What Maxi Needs (Leave Your Shoes On 3)

At the end of his dissertation—which left everyone in the room with glassed-over eyes, so that Maxi didn’t feel too intelligence-shamed—Einstein simply wrapped up by saying, “You’ll find at the back of your booklets the Gantt charts that capture the precise deadlines and projections to meet our objectives. They conveniently pull out to full size.”

Papers began to rustle. The agitation turned to…enthusiasm?

Maxi’s stomach took a dive south, because she was sans workbook and had no idea what the others were studying so intently. “I’m sorry…Gantt charts?”

“Yes,” the sexy PhD told her, his eyes warm and friendly. “Demonstrations of tactics, milestones, budgets, resources, et cetera, all extrapolated out to a comfort zone above needs-based production.”

“Extrapolation above needs-based production.” The words tripped off her tongue.

“Yes,” he repeated excitedly. “So that we have a replenished back-stock of the most popular styles when the crisis passes and can be in the position to accommodate surges in sales when they arise.”

All righty, then.

She sighed. A dull ache throbbed behind her left eye, competing with all the zings still ricocheting through her body. “Very good, Dr. Donovan. This has all been quite…enlightening.”

Christ, her brain was about to explode.

So how was it that she was still turned on by him?

“Please, Ms. Shayne, call me Ryan,” he insisted.

“Fine. And I’m just Maxi.”

“Hardly.” His gaze slid over her, an appreciative look in his rich brown eyes.

Maxi stared at him as the others continued to ooh and ahh over the Gantt charts.

Was Einstein…flirting…with her?

With her?

Vice President of the division for which he now worked?

His boss?

And why did that forbidden notion send liquid fire through her veins?

Chapter Two

“So, this is your office,” Avril told Ryan as they entered a decent-sized space at the end of a short hallway that housed two other offices for managers, and a small conference room. “There should be plenty of supplies, but if you need anything not on-hand, just let me know. Your assistant is Anne Phelps, but she’s out on vacation right now. So I’ll be filling in.”

“Thank you for the help.”

Avril smiled sweetly. “My pleasure.” Her gaze lingered on him a few moments, then she directed him to the desk set at an angle in the far corner.

He sank into the executive chair. She whisked a Post-it from its dispenser next to the leather blotter and jotted down a series of numbers and letters.

Handing over the sticky note, she said, “This is the temporary password to log on to the company network. You’ll need to immediately change the code, since it’s universally used for our new employees. Once you’re in, a screen will pop up to walk you through establishing your account and accessing e-mail, as well as the various Ops division drives where we share files. Then the training modules will launch. They’re mandatory to complete and each one comes with a ten-question quiz at the end.”

“Fascinating,” he said, having absolutely no idea all the orientation entailed. Ryan had never worked directly for a company; he’d only consulted.

Coming around to his side of the desk and propping a hip against the edge, Avril told him, “Expect to spend the entire day with the setup and training. And just holler if you need anything. Anything at all. My name’s already listed on your landline—speed-dial number three. If you need Maxi, she’s number one, of course.”

“Of course.” Six-inch red stilettos flashed in his mind. The high heels alone were sexy as hell. And the long and lean legs attached…?

Ryan shook his head. But he couldn’t dislodge the image of Maxi Shayne, tanned and toned, and the perfect walking advertisement for Staci Kay Shoes, strutting her stuff in the conference room, challenging him every step of the way.

That had really gotten the adrenaline pumping.