The CEO Buys in (Wager of Hearts #1)

by Nancy Herkness

  He wondered where that image had come from, even as he dismissed it.

  “Was it money or a job you wanted?” he asked.

  “I wanted you,” Teresa said in a throaty voice as she let her arms fall to her sides in an elegant arc.

  “The company’s legal business?” He was angry at himself for being fooled by this woman.

  “Why can you not believe I love you for yourself?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Teresa, you’re just digging a deeper hole.”

  “I read an interview with you in a business magazine,” she said, dropping the mask of being insulted. “You said the rich don’t have the luxury of falling in love like normal human beings.”

  “I don’t remember having a philosophical discussion about love with a journalist.”

  “The article was dated about ten years ago. I was doing some research recently and found it.”

  He cast back in his memory and came up blank. Evidently he’d been smarter about women but dumber about the press back then. “What were you researching?”

  “Trainor Electronics. I was going to court your business.” She shook her hair back from her shoulders. “Only I found I wanted to court you instead. So I tried to create the illusion of falling in love like normal people. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

  The problem was that he had enjoyed it. Far too much. “I don’t like illusions,” he said. “They’re just lies dressed up in fancy clothes.”

  “So, that’s it?” she said. “You’re just cutting me out of your life after five months of intimacy?”

  “I’ll send you a diamond bracelet as a parting gift,” he said.

  She couldn’t hide the flare of greed in her eyes, even as she made a show of affronted virtue. “Keep your gift,” she said, swiping up her coat and stalking to the door before she looked over her shoulder. “If you handed it to me now, I’d throw it in your face.”

  She slammed the door behind her.

  He leaned back against his desk and rubbed his burning eyelids. The hangover and lack of sleep had probably made him harsher than he should have been. He’d send her the bracelet to salve his conscience. It would be interesting to see if she kept it.

  His office door swung open a crack, and Chloe’s head with its prim bun appeared in it. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Trainor, but do you want me to stay?”

  He glanced at his watch, surprised to find that it was after six. The poor temp wasn’t used to working the longer hours of an executive assistant. “I’m sorry. You may go home. I assume they pay you extra for overtime.”

  She nodded. “Flexitemps is very good to its employees. Good night.” Her head disappeared and the door closed softly.

  The temp was a funny little thing. Her manners were flawlessly professional, but he got the feeling she disapproved of him. He didn’t mind as long as she continued to manage his phone calls and calendar as competently as she had today. He’d hold all the high-level work until Janice got back.

  That reminded him of the notes she’d taken at the meeting. She said she’d e-mail them to him when they were finished. He’d better doctor them up while the meeting was still fresh in his mind. The technical jargon had been flying, and he was sure she hadn’t been able to keep up despite her mad scribbling.

  Returning to his desk chair and finding the e-mail on his screen, he began to read. And read. And read. When he was done, he sat back, staring at the document in front of him in disbelief.

  “Well, well, it looks like Flexitemps sent in a ringer.”

  “Sorry I’m so late, Grandmillie.” Chloe bent to kiss her grandmother’s soft, wrinkled cheek. “I got promoted to executive assistant by the flu epidemic and had to work late.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of fixing myself a bowl of soup, you know,” Grandmillie said.

  “But I like to have someone to cook for,” Chloe said. She laughed as she put the takeout Thai food on the counter. “Or in this case, to buy for. When I walked past Boonsong, it smelled so good, I couldn’t resist.”

  Grandmillie loved Thai food, but splurging on takeout was something they couldn’t often do. Since Chloe was getting a higher wage for the executive assistant position, she’d decided on the treat. And she was too tired to cook after her stressful day.

  Her grandmother stood up and followed Chloe to the dining area, using her brightly decorated cane for balance. The oak table was already set with Grandmillie’s exquisite gold-rimmed wedding china. She said she couldn’t take it to the afterlife so they might as well use it here.

  Once the food was served, Grandmillie said, “What executive are you working for?”

  “The big cheese. Mr. Trainor himself,” Chloe said. “Mmm, this pad see ew is fantastic.”

