Outside, they paused in front of Crickitt’s car. Shane offered his hand and she took it, and like the night at the club, his palm tingled on contact. It’d been a long time since he’d enjoyed himself this much at a business dinner…or any dinner, for that matter. His work was enjoyable, but it’d never before been…well, tonight had been almost…fun. Though he was pretty sure that aspect of the evening had more to with the brunette whose hand was warming his.
Crickitt thanked him for dinner, pulling her fingers away a few seconds before he was ready to let go. “Company write-off.” He shrugged, plunging his hands into his jacket. “One of the perks of being president.”
“That and all the responsibility,” she said, a hint of heaviness in her voice.
He blew out a surprised laugh. He wasn’t used to anyone thinking he didn’t lead a completely charmed life. Then again, Crickitt understood the pressures of running an empire. She’d built one of her own.
“How soon do you need me to start?”
“Yesterday.”
A throaty chuckle poured from her lips. “How about tomorrow?” She let out a deliberate sigh. “I suppose you want me there at the ungodly hour of eight. And to think I used to start my workday at the crack of ten. And in my pajamas.”
Eight? Shane nearly grimaced. His workday began between six and seven in the morning, and by eight, he was either in a staff meeting or on his way to see a client. He opened his mouth to argue, but heard himself say, “Sorry. I’m a bit of a tyrant that way.”
Pulling her keys from a tiny square handbag, she turned to him one last time. “Thank you. For not letting me walk away from this opportunity. I appreciate it, Shane.”
“Thanks for reconsidering,” he said, meaning it.
She frowned, a little line denting the space between her eyebrows. “Do I call you Shane, or Mr. August?”
Everyone called him Mr. August. His receptionist, the janitorial staff, even his cousin Angel, who insisted on doing so to set a good example. Until now he’d agreed. So why, all of a sudden, was he having trouble justifying the formal moniker?
“Shane, please,” he said, rather than mull it over. It would raise a few eyebrows at work, but he’d deal with the repercussions later. It was more important Crickitt feel comfortable around him, trust him. They’d be working closely, and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel nervous or intimidated by him.
She’s your employee, came the terse reminder.
And that’s all she would be. That’s all she could be.
* * *
At home, Shane punched in the five-digit alarm code and locked his front door. An alarm system was superfluous in this neighborhood, but since it came with the house he made use of it. He’d purchased the place a year ago thanks to the former owner’s misfortune. Foreclosure.
The house, with its high rounded archways and wide-open rooms, was the result of a local home show. This one, the smallest model at three thousand square feet, was more than enough space for him. He’d had one of his clients, an interior designer, furnish the modern kitchen, sunken living room, and numerous other rooms. He hadn’t been much help, instructing her to “make it look less empty,” but she’d done what he’d asked, filling the space with neutral, comfortable furnishings that weren’t distracting.
He hung his jacket on the coatrack in the foyer, recalling the temptation to offer it to Crickitt when they stepped outside. Too bad she had worn that shawl. It was a crime to cover those shoulders.
Shane shook his head at his thoughts, which had been looping the same girl-crazy circles all evening. He liked women, especially beautiful women. And yeah, it’d been a while since he dated someone semiseriously, but Crickitt had burrowed under his skin deeper—and quicker—than most.
And as of eight a.m. tomorrow morning, she’d be his new PA.
He cuffed his sleeves and pushed them to his elbows, a wave of triumph washing over him. He didn’t take no for an answer, and not only did Crickitt say yes, around a bite of dessert that had clung to her lip for one tempting second, but she’d actually thanked him for his persistence. Then nearly buckled his knees when her tongue darted out to take the sugar from her bottom lip.
But, that wasn’t why he’d hired her.
He’d been interviewing for three weeks and no one came close to possessing a fraction of Crickitt’s skill set. It didn’t help that the position had become something of a novelty. Thanks to a poorly timed Forbes article, his human resources director spent most of last month weeding out interviewees who were only there to get a look at August Industries’ CEO.
