Tempting the New Boss
Chapter One
“It’s polite to shake a new employee’s hand when it’s extended.” Mason Talbot’s administrative assistant interrupted his reading of the draft Annual Report.
A woman stood next to Marcia. She was a little younger than him, late twenties maybe, and sported a wide, over-eager smile along with the usual polished exterior of a lawyer. Navy suit. First-day-of-work string of pearls. He took the young woman’s outstretched hand and obligingly shook it.
“Camilla Anderson. Nice to meet you, Mr. Talbot.”
“Yeah. You, too.” No magic sparks erupted between them. He didn’t touch her and know she would be his future. He didn’t think much of lawyers. At all. One way or the other. They were a necessary evil as far as he was concerned. He dropped her hand and turned to Marcia. “Can I have my report back now?”
He was trying to get through the legalese of the report and sign off on it by the time he left for his trip. Reading and rereading every sentence to get the general gist of it was slowing him down. He’d solved calculus equations that were less complex.
“No. You have to leave. You can read it on the plane.”
“I thought I had two hours?”
“We’re fitting a meeting in on the way. Greg Porter called and said it couldn’t wait. No prep needed. Just introductory.” She handed him his briefcase.
“What is it?”
“Project Ripper. It’s moving faster than they expected.”
“Oh, European component supply. Right. I care about that one.”
“Which is why I put it on your schedule. Now what about the dinner next month? I have to let them know.” She waved an invitation that she had been hounding him about for the last couple days.
“No. No way.”
“You don’t have to give a speech. Just say ‘thank you’ for the award and be on your way. You care about that one, too. You know you do. All the money you’ve spent on—”
“Forget it. Let’s go, uh…”
“Camilla. Her name is Camilla”
“Where’s what’s-his-name? The usual one?”
“Sam got tired of you shouting at him and forgetting his name. He said he didn’t go to Yale for that. He quit. Camilla here is his replacement.”
The new hire played with her pearls, a twist of the single strand around her index finger, and treated him to that wide smile again. Glossy cherry lips and teeth so white they put her jewels to shame. He had a sudden vision of tilting her heart-shaped chin up and running his tongue along the gloss, savoring the fruity taste of her. Unclasping the necklace to let it drop slowly into the satiny crevice between her breasts. Fishing it out with long strokes on her bare skin along the way.
Mason shrugged into his jacket, missing the armhole twice before he finally got it on, and looked away. Okay, that was weird. And not good. Where the hell had that come from? He had never looked at a suit—his term for one of the troop of business executives who kept his company humming—with that in mind, no matter how attractive she was. Suits were for advancing more important business agendas.
He strode out the door with the new lawyer behind him. “I hope you didn’t go to Yale,” he said over his shoulder.
“Harvard.”
“Well, that’s a little better.”
“Camilla, hang back a minute,” Marcia called out. “I’ve told the limousine to wait. You go on ahead downstairs, Mason.”
Sam Shreeman had tried to talk Camilla out of taking his old job, but the salary Talbot, Inc. offered spoke louder. She’d done her research on Mason Talbot before she applied for the job as his corporate counsel, and everything she saw on the record was admirable. Degree from Caltech, Ph.D. at twenty-five, CEO of his own company one short year later, and a billionaire by thirty.
“Forget the record,” Shreeman had advised, “the man is practically Asperger-Syndrome-worthy.”
And this from the guy who was interviewing her for the job. Even if her predecessor’s unflattering portrait of Talbot wasn’t sour grapes, all she needed to do was manage to last one measly year. Then she could pay off her student loans and finally be free of the worst decision she’d ever made. Going to law school.
Uncomfortable with slurs involving developmental disorders, however, she had reminded Shreeman about the generous severance package he bragged he was getting “to keep his mouth shut”—otherwise known as a non-disparagement agreement—and he admitted, “You’re right. It was just a joke anyway. But man, Talbot is downright odd. Acts like he doesn’t know you’re in the room half the time and the other half he treats you like shit.”
“It’s polite to shake a new employee’s hand when it’s extended.” Mason Talbot’s administrative assistant interrupted his reading of the draft Annual Report.
A woman stood next to Marcia. She was a little younger than him, late twenties maybe, and sported a wide, over-eager smile along with the usual polished exterior of a lawyer. Navy suit. First-day-of-work string of pearls. He took the young woman’s outstretched hand and obligingly shook it.
“Camilla Anderson. Nice to meet you, Mr. Talbot.”
“Yeah. You, too.” No magic sparks erupted between them. He didn’t touch her and know she would be his future. He didn’t think much of lawyers. At all. One way or the other. They were a necessary evil as far as he was concerned. He dropped her hand and turned to Marcia. “Can I have my report back now?”
He was trying to get through the legalese of the report and sign off on it by the time he left for his trip. Reading and rereading every sentence to get the general gist of it was slowing him down. He’d solved calculus equations that were less complex.
“No. You have to leave. You can read it on the plane.”
“I thought I had two hours?”
“We’re fitting a meeting in on the way. Greg Porter called and said it couldn’t wait. No prep needed. Just introductory.” She handed him his briefcase.
“What is it?”
“Project Ripper. It’s moving faster than they expected.”
“Oh, European component supply. Right. I care about that one.”
“Which is why I put it on your schedule. Now what about the dinner next month? I have to let them know.” She waved an invