by Avery Laval
But the moment passed. If she wanted to play at being an employee, he could show her just how demanding some bosses could be. Never mind that he’d worked with his last permanent assistant, a college grad named Nate, for five years without a single complaint. Never mind that Nate had accused him of being a softie when it came to days off and family issues. Jenna would get to know the more intense side of life as a personal assistant. After all, she was the one who wanted to get really personal.
On the other end of the line, Jenna squeezed her eyes shut, then open, then shut again. One more time and maybe she’d be transported back to her bed, sleeping dreamlessly, instead of standing here seething at her new boss. Tyrant was more apt a title for the man. Of course he took his coffee dark and bitter—just like his personality. How could she have ever felt attracted to him? Now that he was almost an hour away, it was much easier for her to remember her previous resentment for the hard-hearted man.
A quick shower was all she had time for. Then she slid into the same dark gray suit she’d worn to meet him yesterday, with a different silk top—she’d never had much need for business attire in her old life, and would have to get by on two suits mixed and matched—and went looking for a hairbrush to try to force her long, brown, stick-straight hair into a respectable shape of some sort. She found it lying in front of a framed photo of her whole family, taken in easier times.
Good. She slid the photograph into her tote bound for the office. It was the perfect reminder of why she was doing this today. She’d go in there with her head held high and her arms full of coffee mugs, ready to dazzle the tyrant’s fine Italian trousers right off. Wait—scratch that. She didn’t want to think about his trousers off for even a second. But it was too late. The image of a long muscular pair of legs squeezed its way into her head before she could stop it. And then a picture of those legs twisted with hers in the sheets…
No, Jenna Lynn McCormick! Absolutely not, she scolded herself, shaking her shoulders to set her head right. Do not think about your new boss that way. Brush hair, put on lipstick, get in car, drive to new job. She barked out instructions to herself as she got to each step, as if to speed herself along. Or force herself forward.
Within fifteen minutes she was in the car, pulling out of the driveway of the little concrete apartment block that she’d come to think of as her “little Bellagio.” It wasn’t anywhere near as grand as the real thing, where she’d crashed regularly before her parents died, but she liked it whole heck of a lot better. Oh, she hadn’t at first—she’d acted like a brat, like a poor little rich girl, and stormed about expecting the world to hand her back her old life. But now she enjoyed the simplicity and privacy of her cozy home. And the security it provided.
As she sped toward the twinkling lights and commanding buildings of the Strip, she thought again of how she’d gotten to this place—how her routine had gone from ski trips and spa days to a quiet existence in North Vegas, taking care of herself and her little brother, trying not to think too much about what came next. It wasn’t bad at all—in fact she rather loved her peaceful, humdrum life. Truly, everything would have been perfect if she hadn’t had so many expenses. But the money worries had just gotten to be too much, and every day that her wallet got lighter, her heart got heavier. She hated waking up in the morning and wondering how she’d pay for a tank of gas that day—or, more importantly, how she’d make sure her brother continued to get the inpatient care he needed.
When her parents had died, she’d known absolutely nothing about managing money. Now she knew all too well the ins and outs of preserving each nickel as long as she could. But it was too little, too late. The expense of her brother’s illness had quickly drained the bulk of the trust funds left by her parents, and soon they were living on the capital. When that was gone, they’d sold the house and all its contents at auction. Thanks to her father’s shrewd real estate sense and her mother’s taste for rare collectible art, that was enough to keep Justin in good care for however long he might need it, as long as Jenna never touched a penny of the money. And to ensure that she wouldn’t, she’d faced her fears and returned to the company that had burned her so badly six years ago.
From behind a line of standstill road congestion, the Wynn hotel at the top of the Strip slowly came into view, and with a wry smile, Jenna remembered how lucky she’d been—how good she’d had it, though she hadn’t realized at the time. A suite at the Bellagio, endless vacations, every pair of shoes Barney’s had ever carried. It was enough to make her shake her head and laugh at herself. What kind of dope would take all the riches of the world for granted, spend her days sleeping and nights dancing, instead of going to the best schools and learning the business that had given her such a good life? Ah, but she’d beaten herself up about that long enough. Time to face life as it was. Time to move on from the regret and sorrow and get to the business of making things better.
Traffic was miserable, and by the time she reached the office, it was already 7:15. She ran from the underground parking garage beneath the building to the elevator and then shot up seventeen agonizing floors almost without taking a breath. She bolted to the empty reception desk just outside of Grant’s office—she guessed it had to be her post—and before she’d even thrown down her jacket and purse, she saw the message light on the phone blinking back at her.
At first she tried to ignore it, to rush through to the next task. She still had time to find the coffee maker and get at least one pot going before the meeting started. But what if it was Grant, adding to his orders? Jenna sneered. What could he possibly want? Handmade scones to go with the coffee?
