by C. C. Snow
It wasn’t until our mom got sick and I moved back home that I started to get to know Marcus. He was understandably wary about his older sister’s sudden interest in him when I’d been little more than a stranger in his life. During the time my mom was sick, he treated me more like a live-in nurse than his sister. And ever since our mom died, we had been trying to find our way to some sort of meaningful relationship.
Some days, it felt like the barriers between us were insurmountable. And other days I was filled with hope.
After the dishes were done, I retreated into my bedroom. Every time I entered my room, I was startled by how small it was. My double bed took up most of the space. My dresser was wedged against the opposite wall and there was a nightstand next to my bed. I had to turn sideways to access my dresser and the only place to sit was my bed.
I changed into my comfy cotton pajamas and crawled onto the mattress with my laptop. Tonight, I had to do some research on Jake Weston. I never did an Internet search on him because I never felt the need to. That had all changed today. If I wanted to avoid working for him, I needed to find out what made him tick.
I typed his name into the search engine and an infinite number of results showed up. The most popular ones were sites documenting his dating habits. I scrolled down and clicked onto the next page. I sniffed disdainfully as I saw how much effort the media spent on documenting every woman coming and going in his life. And there were a lot of women. A visual scan of the headlines told me famous actresses and models seemed to be his preference.
Having zero interest in his sordid love life, I skipped the gossipy sites and clicked on an interview he did with a national newspaper. The article was dry and only documented his latest business deal. The only information I gleaned from it was that the billionaire was a shrewd businessman.
Jake Weston was twenty-nine and had already doubled the value of the company since he took over three years ago. According to the reporter, he had an uncanny ability to predict the direction of the market. His business rivals described him as ruthless, but fair.
I moved on to a story in Business Week. I skimmed through the article and frowned as I read the quotes. The billionaire playboy was definitely not modest about his accomplishments.
“What an arrogant prick,” I muttered. The guy was obviously a business genius, but he came off as cold and unfeeling. At the bottom there was a picture of him, in a tux, escorting a supermodel I recently saw on the cover of a fashion magazine. As an objective observer, I would have to concede that he was one of the most gorgeous men I had ever seen.
He had jet-black hair with just the hint of a wave to give him an unruly, bad boy look. I couldn’t see the color of his eyes in the photo, but he had sharp cheekbones and a square jaw. His nose was slightly too large for his face, but it lent an additional air of masculinity to his otherwise too pretty face.
“Pretty is as pretty does,” I quoted one of my mom’s favorite phrases when she thought I was being too shallow. With that sage advice ringing in my ears, I snapped my laptop closed.
Going through my nightly rituals calmed me and when I crawled into bed, I had convinced myself I could talk Jake Weston into giving me back my old job. All I had to do was to stroke his giant ego and he’d cave.
Chapter 2
My grand plans fell apart before I even left my door.
The pipe under our kitchen sink started leaking– and it wasn’t the slow dripping kind which could wait to be fixed– and I had to call the super first thing in the morning. Disgruntled at the early morning wake-up call, he took his sweet time to get to the unit.
By the time he got it fixed, I knew I would be late. I took a cab I could ill afford and made it to the front of the building with five minutes to spare, but I was disheveled and sweaty when I took the elevator to the executive floor.
The morning’s fiasco had put me off my stride. I had dressed in my most professional outfit– my black merino wool skirt and maroon button down shirt. I even wore my mom’s pearl earrings to add a dash of class. The powerful color combination was supposed to inject me with confidence, but with my shirt sticking uncomfortably to my back and the wool clinging to my thighs, I felt frazzled and off-kilter. It was not an ideal state to be in when I wanted to bear the lion in his den.
When the elevators opened, a woman looked up from the reception desk. She was very pretty, with straight blonde hair, its strands so fine it looked like filaments of silk, a patrician nose, and shapely lips slicked with bright red lipstick. But her ice blue eyes made me shiver. I had never seen her before, yet she seemed to dislike me on sight.
“Hi…umm…I’m supposed to see Mr. Wes–” I stuttered.
“Mr. Weston’s in his office down the hall.” She eyed me up and down and sniffed as if she smelled something foul. “He likes us to be prompt and you are,” she looked at the clock on the wall pointedly, “a minute late.” She lowered her head, dismissing me.
Feeling duly chastened, I almost sprinted down the hall.
Wham!
“Fuck!” The expletive flew out of my mouth as I bounced off a brick wall. My purse flew off my shoulders. My body tilted backwards and my arms wheeled to save myself, but I knew it was too late. I was going to fall on my ass right outside my boss’s door.
Steel arms wrapped around my waist and hauled me upright.
“Shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. Are you alright?” Blue-green eyes looked down at me with concern.
I blinked to clear my vision. Surely this Greek god wasn’t talking to me?
My fanciful comparison wasn’t too far from reality. He looked like Apollo come to life, tall and handsome, with perfect caramel blond hair, a long nose and full lips. His skin was sun kissed, making his aquamarine eyes all the more captivating. The only thing missing was the toga. Instead, he was dressed in a dark gray suit which had clearly been custom made for him. Although, based on my collision with his hard body, he’d probably look good in a toga too.
