“Sit.” Almost as if he could hear the voice inside me, the words rumble out of his broad chest, rich and smoky like a volcano about to erupt. Without being aware of it, I close the door. Despite the light pressure I apply, the click of the door shutting is loud in the room. Slowly, on rubbery legs, I make my way to the chair in front of his desk, drawn to him. When I do, a sound almost like a sigh comes out of him. Surprise has me lifting my eyes to look at him.
&nbs
p; His beautiful face is blank, hard, carved as if it’s a part of that mountain volcano. I’ve seen pictures of him before, only none of them compare to the real thing. This is nuts; what the hell is the matter with me? Stop looking at him, stop, only I can’t. Those black eyes of his have changed: instead of the glinting obsidian they are the flat matte of coal. It happens again, one look and they swallow me whole until I’m lost in them, every cell in my body suspended for him, his will, his bidding. Heat flares in his eyes, burning me from the inside out. My palms are sweating and my legs lose the fight to stay standing, sending me into the chair behind me with a plop.
His phone rings, yanking me out of the fog still surrounding me. Again, what the hell is going on with me? It’s like I opened the door to the Twilight Zone. I don’t have crazy insane reactions to men. I’ve encountered hot men before without ever having my brain short-circuit. Why do I recall Patricia’s words of wanting to climb him like a mountain and not only understand them, but want to as well? Everything about him screams untouchable; is that why I want to break the rules and touch him? To lick the small dimple in his chin, caress those beautifully molded full lips? I double blink. Seriously, Olivia, you so do not have the time to lose your shit over a manwhore, playboy billionaire who might be your boss.
The other voice is laughing, as if he would be interested in my fat ass. He presses a button and the ringing stops. Desperate to take back control of my chaotic thoughts and stupid body, I blurt it out. “Mr. Vega, I’m not sure I want this position.”
He’s wearing a beautifully cut to fit silk suit in charcoal with a silver and black striped tie and white shirt. It does nothing to hide the lean power of his muscled body, only makes me wonder what is beneath the suit. His cuff links are silver and onyx, so sleek they might be missed if someone weren’t looking for them. I’m actually wondering if the silver could be white gold; it wouldn’t surprise me, they are so shiny. It’s almost the end of the day, yet he is as polished and pressed as if it were eight in the morning. I’m not sure why I resent him for it, but I do.
There’s no change in his beautiful face, no creasing of his heavy brow with wrinkles indicating the years passing. His hawkish nose is still level, no tilting of his head. As beautiful as he is, his face isn’t perfectly symmetrical. His jaw and chin are too forceful, his cheekbones so sharp I would fear cutting my hands on them. Why, oh why do I long to touch him? To find out if the little dimple in his chin is as soft as it looks. My lips tingle to know what his lips, would feel like against mine. He leans back in his chair as his eyes run over me, the same way mine have been running over him. I swear it feels like he’s actually touching me, and I fight not to shiver. Maybe I’m getting sick, please let me be sick. Yes, I’m sure it’s a fever because I feel so damn hot.
“Explain yourself.” His words are smoky and hot, the volcano letting out steam.
My back stiffens at his demand, asshole. “I’m not sure I want to work for you. I find you spitting out a time for the interview, without consideration for having me stuck in traffic for fifty-five minutes at rush hour, extremely rude. There was also my current employer I still needed to check with before confirming, you gave me no chance to do so. If this is what I have to look forward to in the future, then I pass. I’m lucky enough where I can pick and choose my assignments, and I choose not to be ordered around without thought to what I want and made to deal with inconveniences to make your life easier.”
His eyebrows lift as he studies me for so long I swear he’s squeezing all the air out of my damn lungs. I refuse to take my eyes off the knot of his tie. With a sigh, he leans forward, then turns around the desk planner to face me before sliding it across his desk. “Where exactly in my day would you have liked to be squeezed in? Bearing in mind the schedule was set more than a week ago.” I see every single hour is filled with something, sometimes even two or three somethings. “When the company called for references last night they were informed by your employer that Janice would do whatever she could, up to and including hiring a sitter for your charge, to ensure you could make whatever time the interview was set for. She assured them she wanted you to have a good shot at getting the job. As they leave by the end of the week.”
Oh. I’m fighting not to blush, I lose the fight. “I apologize. I wasn’t aware of any of that.” Take a deep breath, idiot, do not pass out in front of him. “However, I’m holding firm to not wanting to work for someone who bosses me around without consideration for my own thoughts and needs,” I say to his tie.
