A Tycoon's Secret_A Billionaire Romance Novel

by Avery Laval

  Jenna faltered, just as he’d known she would. “Uh, no, not exactly.”

  “Oh, no? Why am I not surprised?” He leaned forward. “In that case, why don’t you have a seat and enlighten me. I haven’t seen or heard from you for years. What brings you to McCormick Jewels after such a prolonged absence?”

  Jenna took the offered seat, a chair positioned opposite his desk, giving him a chance to fully take in the sight of her for the first time. From the moment he spotted her, it had been impossible not to notice that she’d only become more beautiful since the last time he’d seen her, her body a little less angular, her face softer and less made-up. But now he saw that there was also something different in the way she carried herself, as though she belonged here, in the corner office of a CEO. Ridiculous, he told himself. This was a spoiled jewelry heiress who belonged in a nightclub, not an office. It was simply her choice of wardrobe that had made him momentarily think otherwise.

  She wore a smart, classically styled gray suit that was a bit conservative for a high-society bad girl, he thought, but the hem of the skirt rose just a hair over her creamy thighs, teasing him with the promise of more. He wrenched his stare away as she crossed one long curvy leg over the top of the other. No, Grant told himself sternly. This was not the sort of woman he could afford to indulge such thoughts about.

  But she made it hard to keep up his guard. Even all those years ago, when she was refusing to step aside for the good of the company, she’d been enticing—but now, that strange pull that drew him to her was only stronger. He fought to ignore it. She was bad for business.

  “I need a favor,” she blurted, after a long pause. Her hands twisted in her lap with nervous energy.

  Again his eyebrows shot up. “A favor? Ms. McCormick, you perplex me. When last we met, you swore you’d never speak to me again, much less ask me for a favor. Remember?” Grant let a wry smirk settle on his face. “What was it you called me again?”

  At that, Jenna’s lips clamped shut and her eyes shimmered. Grant couldn’t miss the fire simmering beneath her forced composure. He had to admit, he was enjoying watching her squirm. Perhaps more than he should.

  “I really couldn’t recall,” she said, clearly trying to tamp down her temper and play nice. “But I’m sure I said it in the heat of the moment. My parents had just died, if you’ll remember, and I was in shock—”

  “Let’s see…” Grant interrupted, drumming his fingers on the desk. “I believe you called me a morally corrupt, scheming cheat who’d drive this business into the ground.” Now his smile grew larger. “That’s right. A morally corrupt, scheming cheat. Now why would you ask a favor from such a person?”

  Jenna took a deep breath and shook her head, as though regrouping her resolve. Against his better judgment, Grant found himself intrigued by her unwillingness to give in to her emotions. Such a change from the last time he’d seen her. “Please understand, when I said that, I was under a lot of strain. My parents had just died. And I—” she looked upwards for a moment, as if searching for the right words, “I had just lost the thing that mattered most in the world to them. There’s no way you could have known this at the time, but I had promised my father I would always keep a hand in this company, no matter what.” Her eyes drifted downward. “That day was when I realized I would have to break that promise.”

  Grant shook his head, unwilling to give her even the tiniest bit of sympathy. “The way I remember it, you had some choice in the matter. In fact, if memory serves, as soon as you stopped your little tirade that day, I offered you a chance to stay. An entry level job, so you could learn the business the right way. You threw it back in my face so fast I didn’t even get to finish my sentence.”

  He remembered that day perfectly. She’d just found out about the board’s decision to choose him over her as the new CEO, and she’d barged into his office, mad as a wet hen, and read him the riot act. Despite his annoyance, he’d felt duty-bound to promise her a job at the company—starting at the bottom, of course—if she ever saw fit to join the rest of the working world. Which, he felt quite sure, she never would.

  She’d merely laughed at his offer and told him exactly where he could stick it as she stormed out.

