Secret History of a Good Girl

by Aimee Carson

  He seized hold of his response and cleared his throat. “Next time someone tells you to brace yourself, you should listen,” Paulo said as he slowly set her back, ignoring the protests from his body. She released his shirt, but her frozen expression gave him no inkling what she’d do next. At this point, all he knew was to expect the unexpected from this woman. He lifted a brow. “Are you planning on following me into the penthouse?”

  Something flickered across her face he couldn’t interpret. Maybe awareness tinged with annoyance? “There’s nothing I need to see in the penthouse,” she said with a slight frown.

  His lips twitched at the tone that implied he’d meant something lurid. Or maybe that was his libido providing the translation. Hell, he shouldn’t tease her either, but he couldn’t help himself. “Oh, I definitely have something you want to see.” He suppressed the grin and headed for the door at the end of the hall.

  Watching her deliver her presentation, the cool demeanor slowly slipping away and the occasional—and increasingly stronger—hint of attraction, had been the highlight of his month. Maybe the last three months. At least until the pull became so magnetic the need to push her up against the wall and kiss the reserved professional right out of her had all but overwhelmed him.

  As he neared the suite, he heard her scurry down the hall behind him just before she joined him at the door.

  With a lift of her chin, the poise was back. “We’ve reached the top, Mr. Domingues. My pitch is over. Do I have the job or not?”

  Paulo propped a shoulder against the wall, struck with the need to keep her as off balance as he felt. And if she tipped that chin at him one more time, pretending she didn’t return the attraction, he’d forget his good intentions and take the kiss he’d been dying for during their riveting ride up. “Too busy to take in the view from the penthouse, huh?”

  A myriad of emotions crossed her face, as if she was baffled how to handle their interaction.

  Welcome to the club, lady.

  Finally, she sent him an overly patient look. “Not everyone is born with money to burn.”

  He bit back the grin at her indirect slur. “And I’m not convinced you have the necessary skills to handle this job.”

  “I can do this job better than anyone else you can find.”

  His eyebrows shot higher. She had zero experience in social events. And her confidence amused him. “Can you?”

  “Definitely.”

  He continued to hold back the smile. He was enjoying the exchange way too much. And he’d made the decision to hire her the second she’d hit the stop button in the elevator.

  But after the desertion of his old event planner and the band for the grand opening, he felt the need to make a point. It was imperative she follow through. He had no tolerance for false promises, employees who talked big but failed to deliver.

  He tipped his head and went on. “I have a little task that needs attention. In six months the mayor is having her fiftieth birthday party at the Samba. Nothing has been done on it yet.” He maintained a straight face, despite the lie. “Do you think you could prepare a complete event proposal?”

  “Naturally.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Can you have it ready by tomorrow?”

  Her eyelids flared briefly, and she hesitated. He could almost see the smoke from the wheels turning in her brain. No doubt trying to come up with a tactful way to tell him to go to hell. He waited, itching to hear her carefully worded no.

  “Of course,” she finally said.

  His amusement came to an abrupt end. It was an impossible task, and she should know that. As he stared at Alyssa, for a moment he considered changing his mind about hiring her, wondering if she suffered from delusions of grandeur. But he’d laid out his plan, and until she signed a contract he wasn’t stuck with a crazy employee.

  And he absolutely had to see what she would come up with next.

  “Good,” he said with a sharp nod. “Until I’m confident in your skills, you’ll be under the supervision of my manager. But, assuming your references hold up, you’re hired.” He finally pushed away from the wall. “On your way out, stop by and see my secretary to sign the permission form for a reference and background check.”

  Alyssa Hunt went so still she could have doubled as a photograph.

  What now? Had she had a fight with a former client? He bit back the grin, imagining the incident. “Shall I escort you back to the reception desk?”

  With a small frown, Alyssa hiked her tote higher and looked at him coolly. “I’m perfectly capable of finding my way.”

