by Ana Sparks
“I see. Jack, do you have anything to say for yourself?” I demand, though it’s all a farce at this point. A game of give and take, that I should hope ends with me taking what I want from both of them.
“Don’t speak to me like I’m a child, Carson. She was out of line, and you know it as well as I do. So, if we can move past this little spectacle, I’d like to put her to work in the marketing department,” the man spits.
I raise a brow, fighting to keep the sneer off of my face. Aimee looks between the two of us, as if watching a tennis match. She seems to realize that she’s the ball in this equation.
“I certainly didn’t mean to cause such a fuss. I’m sincerely sorry, Mr. Sharpe,” she says, and I offer her a warm smile that sets her cheeks alight.
“Please, Aimee. Call me Carson.” I grin. “As for the fuss, it’s not entirely your fault. Jack, here, tends to be a bit hot-headed with the new interns. Which is why I’m taking you off of his hands,” I casually announce.
Their eyes widen simultaneously, and Jack looks furious.
“What the hell are you talking about?” my balding employee demands, and I can’t help but laugh.
“You seem to have forgotten who is in charge here. No matter. Instead of working under you in the marketing department, Aimee will instead be working alongside me. I’ve been in need of a personal aide, after all,” I tell Jack.
“Don’t you think her abilities would be better put to use in marketing? She has no experience as a personal aide, and for that matter, she would be invaluable to my department,” Jack argues boldly. I vaguely appreciate his tenacity, but he’s not the one I have my eyes on.
“I have to agree with Jack on this, Mr. Sharpe,” Aimee says with slight uncertainty. I smirk, brushing a hand through my salt-and-pepper hair.
“Allow me to change your mind. Jack, please leave us. I need to speak to Miss Rhodes alone,” I say firmly.
The balding man sputters for a moment, but when I narrow my eyes at him, he deflates. He steps out of the office, and I’m left alone with my brown-eyed beauty.
Chapter Three
Aimee
Considering me with a perturbed expression, Aimee seems to be weighing her options before speaking. I can tell that she’s worried about upsetting me, and in spite of her previous comment, I expect her to give in to my offer with little fuss.
“I really don’t think I’m suited to be your personal aide, Mr. Sharpe,” she says finally, looking resolved in her position.
I raise a brow in amusement, but she doesn’t look pleased that I’m taking her lightly. I tilt my head at her, forming my expression into a quizzical one.
“Tell me, Aimee, why do you think that?” I ask, allowing a vaguely sultry note to slip into my tone. I’m testing the waters, so to speak, and her eyes widen almost imperceptibly. It’s not the obvious reaction I’m vying for, but it’s clear that she has some idea of my intent. Her cheeks flush, and she averts her eyes.
“From what I’ve been able to gather, I beat out thousands of applicants for this internship. I’m overqualified for the position you’re offering instead, and to be frank, it’s a bit insulting that you expect me to give in so easily,” she declares bluntly.
I fight a chuckle, settling on a faint smile as I look her up and down. It’s not often that someone is so upfront with me. I find myself charmed by her brusque attitude, but it’s obvious that she’s the opposite of charmed in that moment.
“You mean to tell me that you’d turn down a position directly under the man who put the Sharpe in SharpeFocus?” I say smoothly.
She bites her lip, exposing straight, white teeth. Good, she takes proper care of herself as well as having a fiery attitude. If it wasn’t obvious from the meticulous detail of her makeup, or the body that nearly has me salivating, it’s obvious now. I want someone who will be able to keep up with me in all departments, not just in brilliance.
“Mr. Sharpe…” She pauses, seeming to reconsider. “Carson. I’m honestly curious as to what you would find so fascinating about me, and why you’d want to steal me away from the marketing department,” she says slyly, stepping closer to my desk. There’s intent in her gaze, although I can’t be sure how she expects me to react. If she expects me to lose my cool, she’ll have to play a much harder game than that. I allow the vaguest of smirks to creep across my lips as I rest my chin in my palm.
