Boss of Me

“Patton Fletcher, meet our new hire, Raquel Morgan. She’s taking over the international accounts for Taron.”

My heart stutters in my chest, and all I can think is Wow.

“For Taron?” The muscle in his square jaw moves, and he looks to the right, toward Taron’s office, as if he can see through the wall. For a moment, I wonder if he can… being the devil and all.

“So yes, Raquel Morgan…” Sandra repeats herself, leaving the introduction open as she gestures toward me. “Patton Fletcher.”

“Right. Welcome.” He seems angry.

I can’t seem to find my voice. I’ve never been in the presence of someone so young yet so formidable in my life.

His dark hair is swept back from his face in glossy waves that just touch the back of his collar, and his shoulders are broad. His biceps strain against the sleeves of the blue blazer he’s wearing, and when he extends a perfectly elegant hand to shake mine—long fingers, neat nails—the black tips of a tattoo peek out from beneath his white cuff. Jesus, take the wheel.

Our fingers touch, and heat floods my veins. “Thank you.” My voice is practiced calm, but I feel weak. Why didn’t anyone tell me how insanely hot this devil is?

“Then the Madagascar file will go to her.” He holds a manila envelope toward Sandra, which she passes to me.

“She’s your girl.” His eyes narrow, but Sandra continues. “Raquel speaks five languages—”

“Reads,” I quickly interrupt. “Sorry… I’m only a fluent speaker in one. Besides English, of course, but I can read the others fluently. For some reason, reading is easier than speaking.”

Am I rambling?

Stop speaking, Rocky.

“I hope it’s whatever they speak in Madagascar.” Patton’s tone is dismissive, and he pivots as if to go.

“French.” My voice is a bit louder. “They speak French in Madagascar, and you’re in luck.”

He turns back, and I smile, doing my best to redeem my wobbly first impression. I’m a professional woman, not some swooning school girl.

His dark gaze sweeps up and down my body quickly, and my knees tingle. “Are you going to a funeral?”

The sarcasm in his tone irritates me. I hold my smile steady, and I remember what Renée told me, my mantra. “I’m working at one of the top firms in Nashville. From what I hear, it’s a very professional place.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and I’m not sure if he’s going to smile or frown. I’m briefly distracted by the fullness of his lips, but I kick that thought out of my brain. Patton Fletcher is testing me, just like my sister said he would. It’s a fight or flight situation, and I’m not about to run.

“Try some color next time. We want our clients to feel positive about working with us, not depressed.”

Rude! He starts to go, but I can’t resist. “I think choosing my wardrobe is a job I can handle.” I’m teasing, but only a little bit.

“I guess we’ll find out.” He glances over his shoulder, and I’m not sure—is he teasing, too?

“I have been dressing myself for a long time.” My tone is thoughtful.

I could say as a self-respecting devil, he should be the one wearing all black…

But I don’t.

“Have you been doing this job longer than me?”

I don’t want to answer that.

“Right.” He turns to Sandra. “Tell Taron to come to my office as soon as he arrives. We have a video conference with Hastings and Key at ten.” I think that’s it, and I realize I’m holding my breath. It catches again when he points at me. “Skype meeting with Madagascar tomorrow. Sandra will put everything you need on the G-drive. I expect you to be ready.”

“I will be.”

He’s gone, and I glance at the thin envelope in my hands. Shit. What do I need to know by tomorrow?