The Executive Page 2

  The girl opened the door for me before quickly scurrying away like a frightened mouse.

  I took a steadying breath before stepping through the door.

  Lincoln

  A soft floral scent filled my senses before a light lilt invaded my ears.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Devereux.”

  Something about the way she said my name enticed me. All of it was familiar, but new. I turned toward the stranger in my office and understood. The beauty I’d had in my arms not twenty minutes prior stood in front of me looking like sin delivered on a silver platter for me to devour.

  Fuck. My jaw ticked in agitation. I was looking forward to spending the evening between her thighs, not offering her a job. It’d been weeks since I’d gotten off, and I was as turned on by her now as I was in the lobby.

  “Miss Preston, I take it?”

  “Prescot, actually, sir,” she corrected me.

  I sat back at my desk without even a handshake. She had the most delicious curves. Touching her would result in so much more than the simple greeting warranted. “I can say it’s a surprise to see you before me right now. It’s a far cry from what I envisioned when I slipped you my card.”

  Her cheeks began to pink, eyes staring. There it was, the attraction I’d sensed.

  “I hope what happened in the lobby doesn’t have any ill effect on my interview.”

  “Of course not,” I said as I gestured for her to sit.

  I had no idea who she was past her name and resume, but after our encounter in the lobby, my dick was very interested in getting to know her.

  Ivy Prescot was my newest interviewee and the most potential trouble to me.

  I stared as she sat. Her blue eyes were wide, surrounded by a modest amount of makeup. Her face was framed by silky brown waves that extended past her shoulders. My fingers itched to feel the strands between them. The vision of me pounding into her from behind while I knotted my hand into her hair and pulled was intoxicating.

  Fuck her, and not in the sexual sense.

  I was hard watching her squirm under my scrutiny. The way her eyes turned from my gaze, her cheeks pinked as she nibbled her plump bottom lip told me I had as much of an effect on her.

  I began to wonder if I could tell her she wouldn’t be a good fit in this position, but I could make it fit in another. Would she slap me? Would she be able to grasp my double entendre? Or would that pink deepen and spread. Those beautiful blues darken, silently begging me?

  “You’ve made it pretty far, and by HR’s standards, you would have been hired. However, there’s been a rotating door in the position as of late, and I’m tired of trying to break in new assistants who can’t handle the pressure and are gone in a few weeks.”

  “Understandable. A man in your position holds a lot of weight on your shoulders. A good assistant is needed to help you balance that weight.”

  It was just the cut-to-the-chase start of the interview, but her response to a non-question was impressive.

  “I’m not easy to work for. My demands are high, as are my expectations. This company didn’t grow so much these last few years because I was sitting on my ass. Therefore, I don’t need someone to just get me coffee and take my calls. I need a right-hand man, or woman in this case.”

  Silence stretched between us. It was obvious in her expression, the way she stared at me, how she was almost bursting to say something, and it was probably not on topic. Apparently the shock had worn off.

  I sighed and sat back, wanting to get whatever was on her mind out so that we could move on. “Speak.”

  She blinked at me. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s obvious you are dying to say something. Say it.”

  Her face lit up. “Mr. Devereux, what you did, by giving all that money to—”

  I held up my hand and cut her off. “Never mind. Shut up,” I said as the vein on my temple began to throb. “I don’t need you waxing poetic on my accomplishments. I did them, ergo I know.”

  “Yes, sir, you are absolutely correct.”

  I quirked a brow at her. It wasn’t the response I was expecting nor what I was used to. “This is your resume?” I asked, shaking the page in front of her.

  Her brow furrowed. “Y-yes?”

  “It either is or it isn’t,” I said through clenched teeth. Her indecision could be an annoying trait, much like her fuckability.

  “Seeing as it is a random sheet of paper you picked up from your desk, I can only assume it is my resume,” she replied with more snark than I expected. “Sir.”

  “Hmph.” That caught me off guard. I’d forgotten fuckwit number eight placed it on my desk before Miss Prescot arrived.

  Truth was, I hadn’t read it since I selected her from the stack of resumes. HR set everything up, including conducting initial interviews and tests. For years I had a great assistant, Amanda, but I lost her to a baby a year ago. Since then HR had sent over a string of idiots, and I demanded final say.

  Miss Prescot intrigued me already, and for more than a one-night stand.

  Scanning the page, which included notes from HR, I was reminded why she’d made it in front of me—college graduate in business, scored the highest I’d seen in the company aptitude tests, and she had five years working for that shithead, Dante Kilgore. He was known to be slimy, fucking any employee who would let him.

  He was also my best friend long ago, before we became rivals. I took no prisoners, and friends, ex or not, were no exception. Especially Dante.

  Setting the page down, I looked back to Miss Prescot. “Why the desire to leave Kilgore Industries for one of their competitors?”

  “I feel as if I’ve learned all that I can from Dante, and I want more,” she said without missing a beat.

  “More what? Do you want to be more than an assistant?”

  “I want to be more of an aide-de-camp and not a transcribing coffee getter. I want to work with someone who sees my value and respects my insights.”

