by Nikki Chase
He looks even more intimidating when he stands up to his full height, his body all hard, solid muscles. I don’t know how he finds the time to go to the gym with the kind of schedule that he has, but obviously, he makes the time. That’s a body that has been sculpted by discipline and determination.
“In the executive division?” I ask, my heart beating fast as he makes his way around the table. I don’t care what the job is. Just tell me I still have a job.
“No, right here in my office,” he says from behind me. I can feel the heat emanating from his hands, which are gripping the back of my chair.
“Huh?” Again, I lose my professional poise. I shift in my chair and twist to look up at him. Say what?
“Kat,” he says. “Kat, Kat, Kat. That’s a funny name for a grown woman, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” I say.
Hello? Kat Von D? She’s a grown woman—a kick-ass one at that. But more importantly, why aren’t we talking about my new job?
“Tell me, Kitty Kat, have you always wanted to write a book?” Heath asks, calling me by a pet name that’s not unfamiliar—it’s not exactly original—but way too familiar for him to use, especially in an office setting.
“A romance novel,” I correct him. “It’s my dream to be a romance author.”
“So you only work here for the money?” he asks.
Is that a trick question? The answer is obvious enough.
“Yes,” I say. “But when I got the job I told the HR guy about it, and he said it was okay. He didn’t think I’d last a week.”
Heath chuckles. “My previous assistants have quit pretty quickly. And yet here you are, beating the odds after more than one month.”
“Since you just fired me, I’d say I’m not quite beating the odds,” I remind him to keep the conversation on topic.
“It’s not like I gave them much work at all. I just have my own way of doing things, and they haven’t been able to do things my way. But you…” Heath leans down with his hands still on the back of my chair, bringing his face so close to mine I can feel his hot breath on my skin. “You’re good at taking directions. You do things my way. I like that.”
“Thank you.”
I change my tactic. Since he’s been ignoring my attempts at getting him to talk about this new job that he’s supposedly offering, I’ll just keep my answers short. Maybe I’ll get my answer sooner if I just let him keep talking about whatever he wants, until he feels like broaching the subject.
“Have you ever published any of your work, Kitty Kat?” Heath asks.
“No,” I admit.
“Why not?”
“I haven’t been able to find a publisher.”
“That’s too bad,” he says, without any surprise in his voice. “I hear it’s hard to break into the scene. Do you know why you haven’t been successful?”
I pause to think about it. This is something that has actually been plaguing me.
“I’m not quite sure,” I say. “Maybe my writing is not good enough. I only work on my manuscript during my free time, so maybe I don’t do it enough to be really good at it. Or maybe it’s not polished enough because I can’t afford to hire an editor.”
“I think your writing is great,” Heath says, “but I don’t really know much about books, especially romance. I mostly read non-fiction.”
“About stocks?” I guess.
Heath seems like the workaholic type, even though according to everyone in the office I’ve talked to, he’s already cut down on his hours. I get it, though; the stock market is always moving and there’s always something he can do to optimize his investments.
“Something like that,” he says. Heath circles my chair. Leaning his tasty ass on the desk in front of me, he studies me with his sharp, blue eyes. He looks like an antiques dealer holding a magnifying glass to my face, appraising my value. He asks, “How much do you want to make it as a romance author, kitten?”
I ignore his continuously evolving nickname for me and answer, “I want it more than anything.”
When I was still living with Vera, I used to read a lot of romance novels to escape from my drab reality. I studied all day and did house chores all night, but when it was time to turn off the lights, I took out my e-reader and got lost in fantasy worlds where life was always perfect in the end.
I cried and I laughed. My heart broke, and then got mended again in the space of hours. Some nights, I didn’t sleep because I just had to finish books that were particularly engrossing.
So hell yeah, I want to write romance novels. I want to string words together in a way that will make people feel. That seems like such magic to me. If I could choose a superpower, I’d want to be able to make people connect with my writing and relate to my characters.
Alas, according to the publishers, I suck.
Only Jane’s encouragements keep me going. She reads a ton of romance novels too, and she says I have what it takes. But what if she’s wrong?
“I can help you,” Heath says.
“You can help me become a romance author?” I ask incredulously. Again, let’s not forget that my boss is a stock investor.
“Yes.”
“Let me guess. You know some big-shot publisher?”
Publishers have rejected everything I’ve ever submitted. They make me wait for months just to get their rejection emails—which, by the way, are never even personalized. They probably just enter my email, along with fifty-seven others, into the BCC field and fire off a form letter. It’s sad, I know.
“I do,” Heath says with a small smile that could melt the collective panties of all the single women on the Island of Manhattan. “And you just said your problems are time and money—I can help with those, too. Let me ask you another thing, how do you like my ideas from yesterday?”
I bite my cheek. It’s something I do when I’m nervous. Should I tell him the truth?
It seems silly at this point to worry about acting professional. He’s just fired me… I guess. And he hasn’t officially told me what my new job is going to be. So he’s technically not even my boss at this point.
