Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)(11)

She hadn't texted him that she was on her way, but as the doors opened  into a dark reception area, she wondered if maybe she should have. The  elevator was well lit-a little too well lit, she thought as she stared  at her reflection on the endless ride up, ruthlessly scrutinizing her  face. Sometimes she thought the freckles were cute, sometimes they were  way too Little Orphan Annie.

Her new three-inch black patent leather pumps-pretty hot if she did say  so herself-clicked on the marble floor as she walked past an astonishing  collection of what seemed to be original art. Just as she approached  the reception desk, a head popped out from behind a corner that must  lead back to the offices. She grinned. Then, as she realized the head  did not belong to Jack, she reared back, almost tripping in the  unfamiliar heels.

"May I help you?"

Whoever this guy was, his eyes did not match the fake smile he was currently deploying.

When she heard Jack's voice from down the hallway she was initially  relieved. That is, until she realized he was on the phone, reaming out  someone about something to do with the Ontario Municipal Board and  zoning variances. This anger, this intensity-she suddenly understood his  insistence that he was devoted to his business above everything else.

"Perhaps you're on the wrong floor," Mr. Fake Smile said, making her  realize that she'd been standing there like an idiot, transfixed by the  sound of Jack's yelling.

"I, um-"

"Carl." Jack's voice-thank God, he must have heard them-from around the  corner. "Carl, this is Cassidy," he said as he emerged into the dim  reception area.

Jack was wearing a brown blazer over a cream-colored sweater that was  probably some kind of expensive cashmere thing, and a pair of jeans. And  hoo-boy, those jeans. Though they weren't overly tight, they fit him  like a glove. Just like in her apartment the other night, there was  something about seeing Mr. CEO bazillionaire in jeans that made her face  heat up. She hoped he didn't notice her blush when he leaned in to kiss  her on the cheek. A quick peck, the restrained gesture could have meant  anything from "Hi, Mom, nice to see you," to "Hi, hottie, we can get it  on as soon as this asshole leaves."

Jack set his hand on her lower back. "Cassidy, this is Carl Larsen, my  chief financial officer." Jack was all wound up. She could tell from his  touch. It was aggressive-not like he was pushing her toward Carl, more  like he didn't realize how clenched his hand was.                       
       
           



       

Disgust bloomed in her gut as Carl looked her over, eyebrows raised  slightly. Okay, that was it. Carl officially sucked. Carl was the enemy.  He was messing with Jack, and in exchange, she was going to make sure  that Jack got this Wexler deal done. Which meant Carl could know nothing  about what she was really doing here.

So she stuck out her boobs and her hand at the same time. "I've heard soooo much about you, Carl, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Cassidy." He extended his hand and she placed hers limply in his, the  kind of weak girlie handshake she'd always abhorred. "Cute name," he  said, shooting a look at Jack. "Working on the weekend?"

Jack's fingers pressed into Cassie's back. "Can't have my CFO being the only one burning the midnight oil. Or the Saturday oil."

Cassie wanted to growl at Carl, but she was in character. So she  giggled. Simpered. Operation Get Rid of Carl was on, and she was its  head cheerleader. "Jack says he's going to show me the view," she  purred.

"Yes," said Jack, picking up her cue. "The Saturday view. The view where it's quiet. The view where there's no one around."

If she'd been lukewarm before about the morality of this whole charade,  any qualms went out the door when she saw the big, beautiful office.  Here was this place that Jack had built, and Carl was secretly and  systematically chipping away at it. It wasn't right. She was going to do  everything in her power to help Jack get the Wexler deal done so he  could get on with firing Carl.

"Got it," said Carl. "I'm just about finished here-Britney has a hockey game."

"These must be the quarterfinals?" Jack asked. His hand was still at  Cassie's back, and he started tapping his thumb there, too, probably an  unconscious gesture.

Carl flashed a proud smile. "My daughter," he said to Cassie. Darn  it-she didn't need Carl humanizing himself now that she was so mad at  him. "Yeah, quarterfinals," he said to Jack. "Fingers crossed."

"Well, best of luck," said Jack.

Cassie aimed a zillion kilowatt fake smile at Carl and trilled, "Break a  leg!" Then she turned to Jack. "You probably shouldn't say that about  sports, should you?"

He smiled and bent down to whisper in her ear, "You are magnificent." A  spike of pleasure transformed her smile into a genuine one as Carl  retreated into his office.

"Let me take your coat," said Jack.

She handed it over and tried not to fidget while his eyes slithered down  her body. She was never going to be the kind of woman who could wear a  suit and not feel like a kid playing dress up, so she had tried to find  something that was not a suit but was still conservative enough that she  looked like she might actually be the senior executive director of  finance at Winter Enterprises. Well, conservative, but not too  conservative. So she'd settled on a scarlet sheath dress. The neckline  was modest, but the dress hugged her curves. She tempered the outrageous  color with a fitted black blazer and matte black tights. Then there  were the do-me pumps. Okay, so maybe the getup wasn't conservative at  all, aside from the fact that her boobs were not hanging out. Jack was  taking his time getting his eyes back up to, well, eye level, which  suggested that perhaps she had miscalculated, hadn't struck the "I'm a  serious corporate lady, but I'm not a drone" note she'd been aiming for.

The look in his eyes when they finally met hers made her stop caring.

That look made her brave. She let a slow smile blossom. "I tried to dress the part."

"Cassie, if you came to work looking like that, no one would get a fucking thing done all day."

A frisson of triumph spiked up her spine. Jack Winter wanted her. He  wasn't even trying to hide it. When he'd made that little speech about  avoiding relationships with his employees, she'd been worried she'd done  something to turn him off. But she saw now that whatever else they had  going on-a joint commitment to the Wexler deal, their shared distaste  for Carl-it was all underlain by a river of wild attraction. Lust.  However much they tiptoed around it, whatever rules they made, it would  always be there, just under the surface. The idea was intoxicating, made  her feel a little reckless. "What?" She played dumb. "I am showing  exactly zero skin."

He cocked his head, as if he were a judge considering an argument in court.

"If you had a dress code, I'm sure this would adhere to it," she added. A  little tipsy on this new feeling of power, she peeled off the blazer  and threw it on one of the chairs in the waiting area. "Shall we go to  your office?" She started sashaying in the direction from which he'd  come. If she let her hips sway a little more than was strictly natural,  well, what was the harm?                       
       
           



       

When she reached the main reception desk, he was suddenly very deep into  her personal space. He surrounded her from behind, and she felt his  erection pressing against her bottom. One hand reached around-almost as  if he were hugging her-and he pressed her blazer against her stomach.  "You little tart," he rasped in her ear. "If you don't put this back on,  I'm going to have to bend you over this desk right now."

Breathing shallowly, trying not to cross the line into panting, she let the blazer fall to the floor.

Then he was gone. He'd only stepped back a few feet, but she had to bite  her lip to keep from crying out. The disappointment was visceral, and  she shivered as his warm presence receded.

"And that is not happening," he said.

She wanted to shake her fist at the sky. It wasn't like they were going  to date each other. He didn't do relationships-message received. So what  did it matter if they fooled around a little while they worked? As  she'd told Danny, she got it now. And now that she got it, she wanted to  get it. "You and your rules," she muttered.

"The Wexler deal is too important, Cassie. I've seen deals fall  apart-I've seen companies fall apart-when people let things get too  personal."

Well, that stung. But so be it. He wanted her, but apparently not enough  to do anything about it. She shoved aside the ding to her pride and  summoned another of her fake-bright smiles. "All right, let's get  started. Can I get a tour first? This is a lovely space."