A hand waved in front of my face. “Hey? Are you okay?” His dark blond brows furrowed.
Blood rushed to my face. Snap out of it, Cora. You’re gaping at him like the village idiot.
I dropped my gaze to buy time to pull myself together. “Um…sorry. That was totally my fault. I didn’t mean to ram into you.”
He chuckled, humor transforming him into someone who looked friendly and approachable. His eyes twinkled and his lips quirked in amusement. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve survived worse than a beautiful woman throwing herself at me.”
My jaw dropped in outrage. “I was not throwing–”
“What the hell is going on here?” The hard demanding voice jerked my attention to the man standing in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest.
Shit! One glance and I knew it was my boss, Jake Weston.
My first thought was: if the blond was Apollo, then surely this man was Ares, God of War.
My second thought was: the photos on the Internet did not do him justice. In person, his very being emanated barely leashed power.
He was over six feet tall, with broad shoulders tapering in an inverted triangle to lean hips. Through the expensive wool of his suit, I could make out hints of his muscular build in the tightness around his biceps and quads.
His raven black hair was thick and silky, with the barest hint of curl above his ears. His olive-colored skin glowed with health and vitality. His face was all harsh lines and planes, his cheekbones sharp and his mouth a bold slash. Eyes of a familiar and mesmerizing shade of blue stared at me with predatory stillness.
Jake Weston was gorgeous in the same way a samurai sword would be– dangerously lethal.
There was something in his gaze that sent alternating cold and hot tendrils down my spine.
His eyes, devoid of any humor, snapped to my waist and only then did I realize I was still standing in the circle of the stranger’s arms. Embarrassed, I stepped back.
“Umm…I bumped into…that is…” I fumbled for
an explanation.
“Don’t scare the poor girl to death, Jake. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going and ran her over.”
Apollo angled his head away from Mr. Weston and winked at me. He bent down to pick up my purse and handed it to me with a flourish.
“Thanks.” I hooked it over my shoulder.
He stuck out his hand. “I’m Troy Weston, by the way.”
I shook his hand, grateful he was willing to take the blame. “I’m Cora Branton.” This must be Jake’s brother, the Chief Financial Officer of Weston Enterprises. If it weren’t for their unique eyes, I would never have guessed them to be brothers.
Comprehension dawned on his face. “Oh, you’re Jake’s new EA.” I tried to draw my hand back, but he held on firmly. “Welcome, Cora! It’s a pleasure. If you are free today, I’d love to take you to lunch to celebrate your first day. And to apologize for almost flattening you, of course.”
He smiled charmingly and I made a mental note to watch myself around him. Troy Weston had lady-killer written all over him.
I heard something like a growl emerge from my boss, but when I glanced over, his expression was blank. I didn’t miss the irritation in his voice though. “Ms. Branton, you’ve already disrupted my morning with your tardiness and your shenanigans. If you would kindly step into my office, I would like to go over your duties as my new assistant.” He turned to Troy and said coldly, “She will be too busy today to have lunch with you. In fact, we’d probably have to lunch in for the rest of the week.”
He turned on his heels and walked into his office, the expectation I would follow him without delay hovering in the air.
I withdrew my hand from Troy’s clasp. For some reason, his grin had broadened after hearing his brother’s harsh words. It was probably some weird sibling dynamics, I thought. “Thanks for the offer. I better get to work.”
“See you later, Cora. Don’t let the big bad wolf scare you. He doesn’t bite…much,” he whispered with a gleeful look on his face before he sauntered down the hallway.
I grimaced and spun to face the door. Inhaling deeply, I straightened my clothes and marched in with my head held high.
I took a moment to study the front office– my future work area. The wooden desk was angled to face the door, but still allowed a modicum of privacy. On top of it were a new laptop and a tablet. An ergonomic chair was pushed against the desk, awaiting its new occupant. It looked like a comfortable and welcoming space. Its only downside was its proximity to a man who was coldly dismissive of those around him.
Jake Weston’s office door was wide open and I paused on the threshold. He stood looking out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, feet braced slightly apart and hands folded behind his back. In the sunlight his hair still looked midnight black, with no glints of brown or red. He looked hard and unapproachable, like a pillar of granite.
The view of Lake Michigan and the Chicago skyline behind him was breathtaking and if he weren’t there, I would stand for hours with my face pressed against the glass.
His office was modern and minimal. Most people had little mementos, which revealed something personal about them– photos, or souvenirs– but I couldn’t see anything that told me about my new boss as a person.
A computer and very little clutter sat on a gleaming black desk facing the door. His chair was a tall leather seat that looked like it could have been designed by NASA. On one side of the room sat a glass conference table with eight chairs surrounding it.
“Mr. Weston, I apolog–” I started to say as I stepped into the office.
He imperiously raised his hand to stop my apology. “I don’t want to hear excuses. I expect everyone to show up on time at Weston Enterprises. I will overlook it this once since Troy delayed you, but please don’t waste any more of my time.”
I bit back the blistering comeback on the tip of my tongue.
Breathe, Cora. Play the long game.
