In Bed with the Boss's Daughter
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For the same reason, he now found himself saddled with the last person he wanted alongside him as the most important project of his career reached its culmination.
He had to accept it, but he didn’t have to like it.
His right hand fashioned a fist, but he didn’t punch the door that had closed in K.G.’s wake. He squeezed tight around his frustration, containing it within that fisted hand. Then he turned to face her.
“You asked him to give you this job, didn’t you?”
She gave a perplexed little shrug. “How could I ask for a job I didn’t know existed?”
“Come off it, Paris! You asked your father for a job in my office because of the other night, and K.G. didn’t even stop to consider whether you’re suitable or not.”
“What makes you so sure I’m unsuitable?” she asked, and there was something about the way she looked at him, all high and mighty, that really riled Jack. That and the way she totally ignored his mention of the other night. “If you like, I can supply you with a list of my credentials.”
“One, your surname’s Grantham. Two, you have contacts in some dubious sections of the media. Not much of a list.”
Her eyes flared with the impact of his direct hit, but she simply lifted her chin higher and spoke with cool, crisp diction. “Why don’t you tell me what this job entails, and I will tell you if I can do it?”
“The question isn’t whether you can do the work but if you can work with my staff. Frankly, I don’t think you have what it takes to be a team player.”
“What does it take?” she asked with infuriating calm.
“Everyone pulls their weight. There are no servants to run errands for you. You want something done, you do it yourself. We don’t work nine-to-five, we work whatever it takes to get the job done, and I mean done. No half measures.”
“I don’t have any problem with that.” She smiled.
Jack snorted. “You have no idea. You won’t last a week.”
“Why, Jack,” she drawled, “that sounds like a challenge.”
“No. It’s the simple truth.”
She raised one brow. “Based on which facts?”
“The fact that you’re twenty-four years old and still living out of your father’s pocket.”
That stung. He could see it in her eyes, in the infinitesimal lift of her chin and the sudden tightness of her smile. “In my bag is the key to the apartment I’m moving into this afternoon. I won’t be living in anyone’s pocket, especially once I receive my first paycheck. When will that be, Jack?”
He recited the payroll procedures, because that gave him something to concentrate on other than his steadily growing irritation and the haunting trace of hurt in her eyes.
When he’d finished, she asked, “Are there any other procedures I should know about?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and folded her arms across her chest. Both actions drew his attention to the sunshine-bright, curve-hugging dress…and the body inside it.
“There’s a dress code,” he decided.
“I don’t usually get complaints about my fashion sense.”
“We’re not talking fashion. We’re talking suitability in the workplace.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You want me dressed in one of those drab gray suits like Evelyn wears?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“With my coloring? You must be joking!” She punctuated the remark with a dismissive little laugh, and Jack’s irritation indicator shot off the clock.
“Is that the attitude you’re bringing to this job?” he growled before he could stop himself.
“Hey, I was joking. Haven’t you any sense of humor?”
“Not where this job is concerned,” he snapped.
She took a step closer and touched him on the arm. “Lighten up, Jack. All that hostility can’t be healthy.”
He pulled away with what he hoped passed for indifference, though there wasn’t an indifferent cell in his body. He hated how readily he responded to that one fleeting touch of her fingers, that elusive scent, the mocking smile. Her mere presence. His head steamed at her words, while his body…his body ached to eat them right off her tongue.
“This isn’t hostility. This is right royal pi—” He stopped himself. Reminded himself about not letting her get under his skin and into his head. He lifted a hand and rubbed at the tension that ached in the back of his neck. “Look, I’m under a ton of pressure at the moment. I don’t have time—”
“For baby-sitting,” she cut in softly, and there it was again. That surprising touch of vulnerability in her eyes.
Jack forced himself to ignore it. “Damn right!” he growled.
She took one small step away, and she looked for all the world as if she’d stepped back behind that regal facade. The transformation was that quick. “Believe me, I’ve got the picture,” she purred, all cool disdain. “Why don’t you show me to the cr`eche and I’ll see if there’s anything there to keep me amused?”
Three
Paris had to wait until Monday before being introduced to her “cr`eche.” For the rest of the weekend her mood alternated between near-paralyzing attacks of insecurity—What was I thinking? I have no idea how to handle a major PR assignment!—and restorative bouts of anger brought on by replaying any snippet from Saturday’s confrontation. Terms like baby-sit and dubious media contacts still caused her eyes to cross and her blood to bubble, as did the curtness with which he dismissed her.
“I have more important places to be. I’ll see you in my office Monday morning. Eight sharp,” he’d said.
And here she was in the reception area outside his office, forty minutes after “eight sharp.” She didn’t, not for one of the fifty minutes she’d been sitting here, expect he’d forgotten her. Oh no, this was a deliberate snub…or a test. He probably hoped she would tire of waiting and leave, or behave like the spoiled princess he thought her and throw a tantrum.
She would do neither. She would calmly pick up the annual report from the coffee table, and she would use however long he made her wait to bone up on the company’s latest achievements. And every time the report trembled in her hands because of the giant butterflies doing loop-the-loops in her stomach, every time she felt this overwhelming need to bolt for the door, she would close her eyes and imagine the satisfaction on Jack Manning’s face when he found her gone.