  “That takes time.” I was more impressed by her use of aide-de-camp than anything else.

  “If in five years the transition still hasn’t happened, it’s not going to. Therefore, I need to leave. I want to help DCS become the absolute leader of this industry.”

  “It will take time. At least six months, and you will be getting me coffee.”

  “I understand. I’ll be starting over. There’s always a learning curve, even in the same industry.”

  I carefully studied her reactions and response to my questions. The thought that she could be here as a spy had crossed my mind, but I sensed an edge of disdain in many of her responses.

  “I’m going to be blunt—have you ever fucked Dante?”

  Her eyes popped wide, her mouth falling open. “Does everyone know about him?”

  It wasn’t the response I was hoping for and anger began to seep in. I certainly didn’t want Dante’s sloppy seconds in any sense. “Answer the question, or leave.”

  “No. Hell, no,” she vehemently denied, her voice firm.

  Relief washed through me, but still I wondered. “What makes you the rare bird to escape his clutches?”

  “A backbone? A desire to live disease free?”

  “Is that why you want to leave his employ?”

  “He’s not the only unsavory character there, and I don’t want to deal with them anymore. I shouldn’t have to. And may I be perfectly frank?” she asked. I nodded, and she continued. “I have far too much self-worth to demean myself with a man who propositions his employees without thought or concern for his company’s well-being. It’s not the right place for me or my talents.”

  Her words didn’t surprise me, I knew about Dante’s personality. Yet, her candid recall and admission was impressive.

  “No, you shouldn’t, at all. You don’t have to worry about that here,” I assured her, though I wasn’t certain I could live up to that promise. However, I also wasn’t like Dante. If something did happen, it would be because she wanted it.

  “And
why is that? Am I the wrong gender?”

  A chuckle sprang from me, and I couldn’t help the smile that began to spread. “Very much not gay, but I also like to think I have a bit more decorum than that Neanderthal.”

  “An ant has more decorum than Dante.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle again. “You’re very beautiful, and I’m no saint, but I have a feeling once you start working for me, you won’t want anything to do with me.”

  “Once I start?”

  The words had fallen from my mouth before I could even process what they meant. She’d caught me off guard. I liked her responses, and she had shown me that she did have the backbone she claimed.

  “The position is yours.”

  “What? Just like that?” she asked in bewilderment.

  I pushed back and stood in front of her. “You made me laugh and appear to be competent. I’m not looking for help in the bedroom; there are other women for that.” I held out my hand. “There is a thirty-day trial period. If you make it past that point there is a raise. Another thirty days, another raise. I’m not easy to work for and many haven’t made it past sixty days. Those who have were exceptional. If you shake my hand, you accept and I will have the contract drawn up.”

  She stared up at me, then down to my hand. “I like a challenge,” she said as she slipped her hand in mine.

  I tried not to think about how soft her hand felt. About how good it would feel wrapped around my shaft. About how good she would feel under me.

  Every thought in my mind was overruled by the desire to take her.

  “Mr. Devereux?” she asked after I hadn’t released her hand.

  I cleared my throat and let go. “You will start Monday.”

  She froze. “But that’s only three days’ notice.”

  “Do you need a recommendation from a man who only sees you as a hole to fuck?”

  She was silent for a moment before she spoke. “No.”

  “Good. Be here Monday at seven-thirty.”

  “Monday at seven-thirty,” she repeated.

  “Someone will be in touch this evening with the contract. Let me know if there are any issues. I look forward to beginning our relationship.”

  “Thank you very much, sir. I look forward to working with you.” Her smile was genuine, and I attempted to etch it into my memory.

  The moment she began working for me, that smile would disappear.

  As soon as she was out the door, I walked over to the wet bar and poured two fingers of whiskey. The burn as it slid down my throat did nothing to quell the fire licking at every inch of my body and mind.

  I hadn’t felt that charged in years.

  Miss Prescot was everything I needed in a personal assistant, and everything I didn’t. Mixing business and pleasure was something I avoided, but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to with her around.

  Perhaps I shouldn’t have offered her the position, but in three months of interviews, her qualifications and personality had exceeded all the others. I was tired of the revolving door or temporary assistants that couldn’t wipe their own ass, let alone get me a decent cup of coffee.

  All of that, and I also wanted an inside look at Dante’s business. I needed it.

  I was prepared to destroy anyone and anything that got in my way.

  Phone in hand, I pulled up my contacts and found the one I was looking for. It rang twice before a familiar voice picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Marcus, I think we have our in,” I said.

  There was a slight pause as he registered what I meant, not even questioning why I called instead of emailed as I was supposed to. “How?”

  “I just hired his assistant as my own.”

  “She doesn’t have an NDA or non-compete clause?” he asked, and I heard rustling in the background.

  Damn, I didn’t ask.

  “I’m not certain about the NDA, but Dante is so full of himself I’m sure he thinks no woman would ever quit working for someone as wonderful as him to work for one of his competitors.”

  “True. What if this is a ploy?”

  “While not below his level, I don’t think he’d give up the person who probably knows the inner workings better than him, even for an advantage.”

  “From what I’ve found, he might.”

