The Billionaire's Intern

by Jackie Ashenden

  Kira shivered and tried to concentrate on something else, but his office was so extremely minimalist, there was nothing else to look at. Only that sleek black desk with nothing on it but his computer screen, keyboard, and mouse. The bookcase that stood against one wall was bare of anything personal, containing only what looked like legal texts and file boxes. The walls were bare, too, except for that gun on the wall behind the desk.

  She knew the de Santis origins—gunmakers from Italy who’d emigrated to Wyoming—and clearly that gun had significance. What was it?

  Her mind began to wander, filling her with the urge to go behind the desk and take that gun from the wall, see if it was loaded. See how heavy it was and what the metal felt like if she touched it.

  Yeah, and she knew exactly what Lorenzo would think of her if she did that.

  Jaw tight, she forced her busy brain to be still, trying to find something else for it to focus on. But there was nothing else of any interest in the room.

  Nothing but him.

  She turned toward him again, unable to help herself. He was tall, wide-shouldered, rangy, his body broadcasting lean, hard strength. A dangerous edge.

  He was like that gun on the wall. Beautifully made yet deadly.

  Her gaze roamed over him in sudden fascination. Had he always had that dangerous edge or was this something new? He’d certainly never been this cold, she knew that for certain. Had something happened to him that had changed him? And if so, what was it?

  Don’t. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him, remember?

  Kira tore her gaze away for the second time, looking down at her hands, studying them fiercely instead of studying him. Refusing to give in to the pull of her old obsession.

  Restlessness was filling her though, making her want to get up and move, her brain beginning its inevitable spin around and around. Yes, she’d gotten used to waiting, but she still hated it. And now a thousand and one thoughts were crowding in her head, pulling her away from the very important things she should be focusing on.

  God, she wished there was something she could do with her hands. If she was at home, she’d get out a needle and some silk, and a bit of lace. Start stitching. But of course she wasn’t at home. She was sitting in his office waiting. Again.

  You can do this. You have to.

  And she would. She’d start by not thinking obsessively about Lorenzo de Santis.

  She blinked, suddenly realizing that the office had fallen silent. And when she looked up, she found Lorenzo’s hard gaze on her.

  Chapter 4

  Kira looked very contained, sitting there on the black leather chair with her feet together and her hands clasped in her lap. Today she was in a black dress with a little white cardigan over the top, no jewelry. Austere looking, especially with all that platinum hair scraped back and coiled neatly on the back of her head—no rogue locks dangling anywhere this time.

  But that bright pop of lipstick—nothing like the terrible shade she’d been wearing the day before—was definitely not austere. Not in any way. It drew attention to her alabaster skin, to the soft, pouty shape of her mouth, and made the blue of her eyes seem even more intense.

  Yes, Kira looked contained, but he knew she wasn’t. He could sense that fierce energy inside her, in stark contrast to her stillness, vibrating and humming though her slender body. Making him think of a wild creature straining at a leash, desperate to get free.

  It made him want to go over to her, put his hands on either side of that chair and lean over her, look down into the deep blue of her eyes, take a taste of that bright red mouth, release her from her containment . . .

  Christ. Why was he thinking that? Quite apart from the dangers of self-indulgence and the fact that Kira was the daughter of a friend, she was also his intern. And he didn’t involve himself with his staff, not ever.

  Dammit, why hadn’t he made the effort and gone to Sian’s party with her? They would have gone back to her place and he would have gotten himself laid and then this pale, strangely fascinating little creature wouldn’t be so much of a goddamn problem.

  But he hadn’t. Instead he’d spent the night in his study working, because that had been more productive than lying in bed with his mind returning again and again to those soft curls at Kira Constantin’s nape, and her half-undone blouse, the need he had to touch her, wake her up . . .

  Resisting the urge to pace restlessly in front of the window, Lorenzo pocketed his phone and strode over to his desk, pulling out his chair and sitting down.

  Kira gave him a tentative smile. “You wanted to see me?”

  He reached for the coffee she’d brought him, took a sip to make sure she’d got his order right, then leaned back in his chair.

  He’d already decided how he was going to handle her. First, he needed to find out whether she was, in fact, passing on information to his father, but he had to do so in such a way so as not to draw attention. Such as not feeding her sensitive information the day she started. No, he had to treat her the way he would any other intern for the first week or so, make her think she was slowly gaining his trust, that she was doing well. Then maybe he’d give her small crumbs of something useful, warn her that it was sensitive and had to remain confidential, and then see what she did with it. He had ways and means of finding out whether it got back to his father or not, so he’d know soon enough whether his suspicions turned out to be true.

  And if they were . . . Well, he’d had other plans for that.

  He didn’t smile back. “Today you’ll be with Stacey. She’s got a list of tasks that should keep you busy for the remainder of the day. In fact, they’ll probably keep you busy for the rest of the week. You’ll also be getting passwords and swipe cards—”

  “But, I thought I’d be working with you?”

  It took Lorenzo at least a full five seconds to realize that the reason he’d stopped was because she’d interrupted him. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

  He stared at her, not saying a word.