“It’s a matter of placement, dear,” I murmur. Her expression turns incredulous, and it’s all I can do not to laugh out loud. I’m loving every minute of this game, and though she is hard to read, I’m sure that Aimee will come to enjoy my company as well.
“Placement?” she repeats, none too pleased with my self-assured dominance in the conversation.
I nod, slipping out of my chair and circling around my desk towards her. I expect her to retreat, but she stands her ground, and I find myself more and more taken with her with every moment that passes. I’m so close that I can nearly feel the heat radiating from her cheeks, combating the icy chill of her stare. I’d like nothing more than to capture her lips with my own, to gather her in my arms, to…
I take a deep breath. Back to the matter at hand.
“I like to see my employees in the best possible position for their personal growth,” I manage, my mouth drier than I’d like to admit.
“It seems that you’re more concerned with growth of your own,” she says with a cheeky little smile. The cold persona she’d been presenting seems to have warmed slightly, but I can tell the battle is not yet won. I’m nothing if not persistent. One doesn’t build a multibillion-dollar empire by being passive.
The lewd undertones of her suggestion catch up with me a little too late, and she looks satisfied with herself at having surprised me.
“My concern is the growth of my company, Aimee. What on earth would give you the idea that my intentions are any more insidious than that?” I purr. I pause for a beat, then lift a brow slyly. “However, I’m afraid that your implication is nothing short of unprofessional. I would almost think you harbor some sort of…attraction,” I say boldly.
Her mouth opens and closes like a fish caught out of water. I keep my expression calm, deceptively so. Her cheeks burn with what is likely a mix of righteous anger and embarrassment, and she looks as if she would either like to slap or kiss the smug expression off of my face.
Can you blame a man for being a little indulgent, especially with such a pretty young thing? The passion burning in her gaze is enough to send tingles down my spine, to places I dare not mention.
“Of all the self-absorbed—” she begins, cutting herself off abruptly. She meets my gaze, holding it for a long moment before—God help me—she offers a sultry little smirk. “Well, Carson, if you think I will be unable to maintain an air of professionalism in your presence, I wouldn’t hold it against you if you chose to send me back to marketing,” she quips.
I feel my own eyes widen, and for a split second I feel snared in my own trap. Well, if she wants to play in the kitchen, she’ll have to learn to take the heat.
“If you can’t keep yourself under control, I’ll see you stripped of any title within my company’s reach,” I say gruffly, and her eyes widen as she realizes she’s made a bit of a misstep. “You should consider yourself privileged to be offered a position at my side, Miss Rhodes. Working with the CEO could teach you things you could only dream of, otherwise,” I add with a stern expression. She has no means of knowing that I’m bluffing, both about firing her and regarding the potential learning experience.
Once she’s in my grip, I want to tease her a bit. I’m not one to jump straight from the appetizer to dessert. There’s an entire four-course meal at my disposal, and I plan to enjoy every bite, both literal and metaphorical.
“Fine,” she says tersely, her lips drawn into a taut line. “I’ll accept the role as your assistant. It would be an honor, Mr. Sharpe,” she hisses. She looks furious, and while I might have expected her to feel defeated, she doesn�
��t appear as such. The fire that burns within her will be much harder to extinguish than that. Good.
“Very well, Miss Rhodes. I’m glad we could come to such an amicable conclusion. You must understand, I hate stirring up bad feelings amongst my staff,” I smirk. She narrows her eyes, scrutinizing me to an almost uncomfortable point. “As I explained, this is a privileged position, and if you play your cards right, you’ll be well prepared for placement in higher-tiered jobs down the line,” I say, circling around to the other side of my desk. I sit in my plush office chair, clasping my hands on the surface of the desk in front of me.
“I expect nothing less,” she retorts, considering me carefully. “So, I’m assuming you have a crucial task of some sort to assign me,” she continues drolly.