  “Is he pleasant to work for?”

  Chloe took another bite and chewed as she thought about that. “He’s not unpleasant. I think he doesn’t believe I can do much since I’m just a temp, so he kept it pretty simple today.”

  “That’s considerate of him.”

  “I guess you could call it that.” Chloe put down her fork. “It got very interesting this evening, though. Right as I was finishing up some notes from a meeting, this tall brunette wearing the most gorgeous Louboutin heels waltzed in. She claimed she had a dinner date with him. When I got him on the intercom, he was clearly not happy about her arrival, but he told her to come in anyway.” She took a sip of water and leaned forward. “When she came out not long after, her face looked like a thundercloud. She stomped by my desk so hard I was afraid she was going to break the heels on those beautiful shoes.”

  “Sounds like he canceled the date,” Grandmillie said, her blue eyes twinkling.

  “She muttered something about a bracelet, but she wasn’t wearing one that I could see.”

  “Don’t rich men give their mistresses jewelry when they end the relationship?” Grandmillie asked.

  “I’m shocked. How do you know such a thing?” Chloe teased.

  “I wasn’t born yesterday, dear. And I read Regency romances.”

  In fact, Grandmillie was one shrewd cookie. She’d owned a bar with her ex-husband, even when he was ex. So she’d seen more of the gritty side of life than Chloe had.

  “I don’t think she was his mistress, though,” Chloe said. “I’m pretty sure mistresses don’t come to their sugar daddy’s office during the workday. Unless they want to be ex-mistresses really fast.”

  “Maybe that’s why he tossed her out,” Grandmillie said, pulling chicken satay off the skewer with her fork. “She broke the rules.”

  “Technically speaking, wouldn’t he have to be married to have a mistress?”

  “He’s not married?” Grandmillie’s attention became very focused. “How old is the man?”

  “Pretty young for a CEO.” And pretty hot too. “He may be married, but I didn’t see a ring.”

  “Google him on your phone,” her grandmother ordered.

  Chloe kept eating. “He’s a billionaire. He’s not interested in a temporary assistant.”

  “Not yet.” Grandmillie put down her fork and looked at Chloe.

  “Fine.” Chloe got up and grabbed her handbag, digging her phone out of it and typing in Nathan Trainor’s name. She chose a basic bio that appeared up-to-date. “Not married. Never has been. That’s kind of weird.”

  “Why, dear?” Her grandmother resumed her consumption of the satay.

  “Because he’s so—” She’d been about to say “good looking” but decided she didn’t want to give her grandmother any additional ammunition. “—rich.”

  “He just hasn’t met the right woman.” Grandmillie looked up. “Until now.”

  Chloe smiled at the woman who believed the king of England would be lucky to marry her granddaughter. “You are so sweet.”

  “Ha! The fellows trying to wheedle another drink out of me at closing time called me things that weren’t anywhere near ‘sweet.’ ”

  “Well, I’ll do my best to persuade Nathan Trainor to ask
me out to dinner and see if I like him well enough for a second date,” Chloe said, giving up.

  “Just be yourself, dear, and he’ll figure it out.”

  Chloe wondered how many dates you had to go on to get an expensive bracelet when you broke up. She could sell it and sock the money away in the bank.

  CHAPTER 3

  Chloe stepped off the executive-level elevator with considerably more confidence than she had the day before. She had on her Louboutin knockoffs, black linen trousers, a white blouse, and a gray tweed sweater jacket. The jacket had been marked down about four times at Nordstrom. The only reason no one had snapped it up was that it had fallen off the hanger and was puddled on the floor under the round clothes rack. Even then it had been a splurge, but it was a classic she could wear until it fell apart at the seams.

  She greeted Priscilla warmly and received a welcoming smile in return. All the people she’d met at Trainor Electronics were surprisingly friendly and relaxed. Considering that it was a cutting-edge tech firm, she’d expected more tension and competitiveness. Or maybe that was just because the last tech firm she’d worked for was on the verge of bankruptcy all the time, so everyone was worried about their jobs. The Russell jinx at work again.

