by Tami Lund
“Thanks for the tip. I don’t suppose you could direct me…?”
She giggled and blushed. “Sorry. Right this way.” She led him to the corner office, which was one of the few with the door closed. The frosted glass stretched higher on this one than all the rest.
She paused about three feet away and gestured at the closed door. “It’s that one,” she whispered.
He thrust out his hand. “I’m Elliot, by the way.”
“Sarah with an H. Nice to meet you.”
“You too. So, tell me, do I really want to work for this lady? For some reason, I’m getting an ominous feeling here.”
Sarah’s gaze darted around like she was looking for an escape. “I don’t want to speak ill of anyone who works here…”
“It’s okay, you aren’t. You’re just warning me so that I don’t make a huge mistake I’ll regret for the rest of my life.”
She bit her lip. It was kind of cute. Even if he decided to walk out without interviewing, he might ask for her number.
“It’s just … she’s kind of bossy. Which, I mean, she’s supposed to be, since she is, well, the boss. But she’s—I don’t know…intimidating. She doesn’t relate to the rest of us. And she’s not even that much older.”
Whether Sarah knew it or not, that was a lot of information. Enough for him to know that while he appreciated his sister-in-law’s attempts to get his life on track—aka control him—this wasn’t going to be a good fit.
He turned away from the glass office, intent on walking with Sarah back to the elevator so that he could hit her up for a date, when the door opened behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.
At the gorgeous woman who had almost run into the potted palm down in the lobby.
Chapter Two
“It’s you,” the guy standing outside her office said. His head was twisted over his shoulder, eyes widening as they stared at her.
Amelia glanced over her shoulder too, but there was no one behind her.
The guy finally turned fully around, and she was struck by two things: One, holy shit, he was gorgeous. Dark, wavy hair that was styled to look messy in an entirely sexy way. Eyes so pale that even from a few feet away she could tell they were blue. He wore that suit well, too.
Amelia appreciated a guy who could fill out a suit and look comfortable in it, too.
And this was the man from the lobby who had ensured she didn’t take a tumble into the potted plant like she had a dozen times before. How come no one else ever warned her or caught her elbow and guided her around the thing? Like, oh, the security guard who was on duty every time it happened.
This incredibly beautiful specimen of the human male did not look familiar, and while Amelia didn’t actually speak to most of her employees, she knew each and every one by face. And she definitely would not have missed his face. If she didn’t recognize him, then either he had just started today in some other department or—
“Are you my next interview?” She glanced around, looking for another person. “You aren’t supposed to be on this floor without an escort.”
He looked around too, his face pinched, like maybe he was confused. “Um, maybe I should just leave then.”
“Why? You’re here. Might as well come in and get it over with.” Good Lord, she sounded like she did sometimes with the men she attempted to date.
She was lousy at dating. She’d grown this company into a highly successful, multimillion-dollar business, but she couldn’t pick the right companion to save her damn life.
The guy—wow, he really was handsome—nodded and headed toward her. She almost wanted to stay standing where she was to see if he’d run into her, because if he did, she would totally cop a feel, which was highly inappropriate and not at all like her, so why in the world was she even having such ridiculous thoughts?
And anyway, he didn’t. He paused and waved his hand, indicating she should step into the office first. Which made him a gentleman, and strong, badass woman she may be, but she did appreciate old-fashioned manners.
Smoothing her hand down her black pencil skirt, she nodded and preceded him into the room.
“Beautiful view,” he noted. The one-way glass walls allowed her to enjoy the wildlife that visited a small, swampy, woodlands area the city had insisted be retained when the company had decided to build here. She had to admit, she was glad, although all the red tape and permits and arguing with the construction crew had been a nightmare at the time.
“Thank you.” Before moving to sit behind her desk, Amelia turned around and thrust her hand at the latest administrative assistant candidate. “I’m Amelia Gerard, chief operating officer here at Gerard Glass.”
He accepted her offer to shake, his much larger hand engulfing hers. He had a firm, warm grip that wasn’t sweaty. It did, however, give her tingles, which was an odd reaction to a job candidate. Especially considering how poorly all the previous interviews had gone. Did she honestly expect this one to be any better simply because he was attractive?
Or had she reached the point of desperation?
“Elliot Bryant. So I’m interviewing with the top dog, huh?”
She tugged her hand out of his grip before she did something crazy like use the connection to pull him closer, and then she stepped around her desk, almost like she needed a barrier between them.
“Please, take a seat. And no, I’m not truly the top dog. We have a board of directors, of which my father maintains full control.” Don’t even get her started on that relationship. She was definitely not Daddy’s Little Girl—more like a poor substitute for her errant brother, who staunchly refused to bow to Daddy’s wishes and take over the company.
“Ah,” he said with a knowing nod as he sat in the leather chair directly across from her. “Power struggle. Bonus that it’s in the family.”
She perched on the edge of her seat and placed her hands flat on the desk. “You’re making a big presumption.”
