Actually, she loved it whenever he talked to her at all. He had a rich, deep voice that was like a velvet hand stroking down her spine. His smoky grey eyes were fringed with thick, black lashes that made her heart beat faster even though there was never anything in them but polite respect.
Occasionally she thought she’d glimpsed something more, something that accelerated her pulse and caused her to lick her lips, but it was gone so fast she was sure she was just imagining it. His ten thousand dollar suits were perfectly tailored to show off his tall, muscular body, and his thick, dark hair was a little longer than the norm—it curled to just below his jawline.
She often thought about running her hands through the wavy mass, then blushed whenever she caught herself thinking about it. He was her boss. She couldn’t have these feelings about him. And even if he wasn’t her boss, she knew he’d never be interested in her anyway. His was the type with tall, skinny models on his arm.
There was no reason for a man like him to look her way when any of those women would lick his feet if he asked them to.
She stepped off the elevator and into the spaciously appointed waiting area, with lush cream carpets and dark green walls with gilt edges on the molding. Her desk sat in the center of the room—the bastion that protected Greyson’s office from the rest of the world. No one got through her unless either she or Greyson sanctioned it. That was one of her duties, and she was proud to uphold it.
Usually Greyson was in his office, already started in on his work for the day. But this morning he was in the lobby, a hip propped against the outer edge of Eva’s desk. Confused, she nevertheless stepped forward to greet him, but the smile froze on her lips when his eyes met hers. Today they were a cold, iron grey, like snow clouds in winter. His face was a stone mask.
“Good morning, Mr. Stone—” she began, then stopped as he cut her off with a raised finger.
“In my office. Now.”
He turned abruptly and stalked inside, and she followed on his heels, her heart thundering painfully. His office was spacious—the skyscraper the building was housed it was cylindrical rather than having corners, and so the room was shaped like a quarter of a circle rather than a square, with the curved wall completely lined with glass. The two inner walls were a glossy black, with several paintings and ornate shelving cabinets as well. The center of the room was dominated by an l-shaped desk of mahogany, and two low-backed, comfortable chairs for visitors.
Greyson shut and locked the door behind him, then rounded on her. She backed up at the full force of his displeasure focused on her, and felt her legs graze one of those chairs. Try as she might, she couldn’t form the words to ask him what was wrong, what she had done to earn his wrath.
“Did you really think you were going to get away with this?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft.
“G-get away with what?” Tears pricked at her eyes as she began to tremble.
He snatched papers off his desk and waved them in front of her nose. Her vision was too watery to make out what was written on them, but an awful feeling sank into her chest as it hit her—it was her resume.
“I decided to give your credentials a closer look. Only one of your references matches up. The rest, including your college degree, are false.” His eyebrows arched as real fear flashed in her eyes. “What do you have to say about that?”
“There must be some mistake?” Eva tried, desperately grasping at straws. She reached for the resume papers in his hands. “Perhaps I put down the wrong numbers, or misspelled a name.”
“Nice try, Ms. Moore. But I don’t believe it.” He leaned in close to her, his six foot five, muscular frame towering over her, and gripped her shaking shoulders. “A little liar like you needs to be disciplined.”
Eva’s mouth went dry at the look in his eyes—they had gone molten, like quicksilver. She darted her tongue out to wet her lips, and his eyes followed the movement like a cat followed a piece of string it was about to pounce on.
“A-are you going to fire me?”
“I could do that,” he said softly. “But despite your lies, I like you. Over the past week you have made an excellent assistant so far—I knew what I saw when I interviewed you and that you had guts and determination.”
Fear had frozen her vocal chords; she dared not say anything lest she change his mind. His face was so close to her that his breath fanned her face—warm, laced with some kind of minty freshness and a hint of coffee. His lips curved into a cruel smile as he lifted her chin and forced her to look directly into his eyes. She blinked back tears so as to straighten her watery vision. She would show him that determination he had praised, even if he did fire her. What she had done was not out of malice, but necessity. If he threw her out on her ass, she would go with her head held high.