “I’ll get you something to drink if you tell me where you keep the beverages.”
“Ah, the hidden kitchenette,” he said, rising again. She started to protest when he held up his hand. “It’s easier to show you.” He walk
ed to a section of paneling. “Third panel from the right. Press the side at about waist height and . . .” The paneling silently slid sideways to reveal the entrance to a small kitchen with dark-green granite countertops accenting elaborately grained wooden cabinets. “And the refrigerator is concealed behind this one,” he said, pressing the largest wooden door so it swung open to reveal neatly arranged cans and bottles. “Evidently, the fact that I might eat or drink in my office must be kept secret. What can I get you?”
“Water, please,” Chloe said, not sure how to react to his oddly whimsical mood. What she really wanted was the coffee, but she would wait until he had some.
He was sorting through the drinks. “Aha! They concealed it behind the Kauffman vodka. Who the hell stocks this thing, anyway?”
Chloe smiled tentatively when he returned to hand her the water. She waited until he was seated and had picked up his sandwich before grabbing her fork.
“Please,” he said, nodding for her to eat.
She plunged the fork into a perfect slice of tomato and brought it to her mouth. The flavor blossomed with a hearty, almost smoky, quality on her tongue. Not one of those vapid, store-bought atrocities. “Mmm,” she said involuntarily.
Trainor nodded, taking the first bite of his sandwich. He chewed slowly and swallowed without noticeable pleasure. Then he put the sandwich down and pushed the plate away.
“Is there something wrong with your food?” Chloe asked. “Should I order something else?”
“No.” He picked up the carafe of coffee. “Maybe this will help.”
He must have seen the longing in Chloe’s eyes, because he filled both mugs.
Chloe decided to get this strange interlude back on a business footing. “May I ask what sort of window dressing you need me to do?”
Trainor picked up his mug. “Your function is to be the guarantor of my integrity.”
“The what?” Chloe put down her fork.
He took a sip of coffee and leaned back in his chair. “This meeting is a favor to a friend. He’s got an associate who’s developed some new software he thinks will change the world of computing. He wants me to bring out his associate’s product under the Trainor Electronics umbrella. You’re here to prove I’m not stealing his idea.”
“How am I going to do that?” She felt as though she’d wandered through the looking glass.
“This is a meeting among friends, so I can’t ask to record it. You’re going to make it clear you’re taking notes. I’ll send him a transcript of your notes for his approval. There will be no question of what products and ideas we discussed, just in case he wants to claim intellectual property theft.”
Stunned, Chloe sat back. This was the flip side of what had happened to her father. In his case he’d worked for a corporation that had laid claim to all his inventions and the enormous profits they’d made from them without compensating him as he deserved. Nathan Trainor was making sure he didn’t get accused of stealing someone else’s ideas. “Have you had a problem with that before?”
“On occasion.” He took another swallow of coffee. He must have seen something unflattering in her expression, because his lips thinned. “I don’t need to steal other people’s ideas. I have one of the best R and D departments in the business.”
How many of his employees’ ideas had he taken as his own, and rewarded them with not a cent above their salaries? She went back to her sandwich. She wasn’t here to right the wrongs of the corporate world. She was just here to tide herself and Grandmillie over until she got another permanent position.
When she glanced back up at Trainor, he was cradling the coffee mug in his hands and gazing out the wall of windows where the sharp verticals of the Manhattan skyline sparkled against the brilliant blue autumn sky like a postcard. With his face turned toward the light, she noticed half circles of fatigue under his eyes. His dark eyebrows were drawn down in a scowl, and his mouth was set in a hard line.
Wanting to soften the bad mood she’d provoked, she pointed to a flat rectangular object enshrined in a Lucite case on the wall. It had loops of wire sticking out at all angles, and rows of metallic boxes marching across its face. It reminded her of some of the odd gadgets her father put together in his home workshop. “Is that modern art?”
He started before turning to follow the direction of her finger. “Not art. Electronics. That is the first Trainor XL battery ever made.”
Chloe dug into her memory for the quick summary Judith had given her when she’d assigned her to work at Trainor Electronics. “Didn’t you make it yourself? When you were really young?”
Surprise was written in his lifted eyebrows. “You know more about the company than most temps. Yes, I created it for my own use in a friend’s garage when I was a teenager.”
“So that’s the battery Trainor Electronics was founded on.” She put down her sandwich and got up to examine the artifact.
“Don’t get too close or you’ll be arrested for industrial espionage.”
Chloe took a giant step away from the battery and tucked her hands behind her back.
