The Secretary's Bossman Bargain

Her stomach clenched when the car pulled into the ample driveway of one of the Wi

ndy City’s most luxurious apartment buildings, situated on the heavily trafficked Michigan Avenue. A uniformed valet opened the door.

She mumbled a quick “thank you” and stepped out of the car, walking into the sumptuous apartment building with an eerie calm that belied every one of the roiling emotions inside her.

She made no eye contact with the people milling around the area, but instead focused all of her attention on the polished bronze doors at the far end of the lobby.

“Mr. Allende is expecting you.”

An elevator attendant waited for her. He slipped a card into the top slot inside the confined elevator space and lit the top P before stepping out with a bow. “Good evening, madam.”

The doors closed and Virginia stared at her blurry reflection.

Oh, God, please let him help me. I’ll do anything. Anything…

Long seconds later, the doors rolled open to reveal the penthouse—a vast room with black granite floors, dimly lit and lavishly furnished. The walls could’ve been covered in crisp green bills and screamed the owner’s net worth just as loudly. To a mortal, his place seemed as inaccessible in price as the owner was claimed to be in character.

Virginia stepped inside. A pair of elegant, willowy bronzes flanked the entry and a massive oil painting with vibrant black brushstrokes hung at the end wall. Before she could absorb the rest of the opulent area, as though drawn by some unknown force of nature, her gaze landed on him. He stood next to the bar at the far end of the living room. He was as elegant and unmoving as the designer furniture surrounding him. Dark, tall, detached. He faced the window, his broad back filling the shoulders of his jacket. Her heart thumped as she took a step forward, the click of her heels on granite magnified in the silence.

“I trust you had a fine ride.”

Her flesh pebbled at the hum of his voice. So husky. So mellow. As though he were no threat to anyone. The crackling energy around him dispelled the notion fast.

“I did. Thank you for sending a car, and for seeing me on such short notice,” she said quietly.

Starting to shake inside, she advanced toward the living room, stepping lightly across a plush Persian rug. He didn’t turn. Virginia wasn’t certain she even wanted him to. Every time their gazes met, a bolt of electricity would shoot through her. Sometimes he didn’t even need to speak. His eyes did it for him. And in her mind, he said the wickedest things to her.

Now here she was, in his apartment, ready to face that bold, virile man she’d fantasized about. Ready to beg him.

Never mind Virginia had her modestly successful life, which she’d tried to live by the book. Never mind she’d paid her bills on time and tried first and foremost to stay out of trouble. Never mind anything but what had to be done. Saving her father. Doing anything she had to, to make him safe again.

She could’ve sworn Marcos read her thoughts just now, for he whispered, “Are you in trouble, Virginia?” While still gazing out the window as though mesmerized by the tiny flicker of city lights.

She swallowed, eyeing his back. “It appears I am.”

“And you came to ask for my help?”

A ball of unease settled in the pit of her stomach, and the words seemed to be wrenched from her throat. “I do need your help, Marcos.”

He turned, and she was rendered motionless by the sheer black power of his stare. “How much?”

Her heart pounded faster. His face was so exquisitely masculine, and there was something so naughty about him—his attitude, his dark good looks, his accent—that a dormant part of her found thrilling and frightening at once. Every inch of his Latin blood showed in his bronzed skin, the very masculinity oozing from his pores.

His inquisitive gaze traveled with interest down the length of her body until she could bear no more. She lifted her chin with pride, though the way she wrung her hands before her wasn’t all that convincing. “I—I don’t expect anything for free. I wanted to see you about an advance. A loan. Perhaps I could do more work for you. Special projects.”

His eyelids dropped as he sighted her lips. “You’re very pretty tonight, Virginia.”

The low seduction in his words made her heart clench in a fistful of thrill. She fought the thrill, telling herself he was a sexy, virile man—and that he must look at all women this way. Which was why they called him. All. The. Time! When those eyes were on her, he made her feel like the sexiest woman alive—like the only woman alive.

“I’m trying to raise…” She paused, summoning all her courage. “I’m trying to raise one hundred thousand dollars. Can you help me?” she asked him then, lowering her face. As she spoke, she felt so…so cheap…so humiliated to be asking for money…

“Is that all you need?” he asked softly. As though it were nothing. A paltry sum. And to him, with all his billions, of course it would be.

He surveyed her in silence. “May I ask why you need it?”

Her gaze flicked up to his, and she shook her head. She couldn’t bear it.

His lips twitched and the corners of his eyes crinkled, almost—almost—managing to make him less threatening. “You won’t tell me?” he prodded.