Outside, they paused in front of Crickitt’s car. Shane offered his hand and she took it, and like the night at the club, his palm tingled on contact. It’d been a long time since he’d enjoyed himself this much at a business dinner…or any dinner, for that matter. His work was enjoyable, but it’d never before been…well, tonight had been almost…fun. Though he was pretty sure that aspect of the evening had more to with the brunette whose hand was warming his.
Crickitt thanked him for dinner, pulling her fingers away a few seconds before he was ready to let go. “Company write-off.” He shrugged, plunging his hands into his jacket. “One of the perks of being president.”
“That and all the responsibility,” she said, a hint of heaviness in her voice.
He blew out a surprised laugh. He wasn’t used to anyone thinking he didn’t lead a completely charmed life. Then again, Crickitt understood the pressures of running an empire. She’d built one of her own.
“How soon do you need me to start?”
“Yesterday.”
A throaty chuckle poured from her lips. “How about tomorrow?” She let out a deliberate sigh. “I suppose you want me there at the ungodly hour of eight. And to think I used to start my workday at the crack of ten. And in my pajamas.”
Eight? Shane nearly grimaced. His workday began between six and seven in the morning, and by eight, he was either in a staff meeting or on his way to see a client. He opened his mouth to argue, but heard himself say, “Sorry. I’m a bit of a tyrant that way.”
Pulling her keys from a tiny square handbag, she turned to him one last time. “Thank you. For not letting me walk away from this opportunity. I appreciate it, Shane.”
“Thanks for reconsidering,” he said, meaning it.
She frowned, a little line denting the space between her eyebrows. “Do I call you Shane, or Mr. August?”
Everyone called him Mr. August. His receptionist, the janitorial staff, even his cousin Angel, who insisted on doing so to set a good example. Until now he’d agreed. So why, all of a sudden, was he having trouble justifying the formal moniker?
“Shane, please,” he said, rather than mull it over. It would raise a few eyebrows at work, but he’d deal with the repercussions later. It was more important Crickitt feel comfortable around him, trust him. They’d be working closely, and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel nervous or intimidated by him.
She’s your employee, came the terse reminder.
And that’s all she would be. That’s all she could be.
* * *
At home, Shane punched in the five-digit alarm code and locked his front door. An alarm system was superfluous in this neighborhood, but since it came with the house he made use of it. He’d purchased the place a year ago thanks to the former owner’s misfortune. Foreclosure.
The house, with its high rounded archways and wide-open rooms, was the result of a local home show. This one, the smallest model at three thousand square feet, was more than enough space for him. He’d had one of his clients, an interior designer, furnish the modern kitchen, sunken living room, and numerous other rooms. He hadn’t been much help, instructing her to “make it look less empty,” but she’d done what he’d asked, filling the space with neutral, comfortable furnishings that weren’t distracting.
He hung his jacket on the coatrack in the foyer, recalling the temptation to offer it to Crickitt when they stepped outside. Too bad she had worn that shawl. It was a crime to cover those shoulders.
Shane shook his head at his thoughts, which had been looping the same girl-crazy circles all evening. He liked women, especially beautiful women. And yeah, it’d been a while since he dated someone semiseriously, but Crickitt had burrowed under his skin deeper—and quicker—than most.
And as of eight a.m. tomorrow morning, she’d be his new PA.
He cuffed his sleeves and pushed them to his elbows, a wave of triumph washing over him. He didn’t take no for an answer, and not only did Crickitt say yes, around a bite of dessert that had clung to her lip for one tempting second, but she’d actually thanked him for his persistence. Then nearly buckled his knees when her tongue darted out to take the sugar from her bottom lip.
But, that wasn’t why he’d hired her.
He’d been interviewing for three weeks and no one came close to possessing a fraction of Crickitt’s skill set. It didn’t help that the position had become something of a novelty. Thanks to a poorly timed Forbes article, his human resources director spent most of last month weeding out interviewees who were only there to get a look at August Industries’ CEO.