Making the Break (Beating the Biker 2)

For the first time in her life, she understood the songs of love and loss that musicians wrote and played.

The long breath she blew was part sigh, part release of the tension that coiled in her shoulders. Though her heart beat with a mournful thud she would get over this, over this man. There were tons of fish in the sea. All she had to do was find one that wasn’t a shark.

And sharks? Well, she had plenty of them circling—the president of her company, Drummond Walker, and her boss, Richard Hamilton, her prospective employ

er, James Pearson, and even Charles Grayson. All of them wanted something she wasn’t willing to give, but at this point her options were disappearing quickly.

She turned on her computer and went through her emails. One from James Pearson sat in the queue, marked with an exclamation point meaning “high importance.” Chrissy rolled her eyes. This man was as much a drama queen as her sister.

Ms. Serafini,

I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea at our last meeting.

Oh, no, thought Chrissy. I got exactly the right idea.

Finding a woman with your intelligence and skill set, as well as, if you allow me to add, your polished professional appearance, is quite rare. If you give me a chance, I hope to persuade you of that tomorrow night at dinner. Name the time and place, and I will be there.

Sincerely,

James Pearson

This man had it bad. What it was, Chrissy wasn’t sure.

Her phone rang, which was strange since it was only seven in the morning.

“Hello, Chrissy Serafini.”

“Chrissy!” effused Charles. “Aren’t you the go-getter. In the office at this time of the morning.”

“Good morning, Charles.”

“So, you’re going, right?”

“Going?” she said with all the innocence she could muster. There was only one reason he would call her. How did he know Pearson sent her an email?

“Have you read your email?” he asked with barely-concealed exasperation.

Chrissy checked and cursed under her breath. Pearson had cc’d Charles. Of course he would. It would be unethical otherwise, though she doubted Pearson cared much about ethics. “Yes, of course I have. And, no, I haven’t decided.”

“Chrissy,” said Charles in warning. It was the first unpleasant tone she’d ever heard from him. “I’m afraid that if you continue to be difficult about this, I can’t keep you as a client. Nor can I recommend you as a client to any others in my industry.”

Whoa. Now Charles was playing hardball. Or more like he slammed her against the wall instead of the ball. Threatening to blackball her? That was rough.

Unprofessional.

Cut-throat.

And so totally like her own family that she understood exactly where she stood. And what to do.

“You’re right,” said Chrissy, with ice in her voice. “I don’t deserve you as my representative.” They were conciliatory words but spoken in a tone meant to send a chill down the spine. Chrissy could play hardball, too. If Charles lost this lucrative deal it would look bad for him with his firm, something no head hunter could afford.

“Now wait,” said Charles in a gentler voice. “Let’s not be hasty.”

“I’m not, Charles,” said Chrissy. “What do you think it means to me to take off on a job around the world when my father is about to get open-heart surgery?”

“I’m sorry, Chrissy. I didn’t know. Of course, we’ll make sure you get time off for family emergencies. It’ll be in the contract.”

Having played this card, and Charles walking back his attitude, left Chrissy with little ammunition. Then she thought of one more card to play. “I’ll need my own assistant.”