Making Her His (Beating the Biker 1)

Chrissy settled in her chair and regarded James Pearson. He was in his forties, salt and pepper hair, and wore a dark Italian suit with a crisp white shirt and red paisley tie. Chrissy could swear his crystal-blue eyes twinkled when he looked at her.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“No, thanks. Not during working hours.”

“Sane and sober, eh?”

“You tell me,” she said with a lift of an eyebrow.

“Confident, too. Good.”

The waiter came by, and Pearson placed an order for a bottle of wine with two glasses. Clearly, this was a man who took command of a situation.

“Are you ready to order, sir?”

“Yes, I think so. We’ll both have the lobster salad for starters and the burnt Rib-eye.”

“Very good, sir.”

Chrissy studied him. He hadn’t bothered to ask if she was a vegetarian or anything. Even though the lunch he’d selected sounded amazing, she still wasn’t impressed.

“Is that okay?” he asked when he caught her staring at him.

“You’re used to ordering for women.”

“It avoids the awkward, ‘what are you having’ conversation. But you didn’t answer my question.”

She took the napkin from the table and put it on her lap. How did she handle this without looking like she couldn’t handle the situation? She smiled tightly and shrugged. “I can’t argue with steak.”

He nodded. “And it’s very good here.”

“Yes,” she said, feeling a frost steal over her. It didn’t make any difference that he was as handsome as a god, or obviously rich. That damned imperious attitude of his was a turn-off. She didn’t think that she could work for a man like that.

“Did Charles tell you about the job?”

“No,” she said.

“I’m looking for an executive secretary. My companies take me all over the world and I need someone to travel with me to my various holdings and help keep my day straight.”

Crap! This is what Charles set her up for? An administrative assistant job? “I’m afraid there’s a mistake. I’m a social media director.”

“I know what job you have now, and I know what you earn. I checked you out very thoroughly before I took this lunch. In fact, you’re one of three people I picked to interview. The facts are simple. You’re attractive, professional, you work hard, and from what I’ve been able to tell you’re discreet. You have no romantic entanglements, and you live nearly alone. You have an extensive family network, but you’ve deliberately chosen a career path when the women in your family typically don’t work.”

“You know who my family is, then?” She actually took some satisfaction and saying that.

He nodded. “That’s not an impediment for me. What I’m offering is not just a job, Ms. Serafina. It’s an opportunity not just to travel the world, but to meet some of the most powerful people on the planet. The connections you make working for me will allow you to write your own ticket.”

“You sound like you don’t expect me to stay.”

“I don’t. I don’t keep anyone past age thirty. My last assistant is now vice-president of a German bank. The one before that is the sales director of a multi-national food conglomerate. They all become millionaires or multimillionaires in their own right by the age of thirty-five.”

The waiter brought their salads and set them on the table.

“That sounds nice,” she said unenthusiastically.

“You're not impressed?”

“With all due respect, Mr. Pearson, my family might not have the money you obviously do, but I’ve been raised a rich man’s daughter. Money doesn’t impress or motivate me. Having an impact on my world, the things I do, that’s what gets me out of bed in the morning. I wouldn’t be talking to you now if I felt my potential was being utilized. And, again, with all due respect, keeping your schedule straight and booking your hotel rooms isn’t going to do it for me.”