"Sure." Jack led her down one of the two corridors that split off from the reception area, turning on lights as he went. The floors were hardwood, which seemed incongruent for an office, and the walls were painted a pale sky-blue. It was all very elegant, but comfortably so.
"Huh," she mused as he led her into a kitchen that was tricked out with stainless steel appliances and a cappuccino machine.
"What?"
"It's not very … officey."
"Well, that's the point, I guess. We spend a lot of time here."
"We?" she prompted. The place was smaller than she'd imagined. But then, she'd pretty much imagined the Bat Cave-cavernous, masculine, dark. Maybe he saved that aesthetic for his house. She'd seen half a dozen private offices on this side of the suite, and beyond the kitchen looked to be an open area filled with a few dozen large cubicles, but since the space was surrounded by windows on two sides, they lacked that stifling feeling that usually came with cubicles.
"Yeah, the kitchen especially is the hangout spot. There are two other companies on this floor-a software company and an advertising agency-and everyone always seems to end up here."
"I can see why."
When they crossed back through reception to the other side, there were fewer, larger offices. He pointed at the first one. "My EA."
"You have an executive assistant?" She couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice. But of course he did. He was a scion of industry. What did she think? He booked his own meetings? Made his own lunch reservations? If her surprise was unreasonable, so was the irrational stab of jealousy in her gut at the idea of some hot girl-for she would be hot-knowing the ins and outs of Jack's life. "What's her name?" she asked casually.
He looked like he was trying not to smile. "Seth."
"Oh." She sped on to the next, slightly larger office.
"Carl," he said.
"Okay! Moving on." She stopped at the last office before the corridor made a turn.
"This is Amy. Her title is VP, but she's really my real estate person. She's in Mexico right now."
Oh, so this would be the hot girl. "Christmas getaway-nice," Cassie said, pointedly asking no further questions about Amy.
"Nope, work. We're working on our first project outside Canada and the US. I'm in the early stages of construction of a resort near Tulum. An eco sort of thing. Zip-lining, hiking-and of course the ocean. Hey! Why are you wrinkling your nose?"
"I'm sure it will be great. I just don't get the idea of going on vacation in order to like, exert yourself. If I ever went on vacation, I would lie around reading trashy novels and napping all day."
He laughed. "It's for people who don't work as hard as we do. Personally, I'm with you."
It was her turn to giggle. The sight of him stretched out in a beach cabana reading a bodice ripper was too funny-he looked like he should be on the cover of one. "I thought the company would be bigger," she said, running her fingers over the dark, polished wood of Amy's door.
"We're pretty lean, actually. We work hard. Most of my employees have been with me for a long time, and they feel some ownership, I think. They're loyal." She didn't miss the flash of hurt in his eyes before he recovered. "Or so I thought. Anyway, the point is we get a lot done pretty efficiently."
"And, wow, you get it done in style. These are some mighty fine digs," she said, wanting to take his mind off his troubles, even if only for a moment.
"Thanks." He pointed around the corner. "And there's me."
She led the way. And then she stopped in her tracks, letting loose a low whistle as the door opened onto his office.
Two of the walls were windows, and he had a breathtaking view of the towers of the financial district on one side and the blue expanse of Lake Ontario on the other.
"It is kind of nice, isn't it?" He looked like a little kid showing her something he'd made.
Turning her attention to the office itself, she did a slow rotation, taking in the massive antique mahogany desk, a sitting area furnished with a decadent looking sofa and a pair of armchairs upholstered in a lush, vibrant orange. It looked like a masculine version of her apartment. Except for the fact that … "My whole apartment would fit in here two times over," she declared.
"Yep," he agreed cheerfully, but not unkindly. "And there's an elevator," he teased.
She sighed, walking toward one of the window-walls for a moment to compose herself. It was like being Cinderella at the ball, she felt so out of her element. Except no, she told herself. All Cinderella had going for her was the prospect of hitching her wagon to some dude. Cassie, on the other hand, had been hired to do a job. A fifty thousand dollar job.
She turned. "Let's get to work."
…
Jack watched Cassie take in the view. She was a brilliant blot of scarlet against the gray buildings and white sky of the December afternoon. Damn. Was he a complete idiot? Jack had rules, yes, but he was not generally in the habit of rebuffing the advances of scorchingly hot women.
She was right, technically. There was nothing inappropriate about the dress-she was covered from neck to toe. And yet …
In fact, he thought, trying to compose himself, it looked not unlike something Amy would wear. The difference was the stylish vice-president of Winter Enterprises would have worn the dress in black or gray. Not this ridiculous blazing scarlet.
For the first time in a long time, Jack was facing a situation he honestly didn't know how to play. Part of him-including the part of him currently straining against the fly of his jeans-wanted nothing more than to rewind, go back, and make good on his threat to bend her over the reception desk. But he'd already been intimate with her, and he tried to keep a cap on the number of encounters he had with any single woman. He was serious about not doing relationships. Dead serious. They distracted him from what was important-work. Limiting himself to one-night stands was a defense mechanism he consciously and cheerfully deployed. He had a lot to protect. Not a heart, no-at least not that kind of heart-but a man didn't build a company from nothing into the powerhouse that was Winter Enterprises without subjecting himself to a little discipline.
So the fact that he was contemplating another round with Cassie was, frankly, a little concerning. As his eyes slid over those wicked red curves, a thought dawned. In one sense, he hadn't actually been with Cassie at all. He'd left their first kiss with the worst case of blue balls in the history of the universe, and at their second encounter, he'd spent himself in the snow like an untried boy.
She turned from the window with a spark in her eyes that seemed to simultaneously ignite in his chest. If he could just be inside her once-bend the rules a little-then maybe he could get this all-consuming lust under control enough to get some damned work done.
"Let's get to work," she said.
Well, so much for that idea.
The mischief was gone from her eyes, replaced with a look of pure determination. If she had sleeves, she'd be rolling them up right now. "I want to see your books. And please tell me everything isn't password protected on Carl's computer."
"I may be an idiot when it comes to numbers, but I'm not that stupid. Crossing to his desk, he powered up his MacBook, silently ordering himself to get it together.
"You're not an idiot," she said.
Instead of answering, he picked up a remote control and aimed it at the built-in cabinetry. A door retracted to reveal a flat screen TV.
"Fancy!" exclaimed Cassie.
"Where do you want to start?" he asked, opening some documents on his computer. "How about the current quarter's balance sheet?" With a few keystrokes he had the document up on the screen.
"Still fancy!" Cassie laughed.
He shrugged. "It's just Bluetooth."
She performed an exaggerated shrug in return. "I guess I'm a cheap date." But then she crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes, and gazed up at the screen. For a minute the only thing that moved in the room were her eyeballs. He could practically see the gears turning in her head.
"Okay. What will Wexler expect me to know? I guess maybe the best thing is to just keep going back in time, so I can get a sense of the company's recent history?"
Silently, he projected another file onto the screen. Another jumble of numbers. He was accustomed to not "getting" numbers. When he was alone like this, or with someone he trusted-and somehow Cassie, whom he'd known for all of four days, fell into that category-they didn't send him into a panic. He didn't fully process what he saw, but since no one was expecting him to, it didn't really matter.