by Avery Laval
The moment Jenna McCormick left his office—well, fled was probably a more apt word—Grant sat down and ran his fingers aggressively over his close-cropped dark hair, as if he was trying to force something from his brain.
Who was that woman? She was not the 21-year-old debutante he’d once known, not by a long shot. That girl had been demanding and pouty, the product of a mother who couldn’t say no to anything and a father who offered her the world. When her parents had died, she’d seemed put out to return to Vegas from her ski trip in Tahoe, as though there was still fun to be had whether her mother and father were above ground or below it.
Grant frowned at the memory of that dark day. She’d marched into this office, skis in hand, as though she expected to find her father still there. He would never forget the fit she’d thrown when she’d found him sitting in the CEO’s office instead, organizing the files he’d brought from the smaller VP’s office to this one. It was one of the worst days in his life. He’d been lost in grief for his mentor, and daunted by his sudden responsibility to the company. Which, he supposed, had included her.
And yet still, even back then, there’d been no denying a flicker of attraction between them. She was absolutely wrong for him in a million ways, but it was no use telling that to his body. He’d fought tooth and nail to keep himself focused on business. And it was a good thing, too. If he hadn’t, perhaps she’d have succeeded at taking over the company. And bankrupting them all.
He remembered her frantic attempts to turn the board of directors against him six years ago, and disdain surged through him. He’d tried to make it easier on her back then. Though technically she’d been old enough to take control of her father’s share of the business, she was nowhere near mature enough to handle the responsibilities of running a Fortune 500 company in the nation’s most power-hungry city. Her own father had known that. And right away Grant had offered her a way out—one that involved a family partnership on the board, but no active control in the company. But that hadn’t suited her whims. She had fancied herself a CEO at twenty-one, and, egged on by a vast team of lawyers, she’d been willing to risk ruining the company’s stock value to make it so.
Grant shook his head at her foolishness. Her impulsive move could have rendered all his work and his hard-won reputation in business completely worthless. She had broken a cardinal rule of corporate power: Never risk something you’re unwilling to lose. She’d given up her controlling shares in McCormick in an attempt to win favor with the board, and the risk hadn’t paid off. Liquidating shares so soon after the tragedy had brought down prices and lost them all money, and the company had been barely afloat as it was. The very next day, she was fired by the board, pure and simple, and without the controlling stock holdings, there was nothing left to tie a single McCormick to the company the family had built from the ground up.
It must have been a rough day for Jenna McCormick. That was the day she’d stormed into the big office and declared him a “morally corrupt, scheming cheat who would drive the company into the ground.” And the day he’d made a offhand promise to hire her if she was ever willing to work.
A promise that now, after all this time, was coming back to bite him.
Grant sighed, thinking of everything that had happened since he’d made that offer. As CEO, he had helped the company turn a vast profit by the second year. His resulting bonuses had been the beginning of an empire. He pivoted in his chair and looked out the huge windows of his office onto the flashing lights of the Vegas strip. A bit of it even belonged to him. He was welcome at every VIP room in every casino in town. He never had to wait for a table at Bouchon. Thanks to his work ethic and good fortune, having a woman show up at his door looking for a handout was nothing new. But today, Jenna hadn’t wanted a handout.
Had she changed? Growing up into that tempting body of hers, with her long, curvaceous legs and lips like invitations, had she grown up emotionally, too?
Nonsense. Grant forced himself to ignore the tightening sensation at the thought of her body and concentrate instead on what might have happened had Jenna taken control of the company successfully. She’d have ruined his reputation and that of McCormick Jewels as well. The last he’d heard of her had been a year after the takeover, and she’d been smoothing her ruffled feathers at the best suite in the Venetian, interviewing doctors in top-secret private meetings. Which possibly explained where those incredible breasts had come from…
Stop thinking about her breasts, he scolded himself. Remember the real reason she’s here.
For Grant knew that Jenna McCormick hadn’t shown up in his office begging for a job just because she needed money. He’d offered her a position so unappealing she’d have been crazy to take it over any number of overpaid, underworked ladies-who-lunch gigs she could have gotten from her parents’ connections. And besides, her parents had left her with enough money that she should have gotten away with her life of leisure for many more years. So why here? Why now?
The penny dropped.
She was husband hunting. He didn’t want it to be true, but he’d known plenty of heiresses and gold-diggers in this strange gilded city. They shopped for pro athletes and CEOs the way some people shopped for shoes. Why would Jenna be any different?
He thought back to the moment he’d described the position to her. “You will work directly under me,” he’d said. Under him. Her reaction hadn’t been the disgust he’d expected. Actually, her whole body had seemed to sizzle at the words. Was it sexual attraction, pure and simple, or something more calculating?
Of course. What better way for her to keep that promise she’d made to her father to keep a hand in the company. She’d weasel her way into his life, and never have to work a day again, but still enjoy all the spoils of McCormick Jewels’ success. The thought went against everything Grant believed in.
He thought again of her pleading eyes. Her nervous demeanor. He wanted more than anything to be wrong about her. But he was so seldom wrong about anyone. He’d learned long ago that trusting his gut without doing all of his research was dangerous. It was not a mistake he ever intended to repeat. He had to be sure.