She lifted the receiver, already regretting the precious moments she was losing, and pressed the play button. The unmistakable voice of Grant Blakely came on the line: “Looks like you have time for a pedicure after all.” His voice was booming, triumphant. “That is, if you can find a salon that’s open at 7:30 in the morning. I pushed back the meeting. Your reluctant tone made me realize that the hour was far too early to get any real work done. We’ll reconvene at nine a.m. Keep the coffee warm, please.” The tell-tale click sounded, letting her know no further instructions would be forthcoming.
Jenna wanted to scream—but what came out when she opened her mouth was a mangled, anguished gurgle. That unbelievable jerk. There’d never been a 7:30 meeting. He was toying with her on her first day, trying to drive her so crazy she’d have to quit before she even started. Rousing her hours too early and making her race into the office without so much as breakfast? Scaring her half to death that her job was on the line? How could he be so smug? Again, she scolded herself for letting the man’s obvious attractiveness distract her for even a moment from his true nature.
At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to grab her purse, march right back to her car, and go home to hide from the world—and especially from Grant Blakely. But instead, Jenna rolled her shoulders back in her characteristic way, took one of her deep breaths, and reminded herself what she was doing this for.
Clearly, this arrogant man thought she’d give up after a few little frustrations and then he could be rid of her. Well, he didn’t know her well enough. He didn’t know how her father had made her promise to always keep a hand in the jewelry company, no matter what happened, even when she was just a little girl and had no idea what the words had meant. He didn’t know her brother needed special care and was counting on her to keep it coming.
If Grant Blakely wanted to break her, he was welcome to keep trying. What he didn’t know was that she’d sooner break than give up on her family.
3
Jenna’s first meeting went off without a hitch. At nine a.m. sharp, the conference room filled with men and women in fine suits, holding yellow notepads and looking Jenna up and down with undisguised curiosity. She stood at the door and introduced herself to each newcomer, trying to make the best possible impression on each of Blakely’s prized employees in the hope of earning their respect. Most attendees were friendly and welc
oming, and some knew her from her father’s tenure. But more than a few asked after her last name, wondering aloud at the relationship between the company and herself. When they did, she just smiled warmly and explained as best she could that yes, she was in the McCormick family, but was just starting out and wanted to learn about the business from the ground up, paying her dues like everyone else.
That explanation earned her more than a few approving nods, but a couple of the staff members merely turned away from her, as though they didn’t believe what she’d said. Probably, like Grant, they thought she was a freeloader, here in search of a cushy job with time for long lunches. Jenna tried to let it roll off her back. They’d see soon enough that wasn’t the case.
Grant arrived last, surprising her by appearing from behind the door of his office, which had been closed all morning. She greeted him professionally, hoping that strange pull she felt each time she laid eyes on him wasn’t as obvious to him as it was to her.
Had he actually arrived at the office even earlier than she? Yes, Jenna realized, he’d been back there all this time, just a few feet away, while she had struggled to learn the phone system, tried to find her way around the building, and readied the conference room for the meeting. Could he have been less helpful?
Or perhaps more busy, she corrected herself. She remembered how hard her father had worked as CEO, especially at this time of year, before the International Jewelers Organization conference that descended on Las Vegas each June and turned the business upside down. Watching Grant in his smart, handmade suit as he crossed to the head of the conference table, she thought of the late nights and early mornings he probably spent hunched over stacks of diamond orders and new designs, pondering the best marketing for a tennis bracelet or a pendant necklace like the one she wore now, a single luminescent solitaire that had been her 21st birthday present from her father.
It was a big job, and without wanting to, Jenna had to give Grant credit for the success he’d found in it. She watched and took minutes from a chair off to the side as he guided the staff through the meeting, easily managing different personalities and handling issues large and small. As hard as she tried not to, she found the balance of warmth and efficiency he used in handling his staff most impressive.
If only he could have been so fair and kind six years ago, when he’d handled her.
When the meeting was over, Jenna hustled back to her desk, hoping to at least be able to get comfortable on the phones and set up her email account before Grant assigned her another task. But she’d only managed to turn the computer on and create a login before he strode into the room, a bold smile on his face and a thick pile of sketches in one hand. On his arm, he’d draped his suit coat, and in just his tailored white shirt and tie, the defined muscles of his arms and chest were all too apparent. Jenna tried, unsuccessfully, not to notice. If there was a single man in the world she shouldn’t be attracted to, it was Grant Blakely.
“From the design team,” he said, moving assuredly toward his office and waving the stack of papers in the air. “I need you in my office to take notes while I brief before the meeting at one. I haven’t had a chance to become familiar with the Series 5 and 6 rings, and the designers will know the moment I walk in if I’m unprepared. I’ve got to cram, or I’m in serious danger of wasting other people’s time.”
Jenna was surprised to hear him confess his unreadiness to her. The admission almost made him seem human. Was that what made him so successful in business, this disarming openness that won you over at the word go? It certainly did make her want to work harder, to try to make him happy.
Jenna shook her head to clear it of such a romantic notion. Everything Grant Blakely did was manipulation, pure and simple. She remembered how he had behaved six years before, when she’d been at her lowest. First he’d seemed like a friend she could trust—and then he’d pounced. He’d never been willing to admit any wrongdoing then, and now he was just using this nice-guy demeanor to get what he wanted.