“Am I?”
She smoothed her hands over the shiny, lacquered wood and then turned her focus to her laptop, clicking the appointment reminder so she could read the information contained within.
This was the candidate Chelsea had recommended. She had sworn that while he may be rough around the edges, he was good at taking direction. And why the hell that statement reminded Amelia of sex, she couldn’t say.
“Did you bring a copy of your résumé? I see that Chelsea Vale recommended you; however, she did not forward it to me when she did.” Amelia would normally refuse to even schedule the appointment without first glancing over a resume, but Chelsea was one of her best employees and she highly respected the woman’s opinion.
“I didn’t,” he said as he slipped his phone out of the pocket of his well-tailored suit pants. “But if you give me your email, I can forward it right now.”
She rattled off the address, and a moment later, her laptop pinged. Opening the attachment, she skimmed through a scattered work history with no real direction. None of his previous employers even fell within the same industry, and they weren’t remotely connected to glass manufacturing. Not to mention, he hadn’t worked at the same job for more than nine months at a time, and he’d only graduated from college three years ago.
“You’re younger than I thought,” she blurted and glanced up, fighting the blush she could feel encroaching on her cheeks.
He arched one brow and leaned back in his chair. “So are you.”
She waved at the screen. “If you only spent four years in college, then you’re, what? Twenty-five?”
He nodded.
“I’m a full five years older than you.” Why in the hell had she just told the man her age? Good Lord, if HR were in here, they’d have a field day with her lack of decorum during this interview.
“You are definitely not as old as I thought you’d be when I was told I’d be interviewing with an Amelia Gerard.”
“Oh.” She nodded, a small smile lifting her lips. “I was named after my grandmother. Amelia is a
n old-fashioned name, isn’t it?”
“It’s pretty.”
She resisted the urge to fan her face. Men did not fluster her like this. She was always in control, whether she was in an interview, the boardroom, or the bedroom.
She returned her focus to the resume on her screen, starting at the top and once again reviewing his not overly impressive work history. “I’d ask you why you want this position, but the answer is pretty obvious.”
“Because it’s a job?” he suggested, brows slightly raised, hands laced across his abdomen, looking perfectly at ease with his own stark honesty. She supposed there was merit in that.
Leveling her gaze on him, she asked, “How do you and Chelsea know each other?”
He shifted in his seat and squeezed the arm rest, the first sign of discomfort he’d exhibited. Interesting. Were he and Chelsea former lovers? But why would she want Amelia to hire her ex-boyfriend? As closely as Chelsea and Amelia worked, it would be inevitable that she would continually cross Elliot’s path.
Assuming Amelia hired him, of course.
“We went to college together.”
She waited for more, but he had resumed his confident, relaxed demeanor, and she was certain he would offer no more unless she asked. And as unconventional as this interview was so far, asking about his dating history was probably over the top. Besides, she could always ask Chelsea over drinks. Maybe she’d see if the other woman wanted to do happy hour this very evening. Elliot wouldn’t expect a response today, so she could reserve judgment until she got the scoop from her friend.
“Tell me,” she said, “what is your dream job?”
Still leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms. “That sounds like one of those trick interview questions. Like I’m supposed to make up some bullshit along the lines of ‘I’ve always dreamed of learning how glass is made.’”
She probably should be offended by his bluntness, but instead, she chuckled and pointed at a piece of paper lying on her desk. “The trick interview questions are all right here, and that one is not on the list. I’m genuinely curious. I mean, let’s be real: no one aspires to work for a glass manufacturer.”
“Not even you?”
“Why do you say that?”
He gestured at the walls. “Your last name is the name of the company. You said your father is on the board of directors. While it’s grown substantially in the last five years, this company has been around for thirty years, which means you grew up around it. And now you’re the COO.”
That doesn’t mean this was ever my goal. It just meant she had a head for business and a desperate need to attempt to impress her father. None of which Elliot needed to know.
“It sounds like you did your homework.”
He shrugged. “Easy enough to Google on the way here.”
More stark honesty that should offend her. Except it didn’t. “A lot of people go into the family business without actually aspiring to do so.”
“That’s a loaded answer if I ever heard one. Now I kind of want to take you out for drinks, loosen you up so that you’ll give me the real dirt.” He smiled as he said it, not a shark-like smirk but an easy-going, lopsided grin.
No one ever teased her, and she should certainly shut this down so that he didn’t get the wrong idea, but she honestly liked it. Which meant she definitely should not hire this guy. How awkward would it be if she developed a crush on her own admin?
Her phone buzzed and she flipped it over to glance at the screen. The text was from Chelsea:
Hey! Your brother just pulled up, and he’s heading your way.
Amelia’s blood ran cold. She leaped out of her chair like it was on fire and slammed her knee into the underside of her desk. With a cry, she dropped back into her seat and grabbed the now-throbbing leg.