  She flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” The faint husky edge he’d heard in her voice the day before was back. And it was just as distracting. “I . . . expected to be working personally with you.”

  Something shivered along his nerve-endings, a kind of satisfaction at the faint note of disappointment in the words.

  He ignored it. “No. You will not be working with me this week. And if you continue to interrupt, you might not be working with me at all.”

  A spark of blue fire leapt briefly in her eyes, and it looked like she was going to say something hot and angry and extremely ill-advised. And he found himself tensing in his chair, his heartbeat accelerating, anticipation gripping him. Almost as if he was hoping she would.

  But she didn’t. Instead that lovely mouth of hers compressed, and she looked down at her hands again. “I said I was sorry. There’s no need to be rude.”

  So, not hot and angry, but a rebuke all the same.

  The disapproval in her tone slid under his skin and stuck there, and for a long moment, he could only stare at her yet again. Part of him was incensed at her gall while another part was admiring of it.

  There weren’t many people in New York who would have the balls to tell Lorenzo de Santis not to be so rude.

  He did not have a reputation for friendliness. When he’d taken over as CFO not long after his mother and Katie had died, the media had dubbed him The Shark, because of his cold-blooded and completely ruthless approach to business. To everything really.

  They didn’t know the real story, of course. That grief had stolen the softer, more merciful parts of himself, the self-indulgent, selfish parts. He’d cut them out, fashioned himself into a colder, harder version of the man he’d once been. A targeted missile aimed directly at his enemy.

  His father.

  Revenge on behalf of his mother was the only passion he allowed himself these days, his guilt for the way Katie had died only adding fuel to the fire.
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  He didn’t much care about anything else, or give two fucks about whether he was rude or not. Especially not when Kira Constantin was already back to her old tricks, interrupting him and then rebuking him as if he had been the rude one.

  You’re not exactly going easy on her.

  No, but his job wasn’t to go easy on people, and giving in to softer emotions didn’t help anyone, not in the long run.

  His father used to tell him that John Donne was wrong, that every man should be an island. It was the only way to cut out weaknesses, to be strong. Yes, he hated his father and when he’d been a kid, he’d hated that advice, too.

  It was only as an adult he’d realized that despite what an asshole his father had been, that little nugget of wisdom had been true after all.

  Certainly, if he’d taken it, Katie would have been alive today.

  Lorenzo took a long, slow sip of his coffee, letting the liquid burn down his throat, the caffeine buzzing in his veins. “Tell me, Kira. What do you think about rules?”

  Her head came up, her gaze meeting his and widening slightly. “Rules?”

  “Yes. Laws. Orders. Edicts. Things you have to obey or else face the consequences.”

  She blinked. Her lashes were long, the black mascara she wore making the color of her eyes seem even more intense.

  Katie’s eyes were blue, too.

  The thought hit him like a lightning bolt, but he shoved it away as soon as it hit.

  “What do you mean what do I think of them?”

  “Are they needed? Are they necessary?” He put his coffee cup back down on the desk and leaned his elbows on the desktop. “Or maybe you think they only apply to other people, not to you?”

  Her lovely mouth tightened, that blue spark of what he thought was probably anger glittering in her eyes.

  Ah, so he’d hit a nerve. Good.

  “That was a question, Kira.” He kept his tone ice cold. “I expect you to answer it.”

  “Of course, I think rules apply to me as well.” Her posture was stiff, as if he’d offended her.

  “Do you?” He held her gaze, studying the dizzying blue of her eyes. “I told you what I expected yesterday. That I didn’t want arguments. That I wanted you to do as you’re told. And yet you walk into my office on your first day and you’re already interrupting me then telling me not to be so rude.”

  Another flush washed over her cheekbones. “Okay, okay. I get it. But if this is a subtle dig at my past—”

  “This is not subtle. This is about as blatant as I can be.”

  She said nothing, and he expected her to look away, but she didn’t. That defiant glitter was in her eyes, and her hands had curled into fists in her lap.

  She was not cowed, not in any way.

  Something shifted inside him then, something dark. Something that liked her defiance. Something that wanted her to keep pushing, keep testing. That wanted the excitement, that was hungry for the challenge of her, the thrill.

  It flashed like lightning in his blood, coiled like a dragon in his gut, a deeply, intensely sexual pulse of flat-out desire.

  His anger, already simmering, flared in response. Jesus, where was this inexplicable sexual attraction coming from? He hadn’t asked for it, and he didn’t want it. He didn’t want any woman to reach inside him and touch the part of himself he kept locked away, still less this woman.

  Why not? Because you can’t have her?

  Kira opened her mouth, but he held up a hand, silencing her before she could make the hole she was digging any deeper.

  “I know who you are, Kira Constantin,” he said, because he was angry and apparently it didn’t matter how hard he was trying not to let her get to him, she was getting under his skin all the same. “I remember. You never sat still and you never paid attention to anything anyone told you. Your behavior was terrible, your attitude worse, and by all accounts in college you were a nightmare. Quite frankly, if Ivan wasn’t your father and hadn’t pleaded with me to give you this position, you wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near DS Tower let alone been my intern.”