She couldn’t let down her guard, no matter how approachable—make that irresistible—he might seem.
“I’m sure I can help,” she said, squelching the bubbles of emotion that ran through her as best she could. She followed him into his office, sat on the couch off to the side of his desk with her notepad balanced on her knees, and looked up at her new boss. “I’m ready when you are.”
But he wasn’t ready. He was standing beside his desk chair, frozen, staring down at her hotly—almost as if he was angry. Or was she mistaking intensity for anger? Jenna stared back, trying to return the look he was giving her. It was almost as if he could stare into her head and see her thoughts. What did he imagine they were? And what was he thinking in return?
She hoped his thoughts weren’t as licentious as hers were quickly becoming. Under his searing gaze, with his brown eyes and heavy lashes fixed on her, her whole body seemed to loosen and turn into liquid. She blinked hard, trying to break the connection between them.
But it was useless. He didn’t avert his stare, only squared his shoulders to face her, as though he might reach out one hand to pull her in, to press his body against hers. That simple action was too much for Jenna’s vivid imagination. She felt her defenses go slack, and her shoulders dropped as if her spine was molten. With all her might, she willed him to look away—even as her body sent images to her mind of him crossing the room, pushing her down on the couch, opening her suit jacket and sliding his hand across the planes of her bare chest. How warm his hand would feel, how it would burn her skin as it moved under the strap of her camisole, pushing it down, moving his head lower for a kiss.
Just like that, his eyes released their lock on hers and dropped to the papers on his desk. It was as if a spell had been broken. How long had that moment lasted? A second? A minute? An hour? Had she imagined it altogether?
“Jenna? Are you with me?”
Jenna flushed. She hadn’t imagined it. Or rather, she had imagined all too much, and left herself staring at her new boss like a starstruck fan. Had her mouth been open? She shuddered at the thought. Be a professional, she reminded herself.
“I apologize, Grant.” She poised her pen over the notepad and crossed her legs. She caught him watching one leg slide over the other and felt a frisson of awareness. “You need to review the new designs?”
“Right. Lets start with the newest rings. Take notes, please—I prefer to think aloud.” He picked up a manila folder full of sketches. “I asked the designers for a look that was more art deco than what we’ve done in the past for engagement rings. We need to take back lost business from online estate dealers. Come over here and take a look.”
Jenna blanched, then forced herself to cross to the desk, lean over the opposite side. “No, come over here.” He waved an arm toward himself. “Many of these rings have a right side and a wrong side. You can’t look at them from upside down and get a real impression.”
Obediently, she rounded the desk, wedged herself behind it, standing just inches from where he leaned forward in his executive chair, close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. She leaned over the plans and tried to think businesslike thoughts. “Look at 6B,” Grant instructed. “What’s the problem there?”
Jenna stared at the ring, tried to clear her mind. But only one answer would pop into her head, so she blurted it out. “It’s unattractive?”
She was afraid her comment might offend him, but instead Grant laughed, a warm, lit-up sound Jenna found a little surprising and incredibly disarming. “Well. I suppose it might be. But that’s not the biggest issue. Here.” He reached out his right hand towards hers, and for a bated moment she thought he was about to take her hand. Instead, he slipped the pen she’d been holding out of her fingers to circle a portion of the design in ink. Jenna felt the heat of his glancing touch echo on her skin even after it was gone. “See these diamonds?” He ran the pen over the side diamonds that flanked the center stone—first the left, then the right. “Look how big they are i
n comparison to the center stone.”
“Very big. And therefore expensive,” Jenna said, nodding as she caught on. “The customer—presumably a man getting ready to propose—will want to spend his money on the biggest center stone he can afford, and save on the rest of the setting.”
“That’s exactly right.” There was energy in his voice. No matter what his pretense, she couldn’t doubt he loved this business. “According to our market research, male jewelry shoppers are often looking for bragging rights. Total carat weight tends to make their eyes glaze over. They’re looking for one big impact—the thing that will make her say yes.”
Jenna heard the words, let them echo in her head, stopped herself before her mouth formed the word “yes” back at him. She cleared her throat. “Did you say this ring was 6B?”
“Yes.” Grant looked back to his paperwork, as though he too were remembering himself. “Now, the other rings in the 6 series,” he droned, while she scribbled notes along. “I like them. I need more originality on A, C , and D, but E is a selling ring.” He paused while Jenna took his thoughts down, then shuffled to a new set of pages. “The 5 series I’ve seen a few times now, and I think it’s getting to where it needs to be. This is the look for women interested in colored diamonds.”
“Fancies.” Jenna murmured the industry lingo without thinking. “Yellow, champagne, blue, pink.”
“Yes, although champagne is a saturated market at the moment. The trick is, the fancy diamonds are so expensive in the popular colors that the rings need to be designed to accommodate smaller solitaires. Or settings with fewer side stones to keep them affordable.”
Jenna nodded, understanding almost by instinct the challenge that presented. “But they still need to look dazzling and unique,” she said. “Look at this one, 5C. Does it ring any bells for you?”
