Play with Me

Once inside the building, I walk through rows of clanging slot machines to yet another elevator. Twenty-five floors later, I exit to a lobby that screams of money and luxury, from the fine hardwoods beneath my feet to the gorgeous mahogany desk.

The pretty blond receptionist, who I guess to be twenty-three, or maybe twenty-four like me, stands up. She is strikingly similar to an older version of someone I’d rather forget, and I am angry with myself for how easily the confidence I’ve fought to recover slips away. Suddenly I am not blond enough, not tiny or pretty enough.

“Kali?” she asks hopefully.

“Yes, I’m Kali.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, pressing her hand to her chest, and her genuine friendliness begins to ease my tension. She waves me toward a hallway and I follow as she adds, “I’m Dana, and I’m so glad it’s you working for Mr. Ward instead of me. You just shout if you need anything, and I’ll help you.”

“Oh. Thanks. Why didn’t you want to work for him?”

She snorts. “Too good-looking and intense for me.” I barely have time to process that answer when we enter a second lobby, with leather chairs, fancy art on the walls, and a secretarial desk that looks as if six or seven files exploded on top of it.

“Good grief,” I whisper, but before I can ask what happened, Dana motions to the door directly behind the mess. “That’s his office,” she whispers, as if it’s a secret, then rushes forward and grabs the phone in the midst of the piles of papers. “Mr. Ward,” she says into the receiver, “your new secretary has arrived.” A brief pause, then, “I’ll send her right in.”

Dana hangs up and turns to me. “Good luck.”

“I’m supposed to just walk in?”

“Yes.”

“Knock first?”

She gives an uncertain shrug. “Whatever feels right.” She waggles her fingers at me and hightails it in the other direction.

I sigh and walk behind the desk, intending to take the liberty of placing my purse in the drawer of what I assume will be my work space, but I gape at how much worse the mess is from this angle. The papers that have erupted on the desk are scribbled on with a black marker, as if someone was being malicious. And childish.

I study them, and it appears many are financial reports. Reaching for one, I freeze when the door behind me creaks, followed by, “Ms. Miller?”

The deep, richly masculine voice has me whirling around and then freezing: My new boss is an early-thirties, clean-shaven version of Robert Downey, Jr., in a gray pin-striped suit perfect for the role of Tony Stark. And while I’d have sworn the past few years had left me immune to men like this one, the low thrum of awareness pulsing through my body says otherwise quite loudly.

“Ms. Miller?” he repeats, arching a brow at my silence, and I am appalled to realize I am gaping. At my new boss. Who clearly knows it. Brilliant. He now has an upper hand I shouldn’t have allowed. It’s not as if I’m an amateur with corporate wolves. I know how easily they will gobble you up if you let them. And that isn’t going to happen this time.

Straightening my spine, I attempt to reclaim the power I’ve given him and persuade us both that my gaping was in our imaginations. “I’m Ms. Miller, Mr. Ward,” I confirm. “I know you have a flight to catch. What can I do to help?”

The amusement in his unique pale-green eyes says he’s fully aware of the gift I gave him and he’s keeping it. “I need you in my office. We have to cover a few things before I leave.”

“Yes, of course,” I agree quickly, and, expecting him to turn and lead the way, I take a step closer. He doesn’t move. We end up almost toe-to-toe, with me staring at his chest. It’s safer than his eyes, which will see too much. It’s a nice chest. Broad and hard enough to flex beneath his shirt and suit jacket as he reaches for the ringing cell phone in his pocket.

I take a step backward. He turns and faces the other direction and answers the call: “Right. Yes. I’ll be on my way.” Short and sweet, and he ends the connection before facing me again. “Change of plans. You’re riding with me to the airport.” He doesn’t wait for my agreement, but, then, he didn’t really ask a question. He gives me his back and disappears into his office.

I blink after him, trying to process what has happened. Ride with him to the airport? I swallow the cotton forming in my throat. This is going to be him and me in a small space, playing with who gets what power, before I’ve even sat down at my desk.

“Ready?” he asks, reappearing with a briefcase on his shoulder and stopping only a few steps from me.

“Yes,” I say. “I’m ready.”

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and suddenly we are standing here as if he doesn’t have a flight to catch, staring at each other, and I am drowning in the depths of his light-green eyes. He’s sizing me up in some way, and it’s unnerving. He’s unnerving. Seconds tick by, until his lips hint at a curve of a smile, as if he has seen something in me I did not intentionally mean to show him, and he says, “I guess we’ll find out just how ready you are, now, won’t we?”

I see the challenge in his eyes, read the undertone of his words, and this pleases me. There is a reason he didn’t pull Dana from the front desk despite her reservations. He doesn’t want the timidity of insecurity. And while I might have lost myself for a while, I am back, and Bambi I am not.

“Yes,” I say, lifting my chin. “We will.”

Part Two

I’ve got your number…

Approval flashes in those gorgeous eyes of my new boss, and he says, “I’m looking forward to it, Ms. Miller,” then motions me ahead of him. “Ladies first.”