A bottle of Château Sedacca waited for him on the counter, and he grabbed it by the neck. Typically, he finished out his evening routine—workout, shower, an hour in his home office—before indulging. But he’d broken more than a few rules tonight. What was one more?
Shane poured the wine as the clock on the wall chimed the hour, pulling his thoughts in an even less desirable direction.
Shane thought of his father every time he heard the damned thing.
Sean August never did come around, stubbornly depriving Shane of his forgiveness until the end, as if it cost him to give it. He’d grown accustomed to the accusations, and his father had spouted them until the day he died. The man may have disowned him, but father and son were connected by more than helixes of DNA. They shared the same tragic past. And as much as Shane wished that past had died alongside his father, it hadn’t. It persisted, stymieing his breath like a lungful of accidentally swallowed bathwater.
The moment his butt hit the couch, the weight of the long day settled squarely on his shoulders. An hour ago, he’d been in the middle of the most relaxing evening since who knew when. Now his to-do list scratched at the back of his mind like a dog wanting in from the rain.
Should have known if he played hooky from his evening routine he’d pay the price. He could run, but he couldn’t hide. He gave a longing look to his glass of wine. Its siren song may hum, but his regimen wailed.
Relaxation would have to wait.
He headed for the kitchen, glass in hand, reminding himself that his regimen had gotten him this far in life. He dumped the wine unceremoniously down the drain and flipped on the faucet, watching the liquid swirl from red to pink to clear.
You should have been here, not out screwing around!
The disembodied voice of his father echoed in his mind before fading into the clock’s solemn ticking in the other room. What his old man didn’t realize was Shane hadn’t needed the constant reminders to know how greatly he’d failed.
He knew better than anyone the impact of a single choice, how a seemingly innocuous decision had irrevocably changed his mother’s life.
Or, more accurately, taken it.
Chapter 6
So? How’s it going, Ms. Rat Race?” Sadie asked, sipping her blush-colored wine.
Today marked the end of Crickitt’s first week at August Industries. Sadie had invited her to the wine bar down the road from her apartment to celebrate. The place was packed to the walls, but they managed to snag a table on the patio before it filled up.
Rather than tease Sadie for her equal participation in the Giant Maze of Life, Crickitt said, “I like it. It’s different from what I was doing before, but not in a bad way. As much as I loved working for myself, it wasn’t always as fun as it sounded.”
Sadie gave her a dubious glance. “Yeah, working a grueling four hours a day must have been rough. And then to have to eat, drink wine you didn’t pay for…” She elevated her glass and took an exaggerated drink. “I don’t know how you stood it for as long as you did,” Sadie finished with a teasing wink.
Her bestie may have crammed Crickitt’s former career into a nutshell, but essentially, it was the simplified truth. And hadn’t Crickitt described it the same way over the years? As if she was living in enviable luxury while her personal life silently crumbled down around her ears.
And, yes, part of her former workday had been spent in slouchy
sweatpants. But she wasn’t lounging on the couch watching daytime television. There were meeting notes to prepare, orders to enter, customers and team members to call. Errands like trips to the bank and post office were an almost daily affair. By the time most people were commuting home from work, she’d already put in a full day. There’d been plenty of evenings when she’d rather not have packed her car full of display products and headed straight into rush hour traffic.
Just remembering the hustle of those days was exhausting. Or maybe it was the memory of Ronald alongside her career that had her grousing at the basket of complimentary crackers.
“You’re right, I’m being ungracious,” Crickitt confessed. “But it is nice to have my evenings back. What I wouldn’t have given back then to spend more—” She cut herself off, realizing what she almost said.
More evenings with my husband.
She took a hearty swig of her wine, expecting the crushing weight of loss, or loneliness, to press down on her. It didn’t come. Oddly enough, life had recently struck her as simplistic. She wasn’t defined by Before Ronald or After Ronald, he was simply a notch in her timeline, marking the separation from past to present. She used to have a husband. Now she didn’t. And she felt…fine.