Elliot was around the desk in an instant, hovering over her, trying to get a look at her knee. “Are you okay? That was a hell of a whack.”
She ground her teeth against the tears pricking her eyelids. “I just—I need you to leave. Can you find your way downstairs on your own?”
He blinked. “You need me to leave? Just like that? I didn’t even answer the last question.”
She shook her head and tried to straighten her leg. Daggers of pain stabbed at her, so she pulled it back into a bent position.
“Is there a cafeteria nearby? Somewhere I can get ice for you?”
Through the haze of pain, she recognized his words for the nice gesture they were, but she shook her head again. “Listen, this isn’t about you. My brother is about to walk through that door any minute, and I promise you, you do not want to watch our interaction go down. I appreciate you taking the time to come here for this interview, and I’ll let you know in a few days if I’d like you to return for a second one, okay?”
“That doesn’t sound very promising.”
“Well, to be honest, you don’t act like you really want the job. Not to mention, your work history indicates a lack of staying power. And you have no actual admin experience. So other than Chelsea’s recommendation, I’m not sure why I should hire you.”
“Damn, you don’t sugarcoat things, do you?”
“I’ve been told it’s one of my less-than-impressive personality traits.”
“It’s refreshing. Cutting through the bullshit keeps you from wasting anyone’s time. Especially your own.”
She just told him he wasn’t getting the job and he was complimenting her? Maybe she should give him a chance.
But not right now. “He’s got to be in the elevator by now. Can you please just leave?”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay? Your knee is already swelling.”
She glanced down. He was right. The thing was twice the size of her left leg. And it still hurt like a bitch. “I don’t have a choice.”
Duane almost never came to the office. But there were two people in this world who could bring her to her knees—pun intended—and Duane was one of them. Her father was the other, since, well, her brother learned from the best.
“I have a better idea,” Elliot said, and then he snagged the computer bag resting on the floor next to her desk, closed her laptop, and stuffed it into the bag.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, staring as he scooped up the files that had been sitting on her desk and shoved them into the bag too.
“Getting you out of here. You need to ice and elevate that leg, and you don’t need whatever stress your brother is going to cause you. Trust me, I know what it’s like to deal with siblings. I have three of them. Where’s your purse?”
“Why?”
“We’re leaving. I assume your car keys are in it.”
“Um…” She pointed at the drawer next to her swollen leg. He opened it, pulled out her red Michael Kors satchel, and placed it on her desk next to her computer bag.
“Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
She watched him hurry from her office. What the hell was he doing?
He was back a moment later, grabbing her satchel and flipping it over his shoulder before adding her computer bag. Then he reached for her. “Come on. Sarah with an H is going to stall your brother so we can get downstairs.”
“Sarah with a…”
“Come on.” His words were laced with impatience.
Was she really going to do this? Was she about to let this almost complete stranger help her avoid a confrontation with Duane? Good Lord, she’d never done something so brazen in all her life.
Well, except maybe running and growing this company by double digits ever since her father grudgingly put her in charge.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her arm and allowed him to help her to her feet. Well, one foot, since she couldn’t seem to straighten the other leg.
Yes, it looked like she was really going to do this.
Chapter Three
Despite Amelia’s protests, Elliot took her to urgent care. In her car. Which was a sleek, black Challenger Hellcat. He practically spo
oged when he slid into the supple leather seat.
“I want to marry you for your car,” he had quipped, which earned him a groan. He’d said the wrong thing. Something he had a tendency to do around her, if that debacle of an interview was any indication. He was usually much smoother than this.
Now he was certain he did not have the job, and yet here he was, driving the woman to CVS so she could pick up a prescription of extra-strength ibuprofen.
“What the hell is a bone contusion, anyway?” she asked after he had her settled in the passenger seat, which had been awkward as hell with that narrow, short skirt and her now-wrapped knee that still wouldn’t straighten.
“It means you hit your knee hard enough to bruise the bone.”
“How do you know that?”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was slumped back against the seat, the wind from the open window tugging strands out of her bun and whipping them into a frenzy around her head.
She had these giant sunglasses on her face, and her mouth was twisted into a grimace, which was probably a combination of pain and frustration. Amelia Gerard definitely didn’t like to take orders, not from the doctor, not from the nurse who had asked her how she’d banged up her knee so badly, not from the person at the reception desk who had informed her that she’d have to wait her turn to see the medical staff.
Yet she had done everything Elliot told her to do, although grudgingly. Grudging or not, it was nice, because he was not about to let her damage that knee any more than it already was.
“Two of my brothers used to race motorcycles, so I’ve seen more than my fair share of injuries.”
She nodded, and the brackets around her lips seemed to ease up a bit. “Used to?”
Elliot guided the coolest car he’d ever driven into the pharmacy drive-through. “Kyle gave it up after a year in the professional circuit because he preferred to tinker with the motors rather than compete, and Tommy raced professionally for twelve years. He retired when I was a senior in college. He now owns a racetrack over on the west side of the state.”