  Her cheeks flamed, the glitter of her anger now a blaze in her eyes.

  Too bad. It seemed the lesson she’d already had in the form of that car accident hadn’t stuck. Which meant he was going to have to give her another.

  “I know you’ve told me you’ve changed,” he went on, softly, harshly. “That you’re a different person now, but I’ve seen absolutely no evidence of it. You’re still interrupting the way you used to do when you were a kid. So I’m going to say this only once. You’re not a kid anymore. And you’re starting from zero. Absolute zero. You have no margin for error, none at all. I have no time to deal with that attitude of yours, and if you can’t manage your own behavior, you’re out. No second chances.” He paused to let the words sink in. “Do you understand?”

  Her knuckles were white in her lap, her face deeply flushed. A quiver went through her, a tremble that he thought was probably rage.

  He’d dealt out truths like this before, and while some people said nothing and accepted it, others burst into tears.

  Kira did neither.

  “Do you know how many people I’ve killed?” she asked, her voice slightly thick. “Two. One has been in a coma for seven months. Her prognosis isn’t good and she might end up being number three. And yes, you’re right. There’s no excuse for my behavior and because of it some people died. People who were my friends.” She took a hard, ragged breath, her blue eyes never leaving his. “So yes, I understand. I understand exactly.”

  Lorenzo recognized the pain in her voice, saw the guilt that she wasn’t able to hide, and if the past thirteen years hadn’t happened, he might have actually felt some sympathy for her.

  But he didn’t. Because those thirteen years had happened, and he had his own deaths to bear. He didn’t have any room for hers.

  He met her burning gaze and held it. “Then you know what you have to do, don’t you?”

  * * *

  Kira had never wanted to hit anyone as badly as she wanted to hit Lorenzo de Santis. She wanted to pull back her hand and launch her fist straight into his perfect face.

  With a few well-chosen words, spoken in that cold, deep voice, he’d sliced her straight down the middle with all the precision of a surgeon cutting open a patient. Then he’d calmly reached into her chest and pulled out all her insides.

  She struggled for breath, fury choking her.

  She didn’t need him to tell her that her behavior was a problem. She knew exactly, just like she’d told him. Two dead friends and a third in a coma to be precise.

  Yes, the accident had been her fault and largely due to her refusal to take responsibility for her own problems. She’d been too busy showing her parents what a fuck-up she was, too determined to live down to their already low expectations of her to understand the consequences that could have on the people around her.

  But she’d learned her lesson. She was getting help and she was trying.

  As to the rest of it, sure, she couldn’t sit still, and paying attention had been hard as a kid. Her behavior had been terrible, especially as a teenager good at nothing but failing all her classes and disappointing her parents, unable to figure out what was wrong with her. Because something was, yet her parents had refused to help her, because they didn’t want to admit that there was even something wrong.

  He didn’t understand that. He had no fucking idea.

  Her anger twisted. Where did he get off being such an asshole just because she’d interrupted him once and then called him rude? He had no right to tear her apart like that, and especially not when she was trying so very hard to do better.

  Kira dug her nails into her palms, looking for some pain to distract herself from the caustic anger that was bubbling up inside her.

  She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she only gave him a stiff nod. Nothing would have given her greater pleasure than to stand up, flip him the bird, turn on her heel and walk out, but that would
only prove him even more right about her.

  So she sat there, stubbornly refusing to look away, waiting for him to either dismiss her or give her some more instructions.

  Something gleamed in the deep charcoal of his eyes, but she didn’t know what it was, the hard set of his strongly-featured face giving nothing away.

  A silence fell and it was not a comfortable one, the air between them seething with tension and animosity.

  No, she was not going to be the one to break it. Not this time.

  Slowly, Lorenzo leaned back in his chair. “You want to hit me, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” There was no point in denying it, not when he could see her hands in fists in her lap.

  “But you won’t.”

  “No.” She wanted to add more, but that would be only more fuel to the fire so she bit her lip instead.

  God, she was an idiot. She hadn’t meant to interrupt him, but the fact that he was palming her off onto his secretary hadn’t been at all in the plan. She was supposed to be working with him, that was the whole reason she was here, to get close to him. How was she supposed to do what her father wanted her to if she was working with his secretary?

  She’d ignored the edge of disappointment inside her that told her it wasn’t just her father’s mission she was concerned for. That the part of herself she’d kept walled away was actually excited about being in Lorenzo’s presence every day.

  Still, she could excuse herself one interruption. But then telling him he’d been rude? That had been the stupid part. That had been the old Kira, bubbling back to the surface and pushing at him, saying the first thing that had come into her head.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  The question sounded casual, but she didn’t make the mistake of thinking it was.

  She looked right at him. “Perhaps I didn’t want another death on my hands.”

  That gleam in his eyes glowed brighter, like lightning in a rainstorm, and it went through her just like lightning, too. “You should probably get out. You don’t want to blow all your chances on your first day by issuing death threats to your boss.”