in her head.
And then there had been his bedroom voice last night on the phone and her resulting descent into lunacy... Her stomach dipped. Today she was going to revert back to her usual, capable self: five steps ahead of her boss at all times, unruffleable and cheerful no matter what the request. And she was going to stay far, far away from that panic button. In fact, she was going to cover it with tape.
Mouth set in a firm gesture of determination, she ran her hands over her head to ensure every hair was in place and, satisfied she was all cool sophistication, walked toward Harrison’s office. His brisk, clipped voice directing a conference call stopped her in her tracks. This was good. It would give her time to get organized. Having a boss who came in at 7:00 a.m. left you a bit flat-footed.
She made herself a cup of tea and scanned her email. Tessa had evaded her husband’s watchful eye long enough to send her some notes from her smartphone. Frankie sank back in her seat, took a sip of her tea and ploughed gratefully through her list of Harrison rules.
Triage his email first thing in the morning and keep an eye on anything urgent. He’s married to his smartphone, but the volume is overwhelming. You might have to jump in.
Take his phone messages on the pink message pad on the desk, not the blue one, and don’t write on the second half of the page. He likes to make notes for follow-up there.
Fail on that one. She’d put a stack of messages on Harrison’s desk last night that had used the whole page. She’d fix that today...
Don’t ever put a call through to him from any woman other than a business contact or his mother. Casual dates like to pose as girlfriends when they’re not. He hasn’t had a regular woman in his life for a while. Apparently, as you likely know from the gossip pages, he’s supposed to be marrying Cecily Hargrove to cement the family dynasty, but I have seen no evidence of her of late, so proceed with caution and never talk with the press.
Fascinating. She was nothing if not discreet.
If he asks you to send flowers to a woman, send calla lilies. They’re his go-to choice. If he ever asks you to send anything else, you can bet she’s “the one.”
Frankie smiled. Although she couldn’t imagine Harrison Grant ever falling for a woman like that.
Somewhere between eight and nine he will call you into his office to put together a to-do list for the day. Execute the list in the order he gives it to you. He’s like the Swiss train system. He needs things done in a certain way at a certain time. Stick to this and you’ll be fine.
Wow. He was even more of a control freak than she was.
And, finally, don’t ever interrupt him when he’s on a conference call. Put a note in front of him if you have to. But since he spends four or five hours on them a day, do bring him coffee. The Kenyan blend—black. He figures out lunch himself.
Ugh. She glanced toward Harrison’s office. She hadn’t done that. That necessitated facing him.
Getting to her feet, she brewed a steaming cup of Kenyan blend in the kitchen, slipped into Harrison’s office with the stealth of a cat and headed toward his desk. He was on speakerphone, pacing in front of the windows like a lethal weapon as he talked. She had almost made it to the desk when he turned around.
Her nerves, the intensity of his black stare and the depth of his intimidating good looks in the pinstriped three-piece suit he wore like billionaire armor set her hand to shaking. Hard. Coffee sloshed over the side of the mug and singed her hand. Fire raced along the tender skin between her thumb and forefinger. She bit back a howl of pain, set the mug on the desk, speed walked to the outer office and put it under cold water in the kitchen.
A couple of minutes under the tap made the burn bearable. She spread some salve from the emergency kit on it and retraced her steps into Harrison’s office where he was still spewing point after point into the speakerphone. Her gaze locked on the precious dark wood of the desk. A large water ring stared back at her, embedded into the wood. Oh, no. Please, no.
She scrubbed at it to no avail. Moved the mug to a coaster and retreated to her desk. Sat there mentally calculating how long it would take him to fire her. Five more minutes on the conference call, a couple of minutes to think of how he was going to do it and bam—she’d be gone.
“Get ready to move again,” she told Rocky.
Coward, his elegant snout accused.
“You try dealing with tall, dark and dangerous. Heavy on the dangerous.”
Footsteps on the marble brought her head up. Dangerous had emerged from his office and conference call, three minutes early. He was looking at her as if she was quite possibly mad. “Who are you talking to?”
Frankie waved her hand at Rocky. “Rocky Balboa, meet Harrison Grant.”
A dark brow lifted. “Rocky Balboa as in the boxer, Rocky?’
She nodded, heat filling her cheeks.
“You talk to a fish?”
“That is true, yes.”
There was a profound silence. Frankie closed her eyes and waited for the two words to come. You’re fired.
“Give me your hand.”
She opened her eyes. He was looking at her burnt hand. “It’s fine,” she refused, tucking it under the desk. “I’m so sorry about the coffee stain. I’ll see if the cleaners can work some magic.”
“It can be sanded and refinished.”
At an insane cost. Why was he being so reasonable about it? She swallowed hard. “Do you want to go through the priorities for today?”
“No, I want to see your hand. Now.”
She stuck it out. He took it in his and ran the pad of his thumb over her fire-engine-red knuckles. Frankie’s stomach did a slow roll at the innocent contact. It didn’t seem innocent coming from her fire-breathing boss. It seemed—disturbing.
He sighed. “If we’re going to be able to work together, you have to stop being afraid of me.”
Gray eyes met black. He wanted her to keep working for him?
“I’m not afraid of you.”
His thumb settled on the pulse racing at the base of her wrist. “Either you are or you have the fastest resting pulse of any human being I’ve encountered.”
She yanked her hand away. “Okay, maybe I am—just a little intimidated. Last night wasn’t exactly a great introduction.”
“Stand up.”
“Pardon me?”
“Stand up.”
She eyed him for a moment, then rose to her full five feet eight inches, which, with the added height of her shoes, brought her eyes level with his smooth, perfectly shaven jaw.
“Look at me.”
She lifted her gaze, bracing herself for that intimidating stare of his up close, and it was no less formidable than she’d expected it to be. Except she learned there were exotic flecks of amber in it that warmed you up if you dared to look. They disputed the coldness went all the way through him, suggested if he chose to use the full power of that beautiful, complex gaze on you in a particular way for a particular purpose you might melt in his hands like a hundred-plus pounds of useless female.
His mouth tilted. “I’m intense to work with, Francesca, but I’m not the big bad wolf. Nor am I unreasonable. Especially when I’ve had a full night’s sleep.”
Right.
“Now say it again like you mean it.”
“Say what?”
“I am not afraid of you, Harrison. You’re not that scary.”
Her