I take a slow breath, weighing my options. I can immediately reveal the farcical nature of her employment terms, but there’s no fun in that. I’d rather let her stew for a bit and allow her to struggle with the concept of working with me for the sake of personal gain.
From my treatment of the young intern, it likely seems that I’m a cruel man. I assure you, it’s only because I’m wise to the game. I know every trick to play this woman like a fiddle, and in spite of the disdain in her gaze, I also see a dark desire in her eyes.
“For now, I’ll see that an office adjacent to mine is cleared out for you. Feel free to explore the lower floors, and—” I pause, reaching into my desk drawer. “Add your number into my phone. When I need you for something particularly important, it will be easier if I’m able to text you,” I tell her.
While my reasoning for the time being is innocent enough, I can see how her phone number could be an asset in my plans. She seems to realize this as well, drawing her lip between her teeth and taking the phone from my hands.
“In spite of my attitude, I really appreciate you offering me a position in your prestigious company. I do hope that I can learn a lot from my time at your side,” she says shakily, handing the phone back over to me and offering me a hesitant smile.
The unprofessionalism of the game I’m playing hits me like a ton of bricks, and I grip my phone tightly in my hand before ushering for her to leave. She is immediately overcome with relief, a sigh spilling past her lips as she turns her back to me and rushes towards the door.
I almost reconsider my plot to take her as my own. However, she pauses at the door and turns to face me with a final look of consternation. Her anxiety seems to shift to a rather unexpected excitement, and she smiles at me. A warm, genuine smile.
“Oh, and of course, don’t worry about any hard feelings, Carson. Perish the thought,” she says slyly. Then, of all things, she winks at me before slipping out the door. The little minx!
I can only wonder who is playing whom in this game we’re indulging in. I find myself growing more intrigued by the minute with this enigma of a young woman.
Does she want me? Is she only playing into my hands to keep her job? I suppose only time will tell. Until she gives express indication that she’s grown weary of my antics, I plan to continue my pursuit. Professionalism be damned.
I bring up the word processing document on my computer, smirking to myself as I compile a list of ever-so-important tasks for my pretty new aide to accomplish. She can enjoy her victory for now, but the ball is in my court, and I don’t plan on letting that opportunity go to waste. Game on, Aimee.
Chapter Four
Aimee
I step out of my new boss’s office breathing a sigh of simultaneous relief and disappointment. I’m not entirely sure what to think of the situation—when I think he wants to grab me and kiss me more passionately that I’ve ever been kissed, he swiftly shifts gears to indicate that thought couldn’t be further from the truth.
I can’t say I would mind if he swept me up in his strong arms. I can only blush at the thought, resisting the desire to scold myself for how unprofessional I’m being. I’ve never been so immediately enamored with someone before, and I realize it can’t be anything more than primal lust.
All the same, with the way those beguiling blue eyes bore into my own, I don’t imagine he’d mind having some…fun, for a while. More specifically, I think he’d like to have a toy of his own. I’m under his spell, hypnotized by the thought of being with the handsome older man.
Ever still, I can’t allow myself to be entirely swept away. I’ve worked hard for this job, and I don’t intend to let a surge of fleeting arousal steal it away. If he wants to have me, he’s absolutely welcome; I’m just not going to be the one to initiate any sort of intimate encounter.
For now, I’ll focus on the job at hand. It’s not the marketing internship I worked so hard towards, but it’s something. Perhaps he wasn’t being completely deceitful in the assurance that I would learn much from this position.
Granted, I can think of positions I would rather be in. Take that as you will.
Swept up in my thoughts, I scarcely notice when my phone begins to vibrate in my pocket. Drawing it out and swiping the lock screen, I see a message from a number I don’t recognize. I realize who sent it as soon as I read the message.
According to Mr. Sharpe, running across the building accomplishing menial tasks will completely prepare me for a better job in his real estate empire. Of course, he didn’t say as much, but the implication is clear enough.