  His grin finally reappeared. “I have no doubt you are.”

  Clever little bastard. Who the heck did he think she was? A naive country bumpkin who didn’t know the score? As if the accent she couldn’t completely suppress somehow made her gullible. She hated being stereotyped.

  Happy to finally have exchanged the restricting suit for her well-worn jeans, Alyssa leaned back on the leather couch in her apartment. She propped her bare feet on the glass coffee table, wiggling her still hurting toes, glad to be free of the designer high heels.

  Why couldn’t they design a little comfort into their hideously expensive shoes? If people weren’t so fixated on external image, she wouldn’t bother with the dreaded torture traps. Of course, the casual style Paulo sported suited him. He looked like a bazillion bucks with no effort at all.

  She blew out a breath and sank deeper into the couch.

  And his “little” task, as he so casually labeled it, couldn’t be done in one night. And certainly not without interviewing the mayor. She’d smelled the trap the moment he asked for the proposal by tomorrow. But why? To get her to admit it was impossible? To see how much she knew?

  Peeved, she’d blurted out her response, preparing to go home and do the best she could by gleaning a little info about the mayor off the internet. It wouldn’t be her finest work, just a rough idea to get things started.

  And then she’d discovered it was completely unnecessary.

  Irritation surged again as she remembered her conversation with his secretary. Figuring her meeting with the woman should be put to good use, Alyssa had asked her about the upcoming party. And learned that, sitting in a file in Paulo’s office, was the previous event planner’s completed proposal.

  And a pretty good one, too. Alyssa knew that for a fact. Because she’d seen it.

  Fuming at what Paulo probably thought was cute little ploy to test her, she’d sent the secretary up to the penthouse to ask him a question and then snuck into his office, found the file, and made a copy.

  Alyssa looked at the document splayed across her coffee table. Now that she had all the notes about the mayor’s preferences, and the event planner’s ideas, Alyssa couldn’t decide what to do with the information.

  Chewing on the tip of a nail, she eyed the papers, pondering her next move.

  It was a decent proposal. With a few tweaks of the less inspiring elements, and some computer-generated graphics, it had the makings of a humdinger of a report. And if she didn’t change it too much, Paulo would recognize his former employee’s work.

  A small smile slipped up her face as she pictured him stumped, trying to figure out how she’d gotten hold of the file. He wouldn’t, of course. Avoiding the discreet security camera in the lobby had been the perfect test of her expertise.

  Not that she was particularly proud of her childhood skills. But, with the background check, Paulo was going to find out about her criminal record anyway.

  With a sigh of resignation, she dropped her head back to rest on the couch.

  When she’d started her business, with the first three jobs she’d gone after she’d been completely honest, telling the prospective clients about her history. It was in the past. She wasn’t that person anymore. And she refused to hide in shame.

  But the information had lost her every one of those accounts.

  After that, she hadn’t volunteered a thing. And not one o
f her clients had asked for a formal background check since. Until today.

  A familiar feeling of defeat threatened to swamp her, but she pushed it aside. One thing she knew for sure: the secret to dealing with Paulo Domingues was to never let him get the upper hand. Always leave him guessing. Keep the cocky man just a little unsure of himself. So she’d show him exactly who Alyssa Hunt was.

  Someone who wasn’t afraid to take him on, tit for tat. Mano a womano.

  And if he was going to change his mind about hiring her because of her history anyway, well…then she’d go out in a blaze of glory.

  With a renewed determination, Alyssa sat up and reached for the copy of the proposal.

  At seven forty-five the next morning, Alyssa sat in a cab on the way to the Samba, cradling her latte with its potent double shot of caffeine. Sleep had been in short supply last night, but there had been plenty of room for work.

  And now that she knew she found Paulo attractive, that he bound her insides up so tight blood could barely find its way to her toes, she’d skipped the designer shoes for less torturous heels. There was only so much constriction a girl could take. Unfortunately, her taupe pantsuit wasn’t comfortable either. But today, to provide her ensemble with a little flair, she’d added a Prada tote. At least it didn’t inflict pain.

