by Paula Roe
“Doing what?”
“Personal organization. You know, time management, life coaching, getting clients on track with—” At his ambiguous silence, she scowled. “You know, just forget it. I’ve already signed and paid for the first semester. In lieu of two weeks I won’t take my last paycheck.”
In all her years working with Zac Prescott, she’d been the consummate professional, beyond gossip, beyond reproach. She’d never returned his light banter or gotten beyond the standard noncommittal answer to his “how was your weekend?” inquiries. Like the rest of his thirty-strong office staff, she suspected he saw her as a solitary career woman of average height and weight, someone who’d blend into a crowd, someone definitely not eligible for the “I’ve dated Zac Prescott” club. Which made Thursday’s kiss all the more humiliating, because apparently it was forgettable. Just like her.
Even though she’d made her bed, lying in it was distinctly uncomfortable.
He frowned as she stood there, the towel damp and heavy in her hand. She’d never deliberately defied him…until now. It was fascinating the way his jaw clenched beneath that warm, smoothly shaven skin. And you know exactly how warm it is. And how smooth. And how it smells—like stealing forbidden kisses in an orange grove, exciting, fresh, exhilarating…
Mortified, she quickly busied herself with collecting last night’s take-out containers from the coffee table as her treacherous heart began to speed up.
He followed her into the kitchen.
“Listen. If you’re hell-bent on going, I can’t stop you. But it’s only October. You’ve got nearly five months before the term starts, so why not work for me until then? Help me sort out this stupid stunt of my father’s.”
“I don’t—” She abruptly turned from the sink, but he was there, a huge wall of wonderful-smelling, rock-hard muscle. She just managed to stop herself from smashing headfirst into that broad chest. Before her body could start its annoying little joyful hum, she took another step back. The movement was not lost on him, judging by the way his brow creased.
“Are you annoyed because I dragged you from your vacation on Thursday night?”
In incredulous silence she stared at him, eyes wide, until irritation began to bubble up inside. “You think my change of career direction—one I’d been planning for many months now—was precipitated by your demand that I drive you home? Without thanks, I might add?”
“Guess not,” he muttered. Then, stiffly, “Thank you. For driving me home.”
“You’re welcome.”
His gaze fixed on hers, holding it for seconds longer than necessary before he glanced away and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. If she’d expected something, anything to indicate their prior carnal knowledge, then she was disappointed. Firm lines bracketed his mouth, and she watched irritation surge across his expression before he tamped a lid on it.
I was right—he doesn’t remember.
“I don’t normally drink in the office,” he said suddenly.
“I know.”
“Yeah.” He returned to his scrutiny, making her insides squirm. “You do.”
The warm morning sunlight coming through her tiny kitchen window seemed to thicken then, wrapping around her body and creating an uncomfortable ache low in her belly. As she glanced at his mouth, the night came flooding back in all its illicit glory. She’d spied the half bottle of tequila on his desk, seen the belligerent gleam in his eyes, even in the darkened light of his office.
“I need to get dressed,” she blurted out now. Automatically his eyes flicked over her state of non-dress, which only made her breath catch. “And you need to go.”
“Are you going to think about my offer?”
“Will you go if I promise to think about it?”
“Only if you’ll actually think about it,” he said. “We both win here. I get you for another five months and you get a massive incentive. Win-win.”
“I promise I’ll think about it.”
As she followed him down her hall, watched as he opened the door, then crossed the threshold, she knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t—go back to work for Zac. Not after that kiss. She didn’t need more chaos, not when she’d spent her whole childhood fighting for order.
He paused on the peeling deck before turning back to her with a thoughtful expression. “How did my car get from the office to my house?”
Her mouth involuntarily twitched. “That’s one mighty nice vehicle.”
“I let you drive my Porsche?”
“Sure.” She couldn’t completely hide the smug smile. “You were quite drunk.”
He rubbed his chin with a dark scowl. “And you got me into the house without help.”
“Yep.” Her arm had been around his waist, his delicious warmth distracting her as she’d steered him through his front door. And then…
Anyone could’ve made the mistake. He’d stumbled, she’d only just managed to retain her balance, they’d turned at the same time. And their lips had met. And met. And kept on meeting, until Emily had managed to wrench free and escape.
A stupid lapse in judgment that had paradoxically brought clarity to her life plans.
With a sigh, she tightened the belt on her robe. “Goodbye, Zac. I’ll let you know what I decide.”
Like never kiss your boss, then believe everything will be normal. Been there, done that, been trying to burn it from my mind ever since.
Zac barely heard the soft click of the door behind him, too caught up in his frustration to notice. Past the wooden railing, down the rolling grassy slope of the apartment block perched high on Currumbin’s Duringan Street, the long waveless estuary locals called The Alley glittered in the early morning sun, a tempting sight for those inclined to call in sick and spend the day lazing on its sandy banks.
Not Emily. She was an employer’s dream: always prompt, superefficient and highly intelligent. She knew what he needed before he needed it. She knew how he had his coffee, she reminded him to eat, she always came in under deadline.
And she was an amazing kisser.