A light bulb went off. Trying to sound contrite, I said, “Of course, sir. I’m not used to the high standards of being an executive assistant for a CEO. Perhaps someone else may be better suited for the position? I’m sorry to be a disappointment, but I’ll go downstairs and have Stewart send up a more experienced replacement.” Inside, I was pumping my fist at my inspired remarks, but I kept my outward demeanor sober.
He turned around, pinning me under his gaze and I wondered if I had overplayed my hand. Instead of looking annoyed, he seemed almost amused by my suggestion. My impression was confirmed by the small curve playing at the corner of his lips.
His tone dry as desert sand, he said, “Oh, I don’t there’s any need. You’ll do fine. Have a seat.” He indicated one of the two chairs in front of his desk.
I almost groaned in frustration. I was so close to escape. Biding my time, I sat down in the soft-as-butter leather chair as instructed, wondering if this man ever used the word “please.”
His movements were spare and controlled as he sat down, his eyes assessing.
Nobody could deny that Jake Weston was a beautiful example of the male species, but it was his intense energy that captured my senses. My heart threatened to beat out of my chest as he continued to stare at me with eyes the color of the Aegean Sea.
I fought the sudden urge to fidget. My shoulder length hair probably looked wild after my rush to get to work on time and my near fall in the hallway. I laced my fingers together in my lap so I wouldn’t tug nervously on my skirt.
“Tell me about yourself, Cora. May I call you Cora?”
Even though it was asked as a question, it didn’t sound like one. Something told me this man rarely asked permission for anything.
I nodded, although I wanted to do the opposite. It felt too intimate, especially the way his lips seemed to caress the two syllables of my name.
“Mr. West–”
Again he raised his hand to halt my words and I found myself profoundly resenting the gesture.
“Call me Jake. I insist. Mr. Weston makes me feel ancient.”
He smiled and I wanted to drop my head into my hands in despair. If he was handsome in his solemnity, he was devastating with his lips curled, flashing a dimple at the left corner of his mouth.
It was patently unfair for a man to be this beautiful, I decided petulantly.
Five minutes in his presence already told me I would struggle to work closely with him. It wasn’t merely that I didn’t like him as a person, but my normally too logical brain felt fuzzy around him, like I had a little too much to drink.
It’s called sexual attraction, a little voice taunted and I strangled it without a twinge of remorse.
No. No. Absolutely not!
That was impossible. It was just the stress of this new job making my emotions go haywire.
Another light bulb went off. “Well… Mr. Wes… um… I mean Jake.” His name stuck in my throat for a second. “I’ve been with the company for six months, working in the General Administration department. To be honest, I didn’t have much work experience before this job. Definitely not the experience needed to be an executive assistant. But I could recommend some very qualified co-workers who could really hit the ground running!” I held my breath, hoping my sales pitch would sway him.
He leaned back in his chair. “Cora, I’m beginning to think you don’t want this job. Now why is that?”
“Oh no sir! It’s just that you’re such a busy man. And there’s so much for me to learn. I’d hate to waste any more of your time.” It took everything in me to conceal the sarcasm from my voice when I quoted his earlier obnoxious remark.
His lips twitched, but the rest of his face was entirely sober. “While that’s very… thoughtful of you to take my time into consideration, I don’t want to hear another word about you not being qualified. I’ve seen your personnel file and I’m sure you’ll do fine. When I asked you to tell me about yourself, I didn’t mean your work history.”
Shit! In that moment, I knew I wasn’t going to get out of working for him. My
shoulders drooped in disappointment. It was time to polish up my resume. Hopefully I’d line up another job within the month– that was assuming I even made it through four weeks. “I’m not sure what you want to know, sir… Jake.”
“Since we will be working closely together, I’d like to know more than what’s on your resume. Where do you see yourself in five years? What motivates you? Do you have family in Chicago? Boyfriend or spouse?” He waved his hand casually.
My brows puckered in confusion. All those questions seemed too personal. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t see how those things are relevant to my job duties.”
“I need to know your obligations in case we need to travel for work. Despite the rumors you may have heard, I’m not a complete ogre. Should you need accommodations, I need to know now.”
My forehead cleared and I relaxed. “Oh! Of course. Umm…I am the guardian of my teenage brother, Marcus, so overnight business trips may be tricky. As for other family, I don’t have any. Same for significant other.”
His eyes seemed to sharpen with interest.
Warmth crept into my cheeks under his regard and I hurried to answer the rest of his questions. “As for what motivates me– right now, it’s taking care of my brother. And in five years…” I hesitated, not sure if I should give the standard line of wanting to grow with the company– blah blah blah.
I’d probably not be here by next month.
I raised my chin and spoke clearly. “In five years, I hope to be in a place where I could go back to school to finish my college degree.”
“What did you want to study?”
“Math.”
“Ah…I thought I saw something on your resume about a year of college. MIT, wasn’t it?”
I was surprised he would remember something so obscure. “Yes."
“That’s impressive. Why did you not continue?”
Again, I paused, reluctant to share more about my personal life. “Family emergency.”
He seemed to accept my vague answer and there was even a flash of sympathy on his face. “Life has a funny way of interfering sometimes. There will be some out of town business trips, but I can have someone else accompany me.”