  A squeak of tires sounded as the taxi slowed and stopped at the curb. Alyssa grabbed her things and climbed out onto the sidewalk, giving the door a solid push. The decisive smack was a jolting boost to her courage. She had her proposal, her laptop, and enough caffeine on board to keep her charged for weeks.

  After marching up the steps, she pulled open the heavy door and entered the spacious lobby. Stainless steel and stone accents lent a modern touch. Gleaming hardwood floors added warmth. And in the center of it all a huge bar was set against a slate backdrop, water sheeting down the rock wall. The soothing murmur provided a cool place to escape the scorching tropical sun with frosty drink in hand.

  And she could use a little soothing because, when she spied Paulo approaching, her body reacted with a mixture of heat, dread, and mutinous anticipation.

  Alyssa brushed her hair from her cheek, composing herself.

  “Good morning.” He stopped in front of her and studied her closely. He wore black jeans and a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, his well-muscled forearms displayed in all their glory. “You’re much too young to have dark shadows under your eyes, Ms. Hunt.”

  “At twenty-eight, I’m much too old to be called young,” she said. “And anyway, youth does not preclude a person from hard work.” Lord knows she was living proof.

  “Work? That’s the cause of the circles?” He shook his head, and a wave of gorgeous, devil-may-care hair fell across his forehead. “I thought maybe you’d thrown your proposal together and then stayed up late having fun with friends.” With a smile, he went on. “Or maybe with a date.”

  She forced her brow to relax. He really did think he was cute. And after their elevator ride, rife with sexual tension, clarifying her position on that particular topic would be smart. Like the fact she refused to be tempted by his charms. “I’m too focused on my company to date.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You don’t date,” he repeated slowly, as if unable to digest her statement. “So you either sustain yourself on a string of one-night stands or you’re celibate.”

  Damn. How had the conversation taken such a radical turn? Alyssa raised a single brow as delicately as she could. “You have a rather limited take on the concept of dating.”

  He looked amused. “It doesn’t begin and end with sex, true. But it should at least include it.” His eyes crinkled in question. “Are you seriously forgoing a social life for work?”

  Gone were the teasing undertones, and the genuine curiosity in his expression made her feel like an oddball. Her nonexistent sex life hadn’t been a conscious decision, only one of necessity. Once she began her business, she hadn’t had time for the kind of relationship that went deep enough for that kind of intimacy.

  Not to mention there was always the sticky issue of her past.

  But unfortunately it appeared declaring her lifestyle up-front had only piqued his interest instead of squashing it. Really, the man should come with an instruction manual.

  Buck up, Alyssa. You can be cool. You can be elegant.

  After securing her hair behind her ear, she smiled politely and turned the topic back to safer waters. “Don’t we have business to discuss?”

  “Straight to the job at hand.” The killer grin returned with a flash. “I like that.”

  He placed a hand under her elbow, the assault on her senses cutting off her response. Smooth skin caressed her arm as he steered Alyssa toward the staff area. She tried to ignore his touch, the heat, and the memories of yesterday. It didn’t go so well.

  Paulo guided her down a hall with offices on either side—the largest of which was his—to a doorway at the end. He stopped and held out an arm. “This space was reserved for the event planner’s use.”

  She entered the room, and her jaw went slack in surprise. The office wasn’t huge, but the exquisitely crafted cherry desk, dark wood filing cabinets and Persian rug that lay between were lovely. No, beautiful. And it sure beat the dining room in her apartment. She set her bag down and touched the desk longingly, aware of Paulo’s eyes on her.

  “But as an in-house planner,” Paulo added, “she worked exclusively for the Samba.”

  The words spurred her to face him, and Alyssa frowned. Was he suggesting she would take advantage of the space? “You don’t need to worry I’ll abuse my privileges, Mr. Domingues. I’m a professional.”