  “Fine, then I’ll figure out a way to make certain.” I poured more liquid into the glass.

  “You’re going to fuck with her, aren’t you?”

  “If that’s what it takes.” Though I’d fuck her regardless. Everything else was collateral damage. “This is who I’ve been waiting for.”

  “His assistant?”

  “Any in.” I threw back the glass, letting the liquid slide down my throat. “I’ll finally bring Dante down to his fucking knees.”

  I ended the call and began looking through my contacts, searching for the evening’s date. Someone needed to alleviate my situation and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be my hand.

  Ivy

  Two weeks later

  “I need the bug report from the newest CS diagnostic update along with the reports for the Black Spell account,” Mr. Devereux said as he typed an email, not even looking at me.

  Mr. Devereux wasn’t joking when he said he was difficult to work for. The charismatic man who held me in his arms and offered me a night with him was very different from Mr. Devereux, my boss.

  Perhaps working for Dante wasn’t so bad after all. Then again, I liked that Mr. Devereux treated me as more than a skirt with no brains. Well, some days he treated me like I had no brains.

  I so wanted to be a fly on the wall that first week after I left. For a final, fuck you, Dante, I made no notes, nothing but the calendar held the day’s agenda. He left me a scathing voicemail.

  “You’re screwing me over for an unscrupulous man who will destroy you.”

  It was an odd thing to say, and I could only interpret it as more of his rivalry with Mr. Devereux spilling out. In all the time I’d worked for him, Dante never like Mr. Devereux. I believed it was because he was angry, scared even, when clients left Kilgore in favor of DCS.

  I reached into the stack in my hand and pulled out a file. “Here is the CS diagnostic. It came a few minutes ago. And I’ll contact support for Black Spell.”

  He glanced down at the file, then back to his monitors. “Just don’t talk to that idiot Davidson. I want last month and this month.” He pointed to his coffee cup. “This is empty.”

  “I’ll get a refill right away.” I’d learned the hard way that I needed to walk around his desk to pick his cup up. What would forever be known as the disastrous coffee incident was so for two different reasons.

  The first mistake I made was ordering it to be delivered. A week in and I was still getting the hang of things. I’d barely set the cup on his desk when he took a sip and immediately put it back down.

  “What the fuck is that?” he spat, his mouth turned down in disgust.

  “I’m sorry, is it wrong?”

  “If there’s enough sugar in my coffee to kill a diabetic elephant, then yes, it sure is fucking wrong.” He stared down in disgust at the cup. “What did you put in it?”

  “I ordered it from downstairs.”

  He stopped and narrowed his eyes. “There’s an espresso machine ten feet from you and exact instructions taped to it.”

  “I don’t know how to use it.”

  “Then figure it out. Get this shit out of my sight and get me a coffee. Now.”

  “Yes, sir.” I reached across the desk and grabbed the cup.

  I still didn’t know if I squeezed it too hard, or if the lid had popped when he took the caustic sip, but the dark liquid sloshed out all over his desk and the sleeve of his jacket.

  “Fuck,” he cursed as he jumped up, swinging his jacket off.

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry, sir.”

  “Sorry isn’t an excuse for stupidity.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Perhaps, but you’ve r
uined the papers on my desk.” He tossed his jacket at me, and I barely managed to catch it without spilling more of the coffee. “Get that cleaned and back by lunch.”

  “But that’s only thirty minutes,” I argued.

  “And before you do that, clean up this fucking mess. Get going, Miss Prescot.”

  Two weeks in, and I was frantically juggling all the new information with keeping his days organized and obtaining the often obscure information he needed with little guidance or reference. The acronyms alone kept me busy. There had been a crash course, and a necessary cheat sheet created.

  There was a binder left from his last assistant. However, over the past year since her departure, all the fill-ins, temps, and failures had scratched, ripped, and left it an almost unreadable, unreliable mess.

  Thankfully, I made a friend. She worked a few floors down for one of the mid-level executives and I bumped into her one day my first week while lost. She was kind enough to help me that day and guide me since.

  “If it’s not in his personal file, it’s on the shared drive,” she said over the phone.

  For twenty minutes I’d looked for the Black Spell account information after the manager of support told me it was in the account file, then hung up on me. I got the impression that the slew of predecessors before me left a bad taste in many mouths, and they all assumed that I was going to be gone just as they were.

  “Open that, then the client folder, find the name, and inside you should find almost every document he will ever want.”

  I scribbled down some notes while I clicked through her directions. “Thank you so much, Alex.”

  “No problem. I’ve got an opening for lunch at noon. You?”

  I scanned the calendar and found a possible opening. “If you can wait a few minutes I think I can run away about fifteen after.”

  She chuckled over the line. “I can wait.”

  Every day the minutes flew by. I liked being busy, but every second I was in the office, my body buzzed. Almost like I was in anticipation, waiting for something, but I didn’t know what that was. Maybe it was the anxiety manifesting itself into a physical response. Whatever it was, there was never a spare second to even breathe. If the phone wasn’t ringing, it was an email popping up, or a meeting I needed to accompany him to while I also fielded emails and kept detailed notes.