His By Christmas. Teresa Southwick
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couldn’t believe he’d just thought that. He was uncomfortable and it had nothing to do with his broken leg. Working with Justine was disconcerting. She was smart, efficient and seemed to know what he needed before he did. It had gone really well if you didn’t count the part where he wanted to turn the lie about his active sex life into the truth. With her.
Redheads weren’t even his type, but that didn’t seem to make a difference. Maybe it was her eyes—brown with flecks of gold and green. They were different. Exotic. Mesmerizing and calm at the same time.
Beside him on the coffee table, papers were scattered around along with file folders and his cell phone. A half-empty coffee mug was right in the middle of the chaos, like a circus ringmaster. Her desk, on the other hand, was tidy to the point of making his teeth hurt. And it was time to get his head back in the game. There was a lot to accomplish, and one of her responsibilities was to clean up after him. Normally he wasn’t quite this disorganized, but his mobility was limited with the cast on his leg. Work was why she was here in the first place.
“I’ll talk to public relations about the protests and strategies to win over the people,” he said. “Right now, I need you to pull together some alternative energy research. Statistics on the output of wind turbines at different heights. And reports on solar. There’s a parcel of land I’m looking at in Nevada, and that’s the place to go for sun.”
Instead of going along with the directive, his assistant closed her laptop and calmly met his gaze. “I’m happy to take care of that for you in the morning.”
Did he hear her right? Maybe the hard landing from his skydiving misadventure had broken more than his leg. “I’d like you to start compiling it now.”
“If I hadn’t already put in a full day—”
“We stopped for lunch.”
“Yes, and it was incredibly delicious.” Her look was sympathetic. “But I’m officially off the clock now.”
Cal needed to get up and move. The urge to prowl was strong in him, but the plaster on his leg made it problematic, along with reducing the power of the pace as a means to show he was the boss and in charge. That was pompous, but having only one good leg threw him off his game.
He grabbed the crutches and hauled himself to a standing position, then hobbled over to the desk and rested his hip on the corner, letting it take his weight. This wasn’t as effective as looming, but he could still stare her down.
“The fact is,” he said evenly, “I’m always on the clock. There are pros and cons to being the president of a successful company and that’s one of the downsides.”
“So, you’re saying that by extension your assistant needs to always be available?”
“Exactly. I knew you were smart.” And not just another pretty face. But he kept that part to himself.
“Let me ask you this.” She folded her hands and rested them on the unnaturally tidy desktop as she met his gaze. “Is it a matter of life and death for you to have that information this evening?”
“Hart Energy didn’t get to be number one by not being prepared.”
“That’s not what I asked. It was a yes-or-no question.”
Cal was hoping she hadn’t noticed his evasive answer. Buying time, he studied her and couldn’t detect a single sign that she was unnerved. Not a flicker of an eyelash, twitch of her mouth or jump in her pulse. This reaction was as unusual as the shade of her eyes shifting from brown, to gold, to green.
It was a yes-or-no question, but that was irrelevant since he ran the show. “It should be enough that I want what I want when I want it.”
“First of all, that statement comes very close to temper tantrum territory.” The corners of her mouth curved up.
The movement distracted him, drawing his attention to the delicate sensuality of her lips. It was several moments before he realized that she’d called him on his crap.
With an effort he pulled his thoughts together and kept his voice even when he asked, “And second of all?”
“Hmm?” She blinked.
Maybe he wasn’t the only one distracted. “You said ‘first of all.’ That implies there’s a second thing that you wanted to say.”
“Right.” She nodded. “If the reason you’re asking me to work late comes under the heading of life and death, I’m happy to be flexible and accommodate the situation. Otherwise it’s overtime and not part of my contract for this assignment.”
“You have a special contract?”
“Yes. One that has very specific limitations on overtime. It was Shanna’s suggestion after she advised me not to take the job. I could show you the agreement if you’d like.”
Another yes-or-no thing that he was going to sidestep. “So, it’s not enough that there’s more work to do?”
“There always is,” she said serenely.
“I guess it’s pointless to say that since you work for me you’re finished when I am?”
“You’re certainly free to continue working, but I’m off the clock. In the morning I will be at my desk and ready to give my all for Hart Energy. But to be at my best, I need to recharge my batteries.”
Cal had a feeling she was laughing at him, and that tweaked him back into temper tantrum territory. Or maybe it was her calm, unruffled demeanor that made him want to ruffle her. Either way, something had him determined to get in the last word and maintain control.
“I would appreciate it if you would stay and complete the tasks that I’ve requested.”
She stood and met his gaze, drawing in a deep breath and holding it for several moments. “I’m happy to work on it bright and early tomorrow morning. If that’s not acceptable to you, feel free to fire me.”
This was not a good time to find out the problem with temper tantrum territory was that it bordered on cutting-off-your-nose-to-spite-your-face land.
“Don’t think I—”
She held up her hand. “Before finishing that sentence, you should know that no one else who is qualified for the position as your assistant is willing to come here and work one-on-one with you.”
He would deny it if anyone claimed her words stunned him, but that was the truth. Did he really have a reputation for being a difficult boss? A workaholic? Apparently his family thought so or he wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. Were they right?
Before he could come up with a response to the line she’d drawn in the sand, she said good-night and coolly turned away from him, heading for her suite. Staring at her trim back and shapely butt, he was again speechless, but for a different reason. It could have something to do with nearly swallowing his tongue. The woman had a body that would make a man follow her anywhere. Any man but him.
He couldn’t decide whether to be angry at her audacity in challenging him, or in awe of her nerve and composure while doing it. She’d surprised him again and not in a good way. And another thing. Why had he pushed back so hard for her to stay tonight? She was right about the fact that the work could wait until tomorrow.
He refused to believe that it had anything to do with keeping her there so he wouldn’t be alone. Lonely. He was either tired or just being stupid and didn’t know which. Or maybe it was both. That wasn’t a riddle that had to be solved right now and he resolved to focus on what he could handle.
He absolutely could get someone to replace her.
* * *
The next morning, Justine got ready for work. Cal hadn’t fired her, although that was a technicality since she walked away before he could say much of anything. It was certainly possible that he’d fumed all night and was going to can her this morning—face-to-face. But she