  His gaze didn’t waver. “Being a professional doesn’t make up for your lack of experience.” As the seconds ticked by, they stared at each other—a silent battle of wills—before Paulo went on. “So why don’t you show me your ideas for the mayor’s birthday party.”

  A ghost of a smile formed as Alyssa reached into her bag and withdrew the work she had spent yesterday afternoon and a good part of the night putting together. The new and improved proposal, reprinted on her business letterhead.

  “Of course.” Alyssa held out the document, complete with the added glossy photos and sketches.

  Paulo’s expression was worth every minute of lost sleep.

  She boldly held his gaze and continued. “My ideas, as requested.”

  With a stunned look, he accepted the folder, and she went on in a brisk, businesslike tone. “I also have a detailed cost analysis. In case the client chooses to go with the proposal.” It took all she had not to giggle as she passed him the second document.

  Paulo took the report, disbelief radiating from his face. “How did you manage all this?”

  “I told you.” Game. Set. And end of the match. Ha! “I can do this job better than anyone else you can find.”

  Long moments ticked by as he flipped through the documents, his movements growing slower and slower. She knew the second he recognized the information, because an unmistakable look of understanding flashed in his eyes. After another pause, he carefully set the reports on the desk before turning back to her. “Impressive,” he said.

  That would teach him not to underestimate her, hick accent or not.

  She sent him her best “aww, shucks” smile and fluttered her eyelashes, just a touch, for effect. “Thank you.”

  In response, a glint of amusement flared in his eyes. “You did all this without help?”

  She could fess up. Give it to him straight. But something held her back. Maybe it was the way he kept challenging her. Let him figure it out all by his little ol’ self.

  “I told you,” she said, eyeing him levelly, “I’m good at creative solutions.”

  Take that, Mr. Smooth-Talking Charmer.

  His lips twisted, and he tipped his head up. For a moment, he looked as if he would burst out laughing. Instead, he wiped a hand down his mouth and stepped closer—too close—and Alyssa’s awareness shot from coff
ee shop grande to extra-venti.

  There was no denying he was good at the counterpoint move.

  Frozen in place, she gripped the desk behind her and resisted the urge to shrink away, holding her breath. Unfortunately she didn’t think to stop breathing until after she’d caught a whiff of his scent…sandalwood, mixed with desire, and a generous dose of danger.

  “Very creative, I see,” he said. “Are you sure you produced the reports single-handedly?” His right eyebrow climbed a tiny degree higher, as if waiting for her to respond. “No help from any…” He paused, as if allowing her time to fill in the blank. Heart thumping madly, she forced herself to maintain his gaze, a cool smile plastered on her face. “Friends?” he finished.

  Due to his scent and his nearness, it took several seconds for her muddled brain to send a message to the muscles in charge of her mouth. “None whatsoever.”

  Paulo slowly leaned forward, reaching for something on the desk behind her, his six-foot-plus frame dwarfing hers. Her nerves scrambled for cover as he came close enough to almost touch her. Thick eyelashes and sensual lips brought memories of yesterday’s elevator ride. And then he straightened up, holding out a file. “Our contract.”

  When she managed to take it, he folded his arms across his chest and turned to sit on the desk, creating enough space for her to breathe again. And the look that crossed his face told her she was in trouble.

  He cleared his throat. “In light of your…” pausing, he pursed his lips for a moment before going on “…superior performance, I’ve decided your work won’t be supervised by my manager.”

  “Excuse me?” Shoot—the drawl again.

  There was no smile, only an expression bordering on a smirk. “You’ll be reporting to me.”

  A bolt of electrical energy deep-fried her nerve-endings. Alyssa chewed on her lip and willed her heart back to a reasonable rate. Her little deed had earned her the eagle eye of the boss instead of an immediate firing. But didn’t he have better things to do than torment his new event planner?