“Yes,” I admit.
His smile widens, which only makes me feel even more like I’m losing my balance. He seems so confident and in control.
“Are you going to write something based on my ideas?” Heath asks again.
“Maybe.” I feel like I’ve given him more than enough information.
“Would you say I’m helping you turn your story into something sexy?” The way he cocks an eyebrow when he says the last word is going to haunt my sexy dreams—so yes. In many ways he doesn’t even know, he’s helping me turn my story into something sexy… or as sexy as I can make it.
Hell, before Heath Anders, I had no idea what a sexy guy was. I mean, on an intellectual level, of course I know what to look for—a tall figure, a pair of broad shoulders, maybe six-pack abs, long legs, and so on. But Heath’s the only guy I’ve met who makes me fantasize about what’s underneath his Tom Ford suit.
“Yes,” I say.
“Okay. So this job that I’m putting on the table, it’s going to give you all three things you need to become a successful romance author.” Heath pauses to bask in my rapt attention before he raises one finger and says, “Time—” another finger shoots up “—money—” yet another finger joins the other two “—and sexy ideas.”
“Are you going to tell me what this job is?”
“Of course.” With his juicy ass and masculine hands still on the desk, he leans forward and fixes his sharp, penetrating gaze on me. “How would you like to carry my child?”
Kat
I can’t even say anything this time.
It was bad enough when Heath read my manuscript of the story that features a character based on himself.
Now, he fires me and propositions me at the same time? The nerve of this guy!
Heath watches me intently, his eyes roaming over my curves in a way that makes me feel naked.
But t
o my surprise, instead of outrage, all I feel is… I don’t even know what this is.
Heat creeps up my neck and spreads across my face, while the hairs on the back of my neck rise. My skin is so sensitive I can almost feel the heat of Heath’s scorching gaze on me.
I take a moment to collect my thoughts. I may not feel the outrage, but that’s an outrageous proposition, right? What kind of a woman does he take me for? Just because he has money, he thinks he can buy me?
“Did you say you wanted me to carry your child?” I ask. “I hope you mean you already have a child and you want me to hold him for a minute.”
“No,” Heath says calmly. “I know you know exactly what I mean. I can tell from the way you’re talking. I want you to get pregnant and give birth to my child.”
“Sorry, I have to ask.” I mentally commend myself for not losing my composure at a time like this. “Is this a prank? Is there a camera somewhere? Is this just your weird way of hitting on me?”
Heath chuckles, as if I’ve said something truly funny. I asked perfectly legitimate questions, damn it!
“No, this is not a prank. And no, I’m not hitting on you, kitten,” Heath says with an infuriatingly serene smile. “I’m just making a business deal. It’s no different from your job as my assistant—you’ll be working for me, as my employee. I’m just telling you the terms of employment. You can take it or leave it.”
It dawns on me what he’s trying to do.
No wonder people call him a bully, although most people praise him for it because he only attacks unethical companies by trading their stocks in a way that shows he believes they’re going to fail. And when this gets heavy publicity because he’s Heath Anders, the market reacts by devaluing those same stocks. Then Heath profits, and so do his investors.
I don’t fully understand how it works, even though Jane has tried explaining it to me. All I remember is he uses a technique called “short-selling,” which allows him to take advantage of stock prices that have dropped.
Heath doesn’t give any warning when he strikes. When his opponent realizes what he’s doing, it’s already too late.
That has always been his strategy, so I shouldn’t be surprised to see him use it against me. But it’s just so evil.
“Did you deliberately fire me first so I’d be unemployed and desperate to take your offer?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at my boss.
“Whoa.” Heath holds his hands up in the air. “I don’t know what kind of a monster you think I am, but that’s not why I fired you.”
“Why, then?” I challenge him.
“I just want to make things clear and separate. If you’re my personal assistant, then you can’t be my surrogate. If you’re my surrogate, then you can’t be my personal assistant.”
“But technically, I’m neither right now.”
“Yes.”
“So I’m unemployed,” I repeat my point.
“You can always go back to being my personal assistant if you want to.”
Heath’s smile looks genuine, but he has also practiced that look thousands of times in thousands of meetings and presentations. He could be lying and there would be no way for me to tell.
The man is dangerous. I can’t take on Heath Anders. I’m way out of my depth here.
“Okay, then I’ll do that,” I say. “I’ll go back to being your personal assistant.”
“That would be a mistake, kitten,” Heath says. “In a negotiation, you should at least listen to what the other party has to offer. Always. That’s the only way to make an informed decision.”
I’m pretty sure I’m not going to carry Heath Anders’ baby in my womb, no matter how much it pays. But I’ll humor him. “Okay. Tell me what you have to offer, Heath.”
“Of course,” he says with a victorious, confident smile.
That smile makes me wonder if I should’ve just told him, “No, thanks,” and went back to my desk outside.
But it’s too late. Heath’s already opening his mouth, no doubt ready with a compelling sales pitch.