  Even the mighty Mr. Trainor didn’t give off a vibe of self-importance, just supreme confidence.

  Chloe pulled out her desk drawer and dropped her bag into it before picking up a pad of paper. She knew she was old-fashioned, but she never quite trusted her notes to a computer tablet. Trainor’s office door was closed, and she hesitated outside it. The privacy light on the phone console wasn’t lit, so he shouldn’t mind being disturbed. She needed to let him know that she was at work on time. Well, ten minutes early, actually, but she wouldn’t clock in for that.

  Chloe ran her hand over her sleeked-back hair and checked that her bun was firmly wound before she knocked on the door. There was no answer. Roberta Stern had said Trainor usually got in two hours before the rest of the staff, which made this seem odd.

  She tried the doorknob. It turned in her hand, so she pushed the door open a crack and listened. No sound.

  She opened the door wide enough to slip through it. The office appeared to be empty. Well, she’d just go back to her desk and wait for Trainor to show up. Then her glance snagged on a man’s raincoat tossed over one of the chairs in front of her boss’s desk. She looked more closely and discovered a briefcase leaning against the arm of the chair.

  So he had been here.

  Chloe turned to recheck his schedule, thinking she’d missed an early-morning appointment, when she heard a low, drawn-out moan coming from the direction of the desk.

  The high-backed chair was swiveled so its back faced her. Remembering Teresa Fogarty’s presence the night before, she debated whether she might witness something she didn’t want to see if she walked around the desk. However, the chair hadn’t moved the entire time she’d been there, and judging by Trainor’s impressive physique, he would probably be fairly active when in the throes of passion.

  She tiptoed around the corner of the desk and peered into the chair.

  “Oh my God!” she gasped.

  Her boss was slumped on the seat, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, while his head sagged to the side and his forearms hung limply over the armrests. His eyes were closed, and his skin bore a hectic, unnatural flush. “Mr. Trainor!”

  She hurled the pad of paper onto the desk and dashed to his side. His eyelids fluttered open as she bent to look for injuries. “So hot,” he mumbled. “Who are you? Wait, the ringer.”

  His eyes closed again. She laid the back of her hand against his forehead. His skin was on fire. She grabbed the phone and dialed Priscilla. “Mr. Trainor’s really sick. Is there a nurse’s office in the building?”

  “I’ll send someone right up,” Priscilla said.

  Chloe wasn’t sure if she should leave her boss alone, since he looked to be in danger of sliding right out of the chair. However, she decided the best thing she could do was try to bring down some of that temperature. She raced into the kitchen and improvised a couple of ice packs at high speed.

  Jogging back to the desk, she held one pack against the side of his neck and put one on top of his head.

  “Ahh,” he breathed out. “That feels good. You’re smart, little ringer.”

  “I’m Chloe Russell, the temp,” she said, trying to pull him back to reality.

  Priscilla raced in. “The nurse is on her way up, and they’ve called Mr. Trainor’s doctor. What’s wrong?”

  “He’s burning up,” Chloe said. “I guess Janice’s flu germs got him.”

  “He looks terrible,” Priscilla whispered. “Why didn’t he stay home?”

  “I’m not sick,” Trainor mumbled. “I never get sick.”

  “The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” Chloe said, shifting the ice pack to the other side of his neck. He nuzzled his cheek against it with another blissful sigh. “I’ll bet he’s a difficult patient.”

  The nurse came flying through the door, followed by Roberta and two male executives. Chloe stepped back as Trainor’s staff took over.

  The electronic thermometer beeped. “His temp is 104,” the nurse said, her voice sharp with worry. She looked at the executives. “I can’t handle this. He needs to go to the hospital immediately.”

  “No,” Trainor said, struggling to pull himself upright. “I’m not sick.”

  The nurse gave him a professional smile of disbelief. “Your doctor will be here shortly. He’ll make that decision.” She glanced at Chloe’s homemade ice packs. “We’ll keep those on him.”