“That was a joke. The design secret is inside the casing so you can’t see it,” he said. “Although the battery’s kept in here for security reasons as well as historical interest.”
“So someone could steal it and reverse-engineer it to develop their own superbattery.”
“They could if they wanted to deal with the battalion of patent lawyers we’d unleash on them.” He stood up and walked over to stand beside her, his eyes on the prototype battery. A self-mocking smile turned up the corners of his mouth and carved lines in his cheeks. “Its value is more sentimental than real. It changed the direction of my life.”
He turned his head so their gazes met as he said, “It’s unusual to be able to mark a turning point so clearly.”
Chloe was held in thrall by the emotions roiling in his gray eyes and by the fascinating tilt of his lips. She pivoted back toward the battery because she didn’t want to see the man inside the CEO.
CHAPTER 2
Chloe was typing the meeting notes when a tall brunette in a belted raincoat tried to breeze past her desk.
“May I help you?” Chloe asked in her best you-may-not-bother-the-boss tone.
The woman halted and made an impatient gesture. “Where’s Janice? She knows who I am.”
“Not available,” Chloe said. “May I ask your name?”
“Teresa Fogarty.”
Chloe checked Trainor’s schedule. “I’m sorry. I don’t see your appointment with him.”
The brunette gave her a tight, fake smile. “That’s because it’s a personal visit. We’re having dinner.”
“I’ll let him know you’ve arrived,” Chloe said, pushing the phone’s intercom button as the brunette started to protest. “Mr. Trainor, Ms. Teresa Fogarty is here to see you.”
There was no response and Chloe tried again. “Mr. Trainor, Ms. Teresa Fo—”
“I heard.” Trainor’s voice snapped like a whip through the headset. Chloe actually drew back from the phone console before he continued. “She can come in.”
When Chloe nodded to her, Ms. Fogarty flashed Chloe a triumphant look and turned on her heel. Which was shod in exactly the sort of high-heeled pump Chloe planned to wear tomorrow. Except Teresa’s heels had the red sole that labeled them as coming from a very expensive designer. As the superior Ms. Fogarty stalked into Trainor’s inner sanctum, Chloe rolled back from the desk and contemplated her simple, functional ballet flats. She sighed. She did like beautiful shoes.
She glided back in to finish the notes. Once that was done, she glanced at her watch and blew out a breath. If they were going to dinner, she wished they’d go, so she could get home to Grandmillie.
Courtesy brought Nathan to his feet as Teresa stormed through the doors into his office, her raincoat flapping open to show a deep red dress that clung to her body. That would have tempted him to run his hands down over her hips and up under her skirt until yesterday. Now h
e just wanted her out of his office.
“Nathan, you canceled our dinner date,” she said, shedding her coat and tossing it on a chair. She perched on the chair’s arm, crossing one long leg over the other so the narrow skirt rode up her thighs. The display had no effect on him. “Why?”
Her directness was one of the things he’d liked about her. Except now that he knew it wasn’t real, it seemed more abrasive than refreshing.
The hangover headache he’d been battling all day jabbed at his temples. He and his two new drinking buddies at the Bellwether Club had consumed more alcohol than he cared to remember. He considered blaming his hangover on Teresa, but he knew it was his own fault. As was the ridiculous wager he’d made with Luke Archer and Gavin Miller. He had fully expected one or the other to contact him today to call the whole thing off.
Now that he thought about it, he could blame the bet on Teresa. He walked around the desk to face her. “Since you’re here, we might as well—”
Her face lit up and she started to gather up her coat.
“—talk about the end of our relationship,” he finished.
Her expression hardened and her eyes sparked with temper. “I can’t believe you’re making such an issue out of the little joke I played when we met.”
“Maybe if you’d told me yourself,” he said, but he wasn’t sure that was true anymore. For a brief, gratifying moment, he’d believed that a beautiful, desirable woman had wanted him just as a man. Not as a billionaire. Not as a CEO. Not even as a supposed genius. “I value honesty.”
She stood up, her arms stretched out toward him. “I’m being deeply honest when I say that I am crazy in love with you.”
The curve of her arms was pure grace, the tilt of her head was pleading without groveling, and the timbre of her voice vibrated with emotion. Every nuance was so perfect that he realized he was seeing a very skillful act. If Chloe Russell were in the grip of an emotion as powerful as Teresa claimed to be, the feisty little temp would probably hurl herself at him and pound on his chest to make her point.
The CEO Buys in (Wager of Hearts #1) Page 3