He buzzed his assistant. “Anna?” he said to the latest in a string of temps manning his front desk. “Get me James Houghton, please.”
“Frames who now?” came a distracted voice.
Grant sighed. “James Houghton. As in Houghton Investigatory Services. I’ve got some digging to do.”
“Hello? Who is this?”
Grant could tell by the drowsy way Jenna answered the phone that he had woken her. Good. After all, thoughts of her had kept him up half the night, and he was happy to return the favor. “Good morning, Jenna.”
“Grant? I mean, Mr. Blakely? Why are you calling me at 6:15 in the morning?”
“It’s not too early, is it?” he asked in mock innocence. “I hope you’re up and moving, because I need you here soon. I’ve arranged a 7:30 meeting today, and I’d like you to be around to greet the attendees.”
There was a short silence on the line, and then she spoke. “Seven-thirty in the morning?”
“Absolutely. The best work gets done while everyone is still fresh, wouldn’t you agree?” Grant grinned as he spoke. Considering he was in his pajamas, sipping from an oversize mug of French roast as he looked through his picture windows at the waking city below, this was as fresh as it got.
“I’ve never thought anything but bagels should be fresh at 7:30 in the morning,” she quipped. But she added in a much more professional voice, “Sorry. I’ll be there by 7:30 on the dot. I’d appreciate it if you could try to give me a little more warning in the future, though, if you don’t mind. I need forty-five minutes to make the commute.”
“Oh, you’re that close to the office, then?” Grant shot back. “In that case, why don’t you come in a little earlier, so you have time to brew a big pot of coffee for the meeting? I take mine black. No sugar.” He heard a muffled squawk on the other line, like someone had just dropped an a
nvil on her toe, and for a brief moment he pitied her. A lifetime without lifting a finger. Working for a taskmaster would be a terrible shock, he knew.
But the moment passed. If she wanted to play at being an employee, he could show her just how demanding some bosses could be. Never mind that he’d worked with his last permanent assistant, a college grad named Nate, for five years without a single complaint. Never mind that Nate had accused him of being a softie when it came to days off and family issues. Jenna would get to know the more intense side of life as a personal assistant. After all, she was the one who wanted to get really personal.
On the other end of the line, Jenna squeezed her eyes shut, then open, then shut again. One more time and maybe she’d be transported back to her bed, sleeping dreamlessly, instead of standing here seething at her new boss. Tyrant was more apt a title for the man. Of course he took his coffee dark and bitter—just like his personality. How could she have ever felt attracted to him? Now that he was almost an hour away, it was much easier for her to remember her previous resentment for the hard-hearted man.
A quick shower was all she had time for. Then she slid into the same dark gray suit she’d worn to meet him yesterday, with a different silk top—she’d never had much need for business attire in her old life, and would have to get by on two suits mixed and matched—and went looking for a hairbrush to try to force her long, brown, stick-straight hair into a respectable shape of some sort. She found it lying in front of a framed photo of her whole family, taken in easier times.
Good. She slid the photograph into her tote bound for the office. It was the perfect reminder of why she was doing this today. She’d go in there with her head held high and her arms full of coffee mugs, ready to dazzle the tyrant’s fine Italian trousers right off. Wait—scratch that. She didn’t want to think about his trousers off for even a second. But it was too late. The image of a long muscular pair of legs squeezed its way into her head before she could stop it. And then a picture of those legs twisted with hers in the sheets…
No, Jenna Lynn McCormick! Absolutely not, she scolded herself, shaking her shoulders to set her head right. Do not think about your new boss that way. Brush hair, put on lipstick, get in car, drive to new job. She barked out instructions to herself as she got to each step, as if to speed herself along. Or force herself forward.
Within fifteen minutes she was in the car, pulling out of the driveway of the little concrete apartment block that she’d come to think of as her “little Bellagio.” It wasn’t anywhere near as grand as the real thing, where she’d crashed regularly before her parents died, but she liked it whole heck of a lot better. Oh, she hadn’t at first—she’d acted like a brat, like a poor little rich girl, and stormed about expecting the world to hand her back her old life. But now she enjoyed the simplicity and privacy of her cozy home. And the security it provided.
As she sped toward the twinkling lights and commanding buildings of the Strip, she thought again of how she’d gotten to this place—how her routine had gone from ski trips and spa days to a quiet existence in North Vegas, taking care of herself and her little brother, trying not to think too much about what came next. It wasn’t bad at all—in fact she rather loved her peaceful, humdrum life. Truly, everything would have been perfect if she hadn’t had so many expenses. But the money worries had just gotten to be too much, and every day that her wallet got lighter, her heart got heavier. She hated waking up in the morning and wondering how she’d pay for a tank of gas that day—or, more importantly, how she’d make sure her brother continued to get the inpatient care he needed.