“So what do you do at August Industries?” Sadie asked, saying the name of the company with a deep, reverent bass and pulling Crickitt from her self-analysis.
“Mostly, I handle Shane’s schedule. I thought I did a lot in my business, but he puts me to shame. I schedule his meetings, conference calls, company announcements, business dealings, pitches…”
“You call Shane August of August Industries by his first name?” Sadie asked.
Crickitt shrugged. “He’s a person.”
“He’s a billionaire.”
“He’s very common.”
“He’s hot.”
Rather than agree, which she did, Crickitt hedged. “You didn’t think so that night at the club.” She lifted her wineglass to her lips to keep from saying more.
The truth was it’d become increasingly difficult for her to ignore the strain of Shane’s biceps beneath his sleeves. She was only a woman, after all, and any woman could appreciate the way his long legs stretched out into a purposeful, confident stride. But noticing him at work had led to thoughts of Shane outside the office…thoughts, if she wanted to continue to stay employed at August Industries, that were best kept to herself.
“That night he was just another guy trying to pick up a girl. I didn’t know he was Shane August,” Sadie said, lowering to near baritone to say his name.
“Well, it doesn’t matter how good-looking he is. He’s my boss,” Crickitt said, unsure which of them she was trying to convince.
“If he were my boss,” Sadie said with the rogue lift of her brow, “I’d saunter into his office, perch on the edge of his desk, and ask if I could dictate.” She snorted.
Crickitt laughed, the sound not all that convincing to her own ears. For some reason the idea of Sadie garnering Shane’s undivided attention made her prickle.
“I’ve been so busy I haven’t asked about your date with Shane’s cousin. What’s his name?” Crickitt said, deliberately shifting subjects.
“Aiden.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and avoided looking at Crickitt. “It was nice.”
A blush crept up Sadie’s neck. Crickitt never thought she’d see the day. “Sadie Ann Marie Howard.”
Sadie flinched. “What?”
“You like him.”
Again with the shoulder shrug, but a smile spread her lips. “He’s okay.”
“And the sex?”
“Crickitt!”
Crickitt laughed. Sadie never acted embarrassed about…well, anything. “That tells me everything!”
“Stop it, it’s not like that,” Sadie said.
“Is that why you’re glowing like a stoplight?”
Sadie’s jaw dropped.
Crickitt shook her head. “A dirty, one-night-stand-having stoplight.”
Sadie became fascinated with the table, running her thumbnail back and forth in a scratch on its surface and fervently avoiding looking her best friend in the eye. “It wasn’t one night,” she murmured. “I’ve seen him twice.”
Crickitt was stunned into silence. She didn’t think of Sadie as trampy, but she did tend to have a lot of first dates that didn’t morph into seconds. Then again, this was the woman who had fed her wedding invitations into a shredder moments after her fiancé announced he was leaving her for her sister. Was it any wonder Sadie discarded her dates like tissues out of a box?
“He’s not like other guys,” Sadie said.
“Meaning?”
Sadie tilted her chin. “He’s charming and funny in this oddly genuine way.”
“He has hair down to his shoulders,” Crickitt said, recalling Sadie’s penchant for bulky athletes or suave businessmen.
“I know,” Sadie said, a wistful smile on her face.
“Wow.” This was more serious than she’d imagined. Crickitt decided to let her friend off the hook. “Keep me posted on that.”
“Oh, I will.”
* * *
Saturday morning, a motorcycle roared into Shane’s driveway. Shane stepped out of his front door as Aiden slipped his helmet off. His hair was back in a ponytail, but several strands had wrestled their way loose.
“You need a haircut,” Shane lectured.
“You need not to shave,” Aiden retorted.
“Hippie.”
“Yuppie.”
They smiled at each other, and Shane held the door open for Aiden. “Come on in, man.”
Once inside, Aiden shrugged out of the leather jacket he wore whenever he rode. “What brings you my way?” Shane asked. “Need money?”
The expression on Aiden’s face suggested he might pop Shane in the mouth for even joking about such a thing. Shane expected as much. “Coffee?” Shane held up the pot after pouring himself a cup.
“That, I’ll take.” Aiden sat on a kitchen chair. “I was visiting Mom and thought I’d swing by.”
“How’s she doing?” Shane delivered his coffee. They both drank it black, no frills.
Aiden’s mouth formed a grim line. “The same.”
Shane nodded. “I guess that’s good. At least she’s not worse.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Anything else going on?” Shane asked, knowing Aiden came here to get his mind off his mother’s illness, not dwell on it.
“I’m seeing your new PA’s friend Sadie tonight.”
Shane paused, the mug halfway to his lips. “Really? Again?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Well, it’s just she’s—”
“Hot.”
“Well, okay. I was going to say she wasn’t like the other girls I’ve seen you date.” Aiden’s ex-wife, and his ex-girlfriends before her, were as hippie-chick as they came. “Sadie’s a little…city for you, isn’t she?”
“If you ask me, she might be just what I need,” Aiden said a tad defensively. He sipped his coffee and shifted in his seat. “I hate your furniture. It’s like you decorated for an institution, not a house.”
“Sorry, they were all out of vinyl barrel furniture and crocheted afghans.”
Aiden made a rude gesture and Shane laughed.
“How’s the new girl working out? What’s her name, Butterfly?”
“Very funny. Crickitt is a fantastic assistant. I should have fired Myrna years ago.”
“You couldn’t. Mom would have killed you.”
“True.” His last assistant was his aunt’s best friend. She was better suited to being a personal shopper than a personal assistant. When she announced that she was leaving because of an out-of-state move, Shane was secretly relieved. He’d put up with her less-than-stellar performance and frequent flubs for the sake of keeping the family peace.
“So, did you do her yet?” Aiden asked.
Shane coughed and settled his cup on the glas
s table with a chink. Aiden slapped him on the back. “Jeez, man,” Shane croaked, coughing again and clearing his throat.
“What? I thought you liked her.”
“I do. She’s a valuable employee.”
Aiden shot him a look.
It was the truth, albeit a lame, understated truth. Shane did like her. He liked the way she dove in and tried to solve problems on her own before asking for help. And he liked how she blew into the office like a stiff wind was at her back. Hell, he even liked those formless button-down shirts she wore. Still— “I can’t have sex with my assistant.”
No matter how tempting it was.
“Suit yourself.” Aiden finished his coffee and stood. “I’m going to ride down to the Brink, want to go with me?”
Shane hadn’t been to the Brink since he was a teenager. A glorified creek, the wide body of water was home to a man-made sandy beach and stands selling foodstuffs and art. It was also where Aiden’s ex-wife worked. “You wouldn’t be going down there to see Harmony, would you?”
“Of course not.” Aiden pulled a face.
“Careful,” Shane said. “You know how…persuasive she can be.” Aiden’s ex had a way of wrapping Aiden around her henna-tattooed finger whenever she wanted something from him. Which was always. Afraid he sounded preachy, Shane glossed it over with, “I have a few proposals to write or I’d take you up on it.”
“Yeah, sure you would.” Aiden shook his head, seeing right through him. “It’s okay to take a break sometimes, you know.”
“You know me,” Shane said dismissively. But did he? Shane wore his stiff-upper-CEO lip even around Aiden. Shane hadn’t noticed it before, but he was starting to see another aspect of his personality that only seemed to surface around Crickitt. Whenever he was with her, his business facade slipped right off its hinges.
Aiden held up his hands. “Okay, I won’t push.”
Good. Because Shane wasn’t anywhere near ready to make the admission he’d just made to himself. “I wouldn’t listen anyway,” he said.
Now that was the truth.
Chapter 7
Tempting the Billionaire (Love in the Balance) Page 4
