Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss(4)

He never had fantasies like that. He identified his urges, satisfied  them according to a convenient slot in his insane schedule with a woman  who didn't mind his lack of commitment, then he filed them back where  they belonged: extracurricular activity that came after work.

His coffee cup went thump on the breakfast table. There was no way he  could have that woman working for him. He took a last gulp of coffee,  tossed the paper aside and headed for the gym in his building. He'd talk  to Coburn when he got in. Tell him this just wasn't going to work.

Coburn strolled into his office a few minutes after he'd landed there,  looking disgustingly fresh and sharp in a navy blue Armani suit. That  they were both early risers who appreciated the benefits of physical  exercise was about their only similarity. Even their intent in doing it  was different. Harrison slotted it into his schedule like any other  appointment, because if he didn't he'd be regularly seeing a heart  specialist somewhere around fifty. It was in the Grant family genes.

Coburn, on the other hand, pursued mad daredevil-type sports that  skirted death on a regular basis. Paragliding, mountain climbing,  bicycle racing in European countries with tiny alpine ledges for tracks.  Not to mention what it did for his physique, which maintained the  steady flow of females in and out of his life so there would never be a  dearth where he'd have to consider what the hell he was actually doing.  His ex-wife had messed him up and messed him up good. But since that  topic had long been considered subject non grata, Harrison began with  the topic of the hour.         

     



 

"How selfless of you to loan me Francesca Masseria." He sat back in his desk chair and took his Kenyan brew with him.

"Isn't it?" Coburn grinned. He took the seat opposite him. "Sometimes I can sacrifice for the greater good, H."

Harrison frowned. He hated when Coburn called him H and he knew it. "How many times have you slept with her?"

His brother gave him a look of mock offence. "Not even once. Although  it's tempting. If God designed the perfect woman and set her down on  this earth, it'd be Frankie and those legs of hers."

"Francesca," Harrison corrected, refusing to go there. "And you don't speak about an employee in that manner."

You just had hot, explicit dreams about them.

Coburn rolled his eyes.

"You've moaned about not having a good PA for years, then when you get one you love, you hand her over to me. Why?"

His brother trained his striking blue gaze on him the way he did the  board when he wanted them on their knees. "Self-preservation. Frankie is  a knockout. Of late, I've discovered she has a crush on me, although  not one of her very proper bones would ever admit it. It's only a matter  of time before we end up in bed together and I want to prevent that  from happening because I want to keep her as my PA." He shrugged. "So I  send her to the school of Harrison for six months, you train her with  that regimental authority of yours, and I get her back when I am fully  immersed in someone else, better than she was before."

If Harrison hadn't known his younger brother as well as he did, he would  have assumed he was joking. But this was Coburn, who possessed every  genetic trait the youngest born was created to feature, including an  exaggerated sense of the need for his own independence from everything,  including serious relationships with females and his responsibilities to  Grant Industries.

"You do realize if HR heard even a quarter of that speech, I'd have to fire you."

Coburn lifted a Rolex-clad hand. "Then I retire to the south of Italy,  road-race most of the year and manage my shares from there. Either works  for me."

Harrison tamped down the barely restrained aggression he felt toward his  younger brother. "She's not experienced enough for the job."

"This is Frankie we're talking about. You'll see when you meet her."

"Francesca," Harrison corrected again. "And I met her last night."

Coburn frowned. "How? You've only just gotten back."

"She was working late. Likely trying to make sense of things with Tessa's abrupt departure... I stopped in for a file."

"Your own fault," Coburn pointed out. "You've known for months Tessa was leaving and you did nothing about it."

Because he couldn't bear to be without his mind-bogglingly good PA who  made his insane life bearable. Avoidance had been preferable...

"Anyway," Coburn continued, "it's the perfect solution for both of us.  Frankie is incredible. Green, yes, but just as smart as Tessa. And," he  added, pausing for effect, "she speaks Russian."

"Russian?"

"Fluently. Plus Italian, but I'm thinking the Russian is going to be more useful to you right now."

"How does she speak Russian?"

Coburn frowned. "I think she said her best friend is Russian. Something like that..."

Given his solitary goal in life at the moment was to obliterate Anton  Markovic, the man who'd put his father in his grave, and negotiations to  make it happen were at an extremely fragile stage with Leonid Aristov  balking at the deal to acquire his company, a PA who could speak Russian  could be a very valuable asset.

The amusement faded from Coburn's face. "You don't have to keep at this,  you know? Father is ten feet under. He's never going to see you bring  Markovic down. You're doing this for you, Harrison, not him. And lord  knows you need a life."

His hands curled tightly around his coffee mug, his knuckles gleaming  white. His younger brother's lack of interest in avenging the man who  had built this company was a position he had long understood. His  personal opinions on how he lived his life? Meaningless, when he had  always been the only person holding this company together.

He put his coffee cup down on the desk before he crushed it between his  fingers, and focused his gaze on his brother. "How about you keep  playing with those international markets and making us money like you do  and save your philosophical sermons for someone who cares?"

Coburn's easygoing expression slid into one approaching the frigidness  of his. "Someday you're going to realize that cold heart of yours has  left you alone in this big empty world, H. And when you do, nobody is  going to care anymore. But that's okay, because you will have your  vengeance."         

     



 

Harrison flashed him a "see yourself out" look. Coburn stood,  straightened his suit coat and paused by the door. "I gave you Frankie  because you need her. But if you so much as cause one tear to roll down  her face, you'll answer to me for it. You hear me?"

His brother disappeared in a wave of expensive aftershave. Harrison  glanced at the clock on the wall. Seven-thirty. It was 7:30 a.m. and  already he was exhausted. His life exhausted him.

* * *

Frankie came to work armed and ready, although that might be an  unfortunate turn of phrase given last night's occurrences. "Okay," she  admitted to Rocky, who still looked less than thrilled to be in his new  surroundings, but marginally calmer than yesterday, "let's just say that  was a bad choice of words."

She had worn her most expensive suit today, which wasn't very expensive  given her limited budget for a wardrobe after paying rent for the  brownstone apartment she shared with Josephine. But she'd altered it so  it looked custom, the lightweight, charcoal-gray tailored jacket and  skirt hugging her curves without broadcasting the depth of them. The  color did something for her dark hair and gray eyes she considered  inferior to those of her striking female siblings, and her chignon,  well, it was the most perfect she'd ever attempted. Geri from Accounting  had looked noticeably envious this morning on the elevator, and if  there was a morning she needed to win their dueling hairstyle  competition, it was this.

She needed all the confidence she could muster facing her new boss this morning. If he decided to keep her.

Dumping her purse in her drawer, she ignored her rumbling stomach. She'd  tried to eat, but she hadn't been able to get any breakfast down except  a slice of toast and juice. She refused to call it nerves because she  needed to have full armor on this morning. She'd been noticeably jumpy  when the security guard had checked her ID downstairs and that scene of  her boss in handcuffs kept replaying itself over and over 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.