I message him a short response, irritation creeping up my spine as I scan over the list he sent. First and foremost, apparently, the break room needs to be replenished with coffee filters.
I try to keep contempt out of my expression as I make the trek to said break room. I recheck the text, making sure that I’m heading to the correct floor, only to realize that he’s sent a second text to amend the first. I’m to replace the coffee filters for every break room, and see that the recyclables are sorted through.
Fighting the desire to roll my eyes and only partially succeeding, I storm towards the first of many stops for the day. The employee lounge on the top floor is relatively clean, but I can’t begin to guess how unorganized things may get as I journey down through the building. I check the coffee pot, opening the cabinet above it and noting with some disdain that there seem to be plenty of filters. I withdraw the large box, weighing whether it’s worth risking my job to skip this room.
This is likely the first place he’ll check, however, and I’m reluctant to make such a rookie mistake so early on. I snap a picture of the box of coffee filters with my cellphone, intent upon getting the right brand. Then, I step towards the recycling bin in the corner. From what I’m able to gather, Carson is rather strict with his policies regarding keeping the company as green as possible. At least, I would gather that from the task I’ve been assigned.
The inside of the recycling bin is another story entirely. It looks as if half-empty paper cups have just been thrown in willy-nilly, and old coffee coats the entire bottom of the bin. I try not to gag, unable to keep a vaguely-disgusted expression off my face. I look around for some sort of cleaning supplies, growling under my breath as my phone vibrates again.
“What the hell,” I swear, yanking my phone out of my pocket and reading the message. Apparently, the cleaning supplies need to be restocked, as well. Great, amazing, fantastic.
Before I’m able to stop myself, I type out a snide reply. I ask the man—with good reason, in my opinion—what on earth cleaning break rooms has to do with learning about real estate, let alone marketing. I move to slam my phone onto the counter, but it vibrates in my hand before I can do so. I fumble to keep my grip on it as it continues to buzz.
It would seem I’m receiving a call, this time.
“Miss Rhodes, are you having trouble with your assignments already?” Carson says by way of greeting.
I grit my teeth, smothering the angry retort I’d like to make.
“Of course not, Mr. Sharpe. I simply fail to see the relevance of these tasks—” I begin, only for him to cut me short mid-sentence.
“I have about a dozen stops to make ar
ound town today, and as such, won’t be in the office. Our day-shift janitor is out sick, so I thought instead of dragging you around the city, I should allow you to acclimate to your new surroundings,” he says coolly.
My initial reaction is to call him on his bullshit, but I manage to stifle my retort.
“Would my assistance not be better served…actually working with you?” I manage, somehow keeping my tone somewhat measured.
“You have to learn to walk before you can run, my dear,” he answers condescendingly. Balling my free hand into a fist, I feel my face twisting into a sneer and thank the stars that he can’t see it.
“Of course, Mr. Sharpe. I’ll see to my assigned tasks immediately,” I say with a level of grace I could only hope to truly achieve at this rate. If I was expecting some sort of positive response, I’m sorely disappointed when he hangs up.
Resisting the near-overwhelming desire to throw my phone across the room, I stride towards the elevator with purpose. If he wants my first day to be spent as a janitor, I’ll make the filth in this building my bitch. Nothing is going to come between me and success. Not even my billionaire boss and his scheming ways.
I don’t see Carson for the rest of the day, and I’m not sure if I should feel relieved or incensed. By 7 p.m., the time he sends a text to inform me that my workday is over, I’m exhausted, covered in grime, and all-too-eager to go home. As much as I would like to give him a piece of my mind, I’m simply too tired to reply beyond a simple ‘okay’.
Stepping out of the building and into the cool evening air, a sense of joy washes over me as I realize that I’ve somehow made it through my hellish first day. I’m not sure if he’s testing my limits, but as angry as I’ve found myself getting with him, it only serves to make my passion for him burn hotter. I’m not sure if that’s his intent, but I know it’s only a matter of time before one of us breaks. I’m determined that I won’t be the one to give first.