  Jenna cleared her throat. “I was too hasty then,” she said, as if such an understatement could describe her childish behavior. “But I had hoped, after all this time, that we might put the past behind us,” she said in a cool, almost detached voice. “And that you might help me out of respect for my father. I’m sorry if I’ve made a mistake.”

  Grant snorted. “If our situations were reversed, if you were in my shoes, would you have time for a favor for me?”

  Her eyes lost focus for a moment at that, as though she were imagining herself sitting at his desk, heading up the company she’d wanted so badly to lead six years ago. So badly she’d nearly ruined his career, and the company’s reputation with it. He watched her carefully, wondering how she could possibly respond.

  When she did speak, her voice sounded resigned, almost sad. “I can’t imagine you ever needing a favor from me,” she said softly.

  The words found their target, and Grant felt that twinge of guilt. It was true, he was a self-made businessman and his success was all his own. And she—she was a former heiress with nothing but her social connections to fall back on. She probably needed all the help she could get.

  He sighed, rubbing a hand through his black hair. “Look, you’re right about one thing. Your father was a good mentor to me. If I can help you, I will, even though you surely don’t deserve it. But you’ll have to get on with it. I’m a very busy man, and I have no interest in sitting around rehashing old times. At least, not with you.”

  Jenna’s heart was pounding. Though she’d thought through her dilemma every which way and sideways, she hadn’t been able to think of a better solution than the one she was about to suggest. This solution wouldn’t exactly keep her promise to her father, of course, but it would be something, something that she knew he would be proud of if he were still alive. It would serve as the proof that she would never again let go of the family business, even if she was only holding on by the thinnest of threads. Proof that she wouldn’t abandon what the McCormicks had worked so hard to create.

  But as badly as she wanted to do right by her family, the moment she’d laid eyes on Grant Blakely again, her fortitude had left her, and she’d wished desperately to be anywhere but there. She’d known going in that it would be hard seeing him again. He was the man who had shattered her fantasies about life. He’d stolen her family’s business only a few weeks after she’d become, well, an orphan. He’d heartlessly let her twist in the wind. And he still believed she’d deserved it.

  She’d prepared herself to be reminded of what had happened the last time she was in his office, the pain of that day and everything that led to it. But she hadn’t been prepared for one added wrinkle.

  The man who had been her adversary back then had only become more attractive with time, looking every bit the wildly successful power broker he’d become. She could see now why his name showed up so often in the tabloids, attached to this or that model, spotted in some glitzy casino with high rollers. In his impeccably tailored suit, he towered over her, every inch of him solid and immovable, from his dark sculpted jaw to the broad expanse of his shoulders. He’d been formidable enough the last time she’d seen him, but now? She was way out of her depth, and she knew it. Her body trembled with awareness as she took him in. And the way he was looking at her—his piercing brown eyes raking over her like he wanted to eat her alive—didn’t make pleading her case any easier.

  She could apologize to him for wasting his time and bolt, she thought. She could race out the door and never set foot in this building again, forget the business her father and mother had built together, as a team, the business they would have entrusted to her if they’d had the chance.

  But she couldn’t forget her brother. She closed her eyes and thought of him, and it kept
her seated in that office, kept her face neutral, kept her from showing all the trepidation she felt sitting this close to Mr. Grant Blakely, CEO of her father’s company. A man who was, for the second time in her life, in control of her destiny.

  She swallowed hard. “Grant, I know we’ve had our differences in the past,” she said, biting her tongue on all the things she truly wanted to say about how he’d treated her the last time they’d met. “And it’s not easy for me to ask for it, so you must know how badly I need your help. You see, I’m…I’m in a tight spot. Financially. And I miss this company—”

  “I’ll bet you do. It must have been quite a nice source of cash when your father was in charge.”

  Ignore him and stick to the speech, Jenna reminded herself, though inwardly she seethed at his accusation. Ignoring someone whose presence dominated the room the way Grant’s did wasn’t easy. “Six years ago you offered me a chance to work here. Promised me a job if I wanted it. I am wondering if you’d still be willing to hire me after all this time. Please. I need a job—any job—as soon as possible.”

