“Bummer. Can I call this number if I need to talk to you?”
“No!” That’s all I need, for Mr. Force to realize I used his phone without his permission. “I’ll check in when I can. Promise.”
“Okay. Talk to you soon.”
“Bye, Ren.”
With a sigh, I hang up and try to think of any other phone calls I need to make. Nothing comes to mind. But his device is sitting right here… Maybe I should look over his texts with Hennessey. Maybe some part of their exchange will help my cause?
Nope.
A few minutes later, I darken the device and return it to his dresser. Since spying is a dead end, I need to spend time prepping for when Mr. Force awakens.
Setting aside the wrapped bundle of what I assume are my necessities, I configure the laptop quickly. Then I scramble down to his office and find the Wi-Fi password exactly where he said it would be, so I connect and surf to some of my favorite financial sites, pulling data I think he’ll be interested in and compiling it into reports I hope he’ll find useful. When I sort the data enough to spot a few interesting trends, I massage the report to illustrate my point and print it out.
On my way upstairs, I peek in Mr. Force’s room. He’s beginning to stir, so I step into my bedroom across the hall and unwrap the personal items Mr. Hunt brought as Hades joins me with a meow.
In addition to a toothbrush and toothpaste, there’s a boar-bristle brush, a sturdy wooden comb, salon-brand shampoo and conditioner, a luxury facial cleanser with accompanying moisturizer, a soft but lacy nightgown with delicate spaghetti straps in a blushing pink shade, two pairs of designer underwear, and an expensive bra that’s precisely my size.
Holy shit. Mr. Force told Hunt what to fetch. Had he read my mind? Read my body?
“Savannah?”
Still reeling, I shove everything aside and head across the hall to find the man sitting up in bed expectantly. “Yes, Mr. Force?”
“Marcus left?”
“About ninety minutes ago, yes.”
He nods as if he’s digesting that information. “Did you get your computer set up?”
“Yes. I also pulled the information you requested and compiled it.” I hand him the report.
He takes it with a nod. “I need a minute to study this. Would you hand me my phone and get me a bottle of water?”
Clearly, I’m going to get that exercise I was lamenting earlier just running up and down these stairs. No wonder he looks amazing.
“On it.”
As I hand him his device and turn to head out of the room, he calls out to me. “Savannah?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re doing well. Carry on.”
I’m hard-pressed to hold in a smile. “Thank you.”
Then I remember the truth I have to lay on him and my smile fades as I head downstairs.
Chad
Working with Savannah is an utter delight—not that I’d tell her. With very little direction, she’s compiled a surprisingly insightful report and recognized trends that weren’t even on my radar. If I hire her as my assistant, I can’t keep her in that position long. First, she’s too bright not to promote. Second, she’s too sexy to have so close. If I’m aching to touch her after just a few hours, how will I resist her for weeks? Months? Years?
As we pore over the data, I give her my thoughts. She asks astute questions, which saves on the time needed to introduce her to the ins and outs of my business. The rest? Intuitively, she fills in the blanks and offers to update the report to my specification with numbers from the Asian markets as they roll in.
“Did you find something to cook for dinner? Obviously, this wouldn’t be one of your normal job responsibilities, and I should be back in the office soon, but until then I’m helpless.”
“Chicken piccata and salad all right?”
“Perfect.” But now that we’re not discussing data and market trends, she’s more reserved. Reluctant to engage, even. “Does my request that you cook bother you?”
“No.”
So she’s got something else on her mind. “Do you have everything you need to spend a couple of days here?”
“Yes. Thank you. I’ll…um, start cooking now.” She rises from my office chair and heads for the door.
“Before you go, Savannah, tell me what’s on your mind.”
She pastes on a phony smile. “Nothing.”
I want to vault from this bed, grab her shoulders, and shake the truth from her. Then I want to kiss that pouty bow of a mouth that tempted me the second she stepped into the room before I cover every part of her body with mine and put a real smile on her face. “Are you sure? Remember, I don’t like liars.”
“Does anyone?” she murmurs as she disappears into the hall.
“Fuck,” I snarl under my breath, reach for my phone, and ring Marcus, who answers immediately. “What happened after I fell asleep?”
“Nothing. You drifted off, and I left so I could make my four p.m. with Legal. Everything all right?”
“Savannah didn’t say anything to you?”
“No.”
I’m wasting my time. I’ll use dinner to figure out what’s up with her. “Meeting go smoothly?”
“For the most part. Minor details, but nothing that will stop business. But I need you to sign something. Can I bring it by later?”
“Yeah. Around seven?”
“You got it. Oh, I was still answering Savannah’s Pacific Rim question when I had to leave. Do you have her number so I can finish filling her in?”
I hobble to her résumé on the table near the fireplace and read off her digits. “Anything else?”
“Just keep resting. We miss you around the office, and the rest of the basketball league is wiping the floor with our asses. We need our point guard.”
“It’s going to be a while.” I wince as I settle back onto the bed. “Try not to suck until I get back.”
He laughs as I disconnect the call. But less than a minute later, Marcus texts. Savannah’s phone can’t receive calls at this time? How is that possible?
The question gnaws at me as I flip on a familiar cable business news station and half watch the chyron scroll across the bottom of the screen with weekly unemployment statistics, the price of crude, and the recent spike in gold while I skim my emails.
Then I hear Savannah at the top of the stairs, panting. Instantly, I go hard. Fuck, I’d love to hear her breathing like that while I’m driving deep inside her. But those thoughts are both reckless and unprofessional, and I need to stop.
Settling my computer over my lap, I close the lid and wait for her to enter.
“Everything should be ready in the next twenty minutes,” she says, looking slightly flushed. “I’ll bring your plate up then.”
I’d rather not eat alone. No, that’s not entirely true. I’m used to being alone. I enjoy the quiet. But tonight, I’d rather be with Savannah.
“Thank you. I’ve been using the card table in my closet for dinner. Set that up in here for us. We didn’t finish our interview earlier. We’ll talk while we eat.”
“If I have to bring all that food up five flights of stairs, it will require more trips than I have lungs.”