  “I can make some more packs,” Chloe volunteered. It figured that Trainor would have a doctor who showed up on demand at his office.

  The nurse nodded and Chloe hurried off to the kitchen again. She was holding a pack against the pulse point on one of Trainor’s wrists when a lean young man with dark-red hair strode through the door.

  “Dr. Cavill.” The nurse’s voice brimmed with relief. “His temp’s 104. He’s hyperthermic, but I didn’t want to give him anything until you arrived.”

  “And I’ll bet he claims he’s not sick,” the doctor said.

  Chloe could see the effort it took for Trainor to open his eyes. “Damn straight. Just hungover. No, that was yesterday. Maybe I am sick.”

  “Well, that admission means he’s on death’s door,” the doctor said. Chloe watched for signs of concern, but Cavill kept a poker face. “You should have taken that flu shot I recommended. Now you’re suffering the consequences.”

  Trainor turned away from the doctor, his gaze stopping on her face. For a moment he looked puzzled. Then his face cleared. “Chloe Russell, the temp.”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Feels good,” he repeated and drifted away again.

  The doctor looked around the little group circling the big office chair. “Does anyone know how long he’s been feverish?”

  “I found him like this when I came in to work at 7:50,” Chloe said.

  “When did you start the ice packs?” Cavill looked at the nurse as he asked.

  She nodded to Chloe. “She already had two on him when I arrived.”

  “Quick thinking,” the doctor said. He lifted his bag and set it on the desk. “If you’ll give me some privacy, I’ll examine the patient.”

  Chloe set the cold pack on the desk and followed the group out of the office, closing the door behind her. Priscilla returned to her post in the reception area, but Roberta and the two men hovered by the door. Chloe sat down and checked her boss’s calendar, finding virtually wall-to-wall meetings. She looked up at Roberta. “Should I cancel the rest of Mr. Trainor’s schedule for today?”

  Roberta turned to the shorter man, the same one whose office Trainor had been in. “Phil, could you take a look at Mr. Trainor’s calendar and see if anything’s critical?”

  Phil came around the desk to lean over Chloe’s shoulder. “Poor bastard, he really doe
sn’t do anything except attend meetings,” he muttered after a few seconds, his voice holding a trace of a foreign accent. “You can cancel everything but the three o’clock. I’ll take care of that one. If anyone has any questions, refer them to me. I’m Phil Riviere. Executive vice president.” He held out his hand to Chloe with a smile that must have charmed a thousand women.

  Chloe shook his hand and nodded. “Cancel by e-mail or phone?” she asked, not knowing what the protocol would be at this level.

  Phil considered the calendar. “E-mail is fine. If you draft it, I’ll approve it.”

  Chloe nodded and began to type. She’d come up with a satisfactory paragraph when the door opened and Cavill came out.

  “How is he?” Roberta asked.

  “I got him to the couch, but that’s as far as he could make it,” Cavill said. “I think it’s just the flu, but I want to run some additional tests since the fever is so high. Let me set up transport to the hospital.”

  He pulled out his cell phone and walked away from the desk to stand by the windows, where he spoke in a low voice Chloe couldn’t hear.

  The office door opened and the nurse put her head out, glancing around until she saw Chloe. “Mr. Trainor is asking for you,” she said.

  “Me?” Chloe’s fingers stilled on the keyboard.

  “He says you make him feel better,” the nurse said. “The fever is making him delirious, so it’s better just to go along with his requests. It will calm him down.”

  “Okay.” Chloe stood and smoothed her palms down the front of her thighs as the high-powered executives stared at her. She followed the nurse across Trainor’s office to the big suede couch in the seating area by the window.

  Her boss lay with his head on one of the striped pillows, his tie gone and his shirt unbuttoned far enough so that she could see a dusting of brown hair over the muscles of his chest. He shifted uneasily and looked around with an unfocused gaze. “Make it feel better, Chloe,” he muttered. “Make it better, like the report.”

  Chloe looked at the nurse. “How?”

  “Maybe an ice pack again? You were the first person to use one. He might be remembering that. Don’t move. I’ll get it.”