Emily: Sex and Sensibility (The Wilde Sisters 1)
Page 49
Time to stop thinking.
She rapped her knuckles against the door, and then flung it open. Marco was standing at the huge wall of glass behind his desk, his back to her, hands tucked into his trouser pockets.
“You’re fired,” he growled.
“You can’t fire me before you hire me.”
“You?” he said, turning toward her. “I thought you were my temp.”
“She’s probably hiding in the supply closet.”
“One laugh after another,” he said coldly. “Well, what is it? Did you forget something?”
Emily touched the tip of her tongue to the center of her bottom lip. He wondered whether she knew she did that—and if she had any idea it drove him out of his mind.
“One hundred and fifty,” she said.
Marco raised one dark eyebrow.
“One hundred fifty thousand dollars a year. Holidays and sick leave of course. Health insurance. Six weeks’ paid vacation. A review at the end of six months. If you’re not satisfied with my work, I get three months’ severance pay. If you are satisfied, I get a title—Special Assistant, Vice President, something like that. And a twenty-five thousand-dollar raise.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you telling me you’ll take the job?”
“What does it sound like?”
“One hundred and fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money.”
It surely was, especially since she’d failed at every job she’d ever held, but why tell him that?
Emily gave what she hoped was a take-it-or-leave-it shrug.
“I’m worth every penny.”
They stared at each other. Finally, Marco held out his hand. She took it, gave it a brisk shake, but he didn’t let go. What now? Was she supposed to engage in a silly tug-of-war?
“Eight tomorrow morning. Charles and I will pick you up.”
She nodded. His gaze swept over her.
“Don’t bother
packing more than a handful of things. You’ll need to shop.”
She felt her face burn. “If what I wear doesn’t suit you—”
“Do you have cocktail gowns? Evening gowns? Whatever women call those things.”
Emily pictured Jessalyn the night before. The gorgeous dress. The little jacket. The shoes that cost at least two months’ rent.
“No,” she said coldly. “I don’t.”
His smile was as cool as his voice. “As I said, don’t bother packing too many things. A corporate credit card is a perk of the job, remember?”
“Fine. But you remember something, too.” Color swept into her face again but her eyes stayed steady on his. “This is business. There won’t be any—any personal nonsense.”
He wanted to laugh. Was that really what she thought had happened between them?
“It isn’t funny,” she snapped.