The stairs creaked beneath his feet, an aural protest to echo his own irritation. He wasn’t confident Emily would return, which meant he had to think up a Plan B.
Emily blinked a lot when she was uncomfortable. It was like a nervous tic, those thick, impossibly long lashes fluttering away over navy-blue eyes obscured by glasses. He’d noticed it the first time he’d casually asked about her weekend. Intrigued and amused, he’d been compelled to test his theory. The confirmation had come when they’d finally negotiated a major contract and he’d struck up some friendly banter to relieve the tension.
She’d also blinked like that after he’d kissed her.
He paused on the path, the cheerful mid-spring warmth doing nothing to ease the headache sluggishly throbbing away. Damn, how many prompts did he need to give a woman? But she’d steadfastly refused to acknowledge that kiss.
A kiss that had rocked his world in more ways than one.
It had, just for one moment, taken his mind off this entire VP Tech fiasco and all the lingering anger it dredged up. Just one moment, and yet long enough for a powerful need to arrest his brain, rush into his groin and conjure up all sorts of delicious, slick images of Emily in his bed.
She wasn’t only the best damn assistant he’d ever had: she’d somehow managed to pique his interest to the point that focusing on work had become a major effort these last few months.
And for the first time in months, he wanted. Wanted with an unrelenting intensity.
He scanned the watery view, automatically picking out a handful of his company’s early designs on the opposite bank, lingering on the smooth clean lines of those multimillion dollar homes with a deep flush of pride. Once-average homes that he’d single-handedly redesigned, rebuilt and flipped for a profit. And even now, with full-time staff and a corporate development department, he still designed. Yes, he could now afford to pick and choose his clientele, but those original projects were still a hum
ble reminder of how far he’d come.
His days were perfectly streamlined. He enjoyed his work, the women he dated and his life in general. He had peace—unlike the years that had come before, years of constant emotional upheaval, of stress and migraines, sleepless nights and endless, conflict-filled days.
He’d worked like a demon for his new life. If his father had taught him one thing, it was that nothing worth having ever came easy.
Especially when it came to pursuing a woman.
He’d persuade Emily to return and then take the time to find out if his fuzzy memories were correct, that she’d been an eager and willing participant in that kiss.
He glanced back up to her apartment door, to the closed blinds across her living room window.
Waddyaknow. The same day his life had taken a crazy turn, he’d finally gotten an answer to months of idle speculation about what lay under Emily’s severe business suits. She’d fronted up at his office without her trademark glasses, dressed in a baggy T-shirt and ratty Ugg boots, a worn denim skirt cupping a perfectly delicious curvy butt.
His assistant hid a smoking body. Why?
If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the imprint from those luscious breasts as she’d walked him into his house. Oh, yeah. She’d been into that kiss even if it hadn’t lasted for more than three nanoseconds.
Deep in the fantasy, the stranger was almost upon him before he clicked.
The man was built like a brick outhouse: a bouncer’s massive body crammed into a sleek suit, all restrained menace beneath the sheen of barely there respectability. It wasn’t just the man’s overwhelming physical presence that set off warning bells as he passed Zac on the narrow garden path, giving him a bare nod. It was the focused, almost mean aura in that smooth coffee-colored face, the way those shrewd eyes skimmed over Zac before returning to his purpose.
Zac had seen that look before. Hell, he’d faced it down too many times in his line of work. Unfortunately, the construction industry brought with it a certain type of thug who thought they could bribe and terrorize their competitors.
Zac slowly turned, watching the man take the stairs, then continue on.
Emily’s apartment was the only one at the end of level two.
Swiftly, Zac backtracked, the wooden balcony above providing cover just as he heard Emily’s door open.
He glanced up through the wooden slats. She’d left the security screen locked. Smart girl.
“You Mrs. Catalano?” the big dude said.
“It’s actually Miss Reynolds.”
Zac frowned. Since when the hell had she been married? But then, there were a thousand things he didn’t know about her, though not from his lack of gentle probing.
“But Jimmy Catalano’s wife, right? Daughter of Charlene and Pete, younger sister to Angelina?”
There was a pause where Zac thought he’d heard Emily drag in a shocked breath. “What’s this about?”
“Jimmy owes my boss money.”
“Who’s your boss?”
“Let’s just call him…Joe.”
When Emily finally replied, it was with the same tenor and firmness she used when dealing with his most demanding clients. “I’m sorry, but Jimmy died seven months ago.”
Zac swallowed his surprise. His assistant was hiding more than killer curves behind that superefficient persona.
“I heard,” Big Dude was saying. “And I’m sorry for your loss.” His tone implied anything but. “Joe is a compassionate businessman. He gave you longer than most to come to terms with your grief. Now he wants his money.”
“What money?”
Zac angled for a better view and caught the movement of Emily’s door closing. The Big Dude’s slap on the screen rang out, startling her and jerking Zac to attention. A surge of fury propelled him forward, but at the last minute, caution prevailed. In tense silence, he waited.
“You were Jimmy’s guarantor, which means his debt is now yours,” the man continued roughly, losing patience.
“I didn’t sign anything.”
There was a rustle of papers. “That’s your signature, right?”