  There. It was out of her mouth. Had she begged? She’d tried so hard to keep the desperation out of her voice. Dignity was all she had right now.

  But Grant merely laughed. “Now you want a job? You? Jenna McCormick? Please tell me this is some sort of joke.” He laid his arms flat on his desk like a sphinx, leaning in as though he couldn’t believe this was happening. Almost like he was angry. Offended, even. A shiver ran up her spine.

  “I’m quite serious.” She leaned right back into the desk, suppressing her anger but not letting herself back down. “I want to come back here and work. For you.”

  Grant shook his head, but didn’t lean back. “Ask for anything else. Ask for money—I can write you a check. Ask for an apartment—one of my holdings can surely hold the likes of you. Hell, ask for a setup with one of my rich older friends. I’ll find you a sucker and lend you the jewelry for your first date.”

  “A date?” Jenna recoiled, stung. “A date?” Now he had pushed her too far. “You think a date with a wealthy man is the same as a job?” She stopped herself before she completely lost her temper and risked forfeiting her only chance at getting back on her feet, but her pride burned. Did he think she was for sale?

  Grant only raised his eyebrows, didn’t back down an inch—in that regard, he hadn’t changed at all. “Maybe I’m wrong, Ms. McCormick. Maybe you’re too proud to be a gold digger. But let me ask you this: How old are you?”

  You know exactly how old I am, she thought. She’d been twenty-one when her parents passed away. Just old enough to legally take control of the company, though in her heart, she knew she’d been far too young for the responsibility. “I’m twenty-seven.”

  He shook his head. “Twenty-seven years old now. And you’ve been doing exactly what since we last met? Working your way up from the mailroom at a Fortune 500 company, learning the ropes and putting in your dues? Or maybe getting a college degree and applying for your MBA?”

  “Not exactly,” said Jenna, hating the direction this was going. “I’ve had commitments.”

  “Right. I can guess what’s been occupying your time, and I know it’s not business school. If you’re coming to me looking for a job, that must mean you’ve blown through your trust fund and are looking for a meal ticket. But you don’t want to go work just anywhere, do you?” Grant shook his head with something that looked like disgust. “You want to work at Daddy’s company so you can coast during the day and you won’t risk missing out on your valuable pedicure time. Isn’t that right, Jenna?” He said her name like it was a foul taste in his mouth, and she was reminded of just how cruelly he’d laughed at her the last time she’d been in his office. How devastated she’d been that day.

  “With all due respect, this has nothing to do with pedicures,” Jenna said, unable to remember the last time she’d seen the inside of a spa. “I can work hard, and I will—because I have responsibilities.” Responsibilities that were none of Grant Blakely’s business.

  “I can only imagine. A responsibility to our community’s retail outlets. You probably single-handedly propped up the Las Vegas economy with the purchase of that outfit and the diamond watch you’re wearing.”

  At the mention of her mother’s watch, Jenna’s anger simmered over. Who was this man to think he knew who she was, to accuse her of being a dumb, spoiled brat, when he knew nothing about her life? He didn’t have the first idea what it was like to lose everything she’d held dear when she was barely old enough to know her own mind. He didn’t know how hard it had been to see her brother on the edge, day in and day out, always on the brink of disaster—and then, that horrible day, over the brink.

  Grant Blakely didn’t need—didn’t deserve—to know anything about her.

  Could she put up with this imperious man for her family? Once more she pressed her eyes closed, tried to summon up thoughts of her father, her mother, and her brother’s smiling face.

  It worked. Her family always gave her power. She summoned her strength and rose to her feet, advanced around the mahogany desk that probably cost more than a year’s rent in her run-down apartment, and positioned herself right in front of Blakely—just exactly as he’d done to her six years ago. “I know what you think about me—what you’ve always thought of me,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “But please understand, I am not some trust-fund brat—or I’m not anymore. I can work, I can start from the bottom, I can make coffee and book calendars and take phone messages. I am very capable of working in an office, and doing it well. I just need someone—I need you—to give me a chance.”