“Firstly, it won’t be a nine-to-five job, so you’ll have more free time, enough to work on your book.
“You’ll also gain access to my contacts. If your writing is any good, you should meet someone willing to publish your book.
“And just in case it takes you some time to find a publisher, you’ll also get $500,000 from me. That way you won’t have to worry about money for a while,” he says.
For a while? More like for the rest of my life.
Heath’s basically offering me a shortcut to success.
I’d love to get a publishing deal, and Heath may know someone who can help me with that.
And if I decide to get into self-publishing, that $500,000 is going to be a huge help—not just because I’ll be able to live on that while waiting for my pen name to take off, but also because I’ll be able to use that money on marketing and promotions.
This could change my whole life for the better.
“Not a bad deal, huh?” Heath asks with an arrogant smirk. “I told you to at least listen to my offer.”
“You know I’m not like the girl in my book, right?” I ask. “That’s just fiction, Heath.”
“Of course I know that. I’m not an idiot.” Heath says.
So he’s not just doing this because he thinks I’m the submissive girl from my story. But then…
“Why me?” I ask.
Heath
Why her?
I’m tempted to respond with a flippant “why not?” but I’m trying to get her to take my offer. It’s probably not a good idea to provoke her.
But that’s such a stupid question.
She’s the obvious choice. She’s beautiful, intelligent, ambitious, and capable. Any guy would be lucky to have a son or daughter with those traits.
And of course it doesn’t hurt that she’s also sinfully sexy.
From the first day I saw her sitting at the desk in front of my office, I’ve fantasized about dragging her in here like a caveman and fucking her against my desk. I imagine her blouse undone and her skirt hiked up to show the juncture of her creamy thighs, where my engorged cock slides into her.
But there’s no need to get too chatty. At least not now.
A business negotiation is like a poker game. The less she knows about me, the stronger my position. I like to play my cards close to my chest.
“Well?” Kat asks, her red, full lips parted as she waits for my answer.
I have to stop myself from reaching out and claiming those lips for myself. That can wait.
“I have my reasons,” I say.
I need her to know that even though we’ll be having sex, we’ll still be an employer and an employee. I’m still her boss. I’m still in charge. She doesn’t get to call the shots.
“And you’re not going to share those reasons with me?” she asks. Small lines have appeared on the bridge of her nose, between her big, green eyes. But her little frown only makes her appear more delightful.
Delightful?
Ugh. What the fuck am I using a word like that for? It must be because I’ve just read some parts of her romance novel.
“No, kitten,” I say. “This is like a job interview. I’m offering you a position. You can take it or leave it.”
“I usually get to ask some questions at the end of an interview.”
“You do, and I reserve the right to choose what to disclose. Let’s just say that you have the kind of… genetic makeup that I’m looking for.”
“Healthy, twenties, fertile…” she lists off.
I laugh. “More like smart, sassy, pretty face…”
“I had no idea parents wanted ‘sassy’ kids these days,” she says.
“I do,” I answer honestly.
“Why do you want a kid in the first place?” Kat studies me with suspicion in her almond-shaped green eyes.
“Why does anyone want a kid?” I ask.
“To take care of them when they’re old and broke,” sh
e answers quickly. “But you will never become poor—not even if you buy a new car every week. I’ve seen your financial statements.”
I chuckle. “You’re sharp, too, kitten. Someone with your brains and a good Ivy League education—in finance, of course—would go on to take on the world.”
“Ah, so you want someone to keep your empire going after you’re gone,” Kat says.
“Something like that.”
If that answer satisfies your curiosity, kitten, that will do.
Her red lips twist as she bites the inside of her cheek.
“That’s a bad habit,” I point out.
“I know,” she says absently.
“What are your considerations?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. “My brain is just going ‘this is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy…’ on repeat right now.”
I can’t help but laugh at her honesty. Even though she usually keeps things professional, it seems like she’s finally loosening up. I say, “It’s obviously not so crazy you wouldn’t consider it, or you would’ve walked out of my office.”
“I guess…” she says softly.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you a taste of what’s to come. I’ll give you until the end of the week to decide. Meanwhile, you don’t have to come in to work and you’ll get $5,000 in the bank today. That way, you can see what it’s like to have all the time you need to write and not have to worry about money while you’re doing it. Today’s Tuesday,” Heath says as he glances at his calendar, “so you have three days to decide.”
“And that’s… That doesn’t count as my agreement to take your offer, I assume.” She has a long way to go, but Kat has a natural instinct for negotiations. I’m sure that’ll serve her well when the time comes for her to sign a publishing deal.
“Not at all,” I say. “Just take the rest of the week off and get an extra $5,000 in the process. No strings attached.”
“I’d be stupid not to take it,” she admits.
“You’d be stupid not to take it.” I give her a cordial smile.
I’ve got this. The first step to winning a negotiation is getting your opponent to agree with you. Now that we’ve reached one agreement, it’ll be easier for her to say “yes” to my other, bigger offer.