“It looks like mine. But I didn’t—”
Big Dude sighed, as if her denial disappointed him. “You got fourteen days to pay.”
Emily paused, then said firmly, “Then I’ll see you in court.”
The man’s sudden laughter, deep and menacing, sent a chill rippling through Zac’s skin. “A wife of a guy like Jimmy knows the drill—no cops, no solicitors. My boss doesn’t waste money dealing with the courts. Geddit?” He let that ambiguous threat settle before there was a rustle of cheap material. “Here’s my card.” A snick of paper and a groan of mesh: he’d shoved his card in her screen door. “Let me know when you have the money.” He paused, his voice suddenly softer, more ominous. “Your sister is a nice-lookin’ girl. She’s what…thirty or so? And just got a brand-new car, too—”
“You stay away from my family.”
The panic threaded beneath Emily’s granite words stabbed straight into Zac’s heart. His hands tightened into fists.
“Hey, I was just making an observation.” The man’s hands went up in mock defense. “You know, you could always pay off the debt in other ways…”
The vicious slam of Emily’s front door, followed by the click of the lock, was the final straw. As the man’s chuckle floated down the stairs, white-hot fury seethed up, choking off Zac’s breath, taking with it common sense and self-preservation.
He straightened, pulling his shoulders back, then gently rolling his neck to work out the kinks. Then he stepped into the path and barred the way.
The man strolled down the stairs, a smug smile still on his face. When he spotted Zac, his expression flashed into menacing caution.
“Hey, mate,” Zac said casually, forcing his fists to slowly unclench. “You got a minute?”
Two
Residual annoyance punctuated Emily’s stride as she stalked into the foyer of the office building on Thursday morning. On Monday night, after a few drinks and a deep discussion that became way too serious for a birthday celebration, AJ had confirmed Emily’s doomed realization.
She had to go back to work. The cops could do nothing about a vague verbal threat without proof, and a complaint would no doubt piss off this “Joe,” which was something she so didn’t want to do. His intimidating thug had done more than rattle her: he had forced memories of her former life to the surface where they’d sat, alternately irritating then panicking her until the early hours of the morning.
You could always pay off the debt in other ways.
The thug’s rough suggestion still made her skin crawl. Jimmy had voiced that disgusting thought once, and only once, which had been her impetus to walk out. She’d rather pay up and defer her course than settle her ex-husband’s debts on her back.
If you weren’t dead, Jimmy, I could just kill you.
The security guard held up a hand, scrutinized the ID card around her neck, then waved her on through.
Her face burned as she reached the elevators. How many times had she walked through that reception area and been stopped by the same guard as if he’d never seen her before in his life? For the other pretty things in the building he smiled, nodded and barely glanced at their identification. For her, she was no one worth remembering.
The elevators pinged open and she got inside, cramming in with the other workers.
Every instinct rebelled against handing over her hard-earned cash, but being married to a professional deadbeat had revealed a dark underside to Jimmy’s seemingly carefree life. Through all the lying and the cheating, she’d never forgotten one important fact—debt collectors were deadly serious about their money.
Money was replaceable. Her and AJ’s well-being were not.
So last night, through alternating tears of frustration and anger, she’d worked out her course refund, then rung The Thug—aka Louie Mayer—to negotiate an extension on the due date. After he’d laughed himsel
f into a coughing fit, he’d finally got out, “Sure. I’m a sucker for a chick with a great pair of tits. I’ll talk to Joe. Call me on Monday, blondie.”
Humiliation burned as she finally got off on the twentieth floor. Her credit rating was shot thanks to Jimmy, which left selling her apartment—out of the question—or stealing or gambling. Irony, thy name is Jimmy Catalano.
Muttering under her breath, she swooshed open the pristine glass doors that proclaimed Valhalla Property Development in elegant gold script.
She went through the motions of stashing her bag, then turning on the computer before tackling the mess the temp had left on her desk.
“Ah, great. You’re here.”
She whipped around, her eyes landing on Zac framed in his doorway. Seeing him there, dressed in his signature business shirt, pants and precisely knotted tie, something strange happened.
Her mind emptied. As her heart upped tempo, breath catching, her skin began to tingle. The sensation was not unlike an intimate breath swooping over her flesh, goose-bumping her entire body into a sensitive bundle of nerves.
She offered a thousand colorful reprimands to her self-control, even as she felt her nipples stiffen beneath her blue silk shirt.
“Everything okay?”
If you could call wanting to see your boss naked okay. “Just peachy.” She forced out a tight smile.
“Then let’s get started,” he said, clearly oblivious to her state. “Come on in.”
Emily swallowed and picked up her notepad.
After she sat and Zac relaxed into his plush leather chair with graceful ease, his green gaze swept over her from head to toe. Nothing new—Zac always studied people with a silent intensity that flustered or flattered, depending on the recipient. It hadn’t bothered her before. But now…
She felt the sudden overwhelming urge to squirm, to fiddle with her hair, straighten her collar and do a thousand other self-conscious girly things she’d thought she was immune to.
She followed his eyes as they lingered seconds longer on her hair, her mouth. Blood zinged through her veins, sending twin shots of panic and excitement to every dormant inch of her body.