“Ms. Casey, I believe I am a fair employer. However, I’m not going to promise you there will never be a time when I give a direction you won’t like. In this case, it isn’t quite as likely as while I’m cutting the checks, you will be working for my mother. She is far more inclined to bend over backwards to please you, as you apparently so need to be.”
Excuse you? Jerk. “I don’t believe having consideration for a person’s needs is too much to ask. Do you?”
His head tilting, his eyes roam over my face. Now I’m fighting a shiver. Is it normal to feel like you’re being touched when someone looks at you? “I do not.”
I’m shocked at his answer, and it takes a minute to get my bearings. “I also haven’t had a chance to meet the person I’ll be living with and taking care of. Until that happens, this meeting is a waste of time. If Cheryl and I don’t click, I won’t take the job. There’s no way to force a connection. She has to be completely comfortable and trust me to let me be such a large part of her life, without that, it won’t work.”
“This meeting isn’t a waste of time, as no one gets near my mother without me first making sure you could be the right person. If I don’t think you are, I wouldn’t care if my mother refused anyone but you, you still wouldn’t get within a hundred feet of her.”
The words fly out of my mouth. “If you say so.”
An eyebrow goes up. “What did you say, Ms. Casey?”
Crap, the volcano is rumbling. He’s daring me to actually respond to the question. Just nod, stop talking, the sane voice hisses at me. Crazy voice laughs. “If that’s what you want to believe. I know a man who cares as much about his mother as you seem to would never deny her what she wanted, not a pretty purse, or having the person she wanted around. It’s the reason why you want to meet me first: to keep me away from her if I don’t meet your qualifications. So fine, ask away.”
His beautiful lips thin. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it isn’t often someone dares to disagree with him. “Why are you an LPN when with your intelligence, you should be an RN by now?”
“Money, or the lack thereof.” My response is a decibel below flippant. Am I trying to piss him off so I won’t get the job? I’m not sure. At least right now the crazy desire to lick his chin is only at a low boil.
“You had money. How did you manage to fritter away the almost forty-eight thousand dollars that was your cut of your mother’s estate? And also end up in debt in only four short years.”
This is a question I’ve been asked by multiple employers. It doesn’t make it any easier to answer. “I was dumb enough to get married, then even dumber when I opened a joint checking account, thinking what’s mine is his and so on. I was focused on work, school and taking care of my little sister. By the time I got curious enough to look, the money was gone and the account was in the red. I demanded a divorce, and once he was out of the house I finally got the mail and found the credit cards he’d opened in both our names. It took three years, but I cleaned up my side of a mess I didn’t make.”
For the first time, emotion flits across his face: it’s surprise. He turns a page, then another in the open file on his desk. I’m guessing it’s mine. “I guess they left some things out. Or maybe they aren’t as good as you think they are.”
His eyes meet mine, and another frisson of electricity, this one stronger, sharper, goes up my spine. I fight not to shiver. I lose. The heat is growing again along with the urge to lick his chin. He nods. “I did won
der, you had access to your little sister’s money as well as your brother’s, yet they went untouched.”
“Not for my ex’s lack of trying. When he tried to get at my little sister’s money, I knew there were things about our financial situation I needed to know. I was trying to hang on until she was out of the house, away for college. She liked him, we were a family unit created almost immediately after my mother’s death. She would have been upset to lose it after losing so much already.”
“You were only eighteen when you married him.” The statement is full of censure. What an asshole—how dare he judge the decision of an eighteen-year-old as being a bad idea. Ninety percent of life decisions made on the fly at eighteen are bad.
“And less than three months after burying my mother. He caught me at a vulnerable moment. Yes, I got what I deserved. I wanted him to make everything better because it was too hard to do on my own. I paid for it with money...” I look away, not able to meet his eyes. Not wanting to see the satisfaction at my getting my just desserts. “And other things.”
The quiet in the room fills it to bursting until he sighs, the sound filled with regret. “I want to apologize. I have no right to judge you. At eighteen you’re supposed to be making mistakes, learning your way in the world. To be doing it while dealing with the death of your mother, you didn’t get what you deserved. The failures of others are not the failure of you.” Closing the file in front of him, he runs a hand through his thick, glossy black hair. It’s annoying how the silver barely discernable at his temples sells the distinguished gentleman look. “You’ve been more than open with me. Are there any questions you have?”