When her parents had died, she’d known absolutely nothing about managing money. Now she knew all too well the ins and outs of preserving each nickel as long as she could. But it was too little, too late. The expense of her brother’s illness had quickly drained the bulk of the trust funds left by her parents, and soon they were living on the capital. When that was gone, they’d sold the house and all its contents at auction. Thanks to her father’s shrewd real estate sense and her mother’s taste for rare collectible art, that was enough to keep Justin in good care for however long he might need it, as long as Jenna never touched a penny of the money. And to ensure that she wouldn’t, she’d faced her fears and returned to the company that had burned her so badly six years ago.
From behind a line of standstill road congestion, the Wynn hotel at the top of the Strip slowly came into view, and with a wry smile, Jenna remembered how lucky she’d been—how good she’d had it, though she hadn’t realized at the time. A suite at the Bellagio, endless vacations, every pair of shoes Barney’s had ever carried. It was enough to make her shake her head and laugh at herself. What kind of dope would take all the riches of the world for granted, spend her days sleeping and nights dancing, instead of going to the best schools and learning the business that had given her such a good life? Ah, but she’d beaten herself up about that long enough. Time to face life as it was. Time to move on from the regret and sorrow and get to the business of making things better.
Traffic was miserable, and by the time she reached the office, it was already 7:15. She ran from the underground parking garage beneath the building to the elevator and then shot up seventeen agonizing floors almost without taking a breath. She bolted to the empty reception desk just outside of Grant’s office—she guessed it had to be her post—and before she’d even thrown down her jacket and purse, she saw the message light on the phone blinking back at her.
At first she tried to ignore it, to rush through to the next task. She still had time to find the coffee maker and get at least one pot going before the meeting started. But what if it was Grant, adding to his orders? Jenna sneered. What could he possibly want? Handmade scones to go with the coffee?
She lifted the receiver, already regretting the precious moments she was losing, and pressed the play button. The unmistakable voice of Grant Blakely came on the line: “Looks like you have time for a pedicure after all.” His voice was booming, triumphant. “That is, if you can find a salon that’s open at 7:30 in the morning. I pushed back the meeting. Your reluctant tone made me realize that the hour was far too early to get any real work done. We’ll reconvene at nine a.m. Keep the coffee warm, please.” The tell-tale click sounded, letting her know no further instructions would be forthcoming.
Jenna wanted to scream—but what came out when she opened her mouth was a mangled, anguished gurgle. That unbelievable jerk. There’d never been a 7:30 meeting. He was toying with her on her first day, trying to drive her so crazy she’d have to quit before she even started. Rousing her hours too early and making her race into the office without so much as breakfast? Scaring her half to death that her job was on the line? How could he be so smug? Again, she scolded herself for letting the man’s obvious attractiveness distract her for even a moment from his true nature.
At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to grab her purse, march right back to her car, and go home to hide from the world—and especially from Grant Blakely. But instead, Jenna rolled her shoulders back in her characteristic way, took one of her deep breaths, and reminded herself what she was doing this for.
Clearly, this arrogant man thought she’d give up after a few little frustrations and then he could be rid of her. Well, he didn’t know her well enough. He didn’t know how her father had made her promise to always keep a hand in the jewelry company, no matter what happened, even when she was just a little girl and had no idea what the words had meant. He didn’t know her brother needed special care and was counting on her to keep it coming.
If Grant Blakely wanted to break her, he was welcome to keep trying. What he didn’t know was that she’d sooner break than give up on her family.
3
Jenna’s first meeting went off without a hitch. At nine a.m. sharp, the conference room filled with men and women in fine suits, holding yellow notepads and looking Jenna up and down with undisguised curiosity. She stood at the door and introduced herself to each newcomer, trying
to make the best possible impression on each of Blakely’s prized employees in the hope of earning their respect. Most attendees were friendly and welcoming, and some knew her from her father’s tenure. But more than a few asked after her last name, wondering aloud at the relationship between the company and herself. When they did, she just smiled warmly and explained as best she could that yes, she was in the McCormick family, but was just starting out and wanted to learn about the business from the ground up, paying her dues like everyone else.
That explanation earned her more than a few approving nods, but a couple of the staff members merely turned away from her, as though they didn’t believe what she’d said. Probably, like Grant, they thought she was a freeloader, here in search of a cushy job with time for long lunches. Jenna tried to let it roll off her back. They’d see soon enough that wasn’t the case.
Grant arrived last, surprising her by appearing from behind the door of his office, which had been closed all morning. She greeted him professionally, hoping that strange pull she felt each time she laid eyes on him wasn’t as obvious to him as it was to her.
Had he actually arrived at the office even earlier than she? Yes, Jenna realized, he’d been back there all this time, just a few feet away, while she had struggled to learn the phone system, tried to find her way around the building, and readied the conference room for the meeting. Could he have been less helpful?
Or perhaps more busy, she corrected herself. She remembered how hard her father had worked as CEO, especially at this time of year, before the International Jewelers Organization conference that descended on Las Vegas each June and turned the business upside down. Watching Grant in his smart, handmade suit as he crossed to the head of the conference table, she thought of the late nights and early mornings he probably spent hunched over stacks of diamond orders and new designs, pondering the best marketing for a tennis bracelet or a pendant necklace like the one she wore now, a single luminescent solitaire that had been her 21st birthday present from her father.