  Her voice softened, and she looked him right in the eye so he would see how much she meant the words she said. “If you do, I promise you will not regret it.”

  For just a moment, the smirk on Grant’s handsome face was replaced by contemplation. And then, slowly, his mouth bent into a wide, wicked grin, a grin that sent tremors of fear up and down Jenna’s spine. He leaned back in his chair to angle his face upward toward her. “You want a job that badly? You think you can do the work? Fine. I promised you a job, and you will have one—for three months. After that I will evaluate you, see if your performance is up to par. There are no free rides at McCormick Jewels—or at least there haven’t been in six years.”

  Jenna was so relieved that he was hiring her that she ignored his dig and took a deep breath instead. “Thank you, Grant. Thank you so much.” She fought the urge to reach across the desk and touch his arm, reminding herself to be a professional. This was her big chance. Her only chance.

  “Don’t thank me just yet,” said Grant. As he rose, he reached out and touched—practically caressed—her chin, and tilted her face to look right into those dangerous blue eyes. “I didn’t tell you what your job would be. I need a new personal assistant—I’ve been using temps for months—and you’re it. From now on, you work directly under me.”

  2

  “Under you?” For a long moment, Jenna was unable to do more than repeat the words. There, standing so close to this powerful man, she felt a charge between them she’d never felt in her life. Her mind went blank, then flashed to an image of herself literally under his body that was so torrid she had to shake her head to get back to reality. Where had that come from? “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but that makes no sense.”

  “Oh, no?” Grant asked, his voice low, intense. His eyes were fixed on her. Could he be feeling the strange electricity, too?

  “None whatsoever.” She had to talk him out of this. Working in such close proximity with this man was beyond contemplation. “You just said yourself that I’m inexperienced, a novice, have no idea what it means to work hard. Why would you want to have to personally deal with that every single day?”

  Grant broke his gaze at last, and glanced toward the door, as if assessing their level of privacy. “Because, Ms. McCormick, I want you where I can see you. What you say is true: I don’t think you’re capable of
hard work. So why would I want to impose you on any of my prized employees? You’ll find that incompetence”—on that word, his gaze swung right at her, ran up and down her form like he was shopping for a new suit, or a fast car—“incompetence is not welcome here, and I refuse to subject my colleagues to anything of the sort. You’ll work under me.”

  Oh, that phrase again, and the imagery that came with it. “At least until your evaluation,” he finished. “At which point I suspect this matter will be brought to a close.”

  At that, Jenna’s earlier terror morphed into irritation. The arrogant bastard. He thought she was such a brainless twit that no one but him would be able to put up with her? How little he knew! She couldn’t wait to set him straight, to show him just how capable she could be.

  But wait. Since when did she care what Grant Blakely thought of her? She’d wanted this job so that she could afford to take care of her brother, and to keep one foot in the McCormick family business, such as it was. She wasn’t doing this to impress the very man who’d stolen the company from her. She’d sworn never to speak to him again, much less to stand so close to him…to feel such an intensity oozing from his body…to have the urge to touch every inch of him with her burning fingertips…

  “I have to go,” she blurted. She had to get away from him before her mind raced off somewhere her body couldn’t follow. All the fight was out of her, replaced by an unstoppable urge to flee. “I have, um, I have someplace to be. Thank you so much for the job. I won’t let you down.”

  Grant pulled back from his close stance, turned away from her, and she felt instantly dismissed. It stung. “Just as I suspected,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to keep the pedicurist waiting. But starting tomorrow, you’re mine from nine in the morning until I say so in the evening, and you should know how late this business can require you to work. So many working dinners and client receptions…” Again he looked her up and down, and her blood sizzled. “Though perhaps you’ll shine in that arena. Clear your schedule. This time tomorrow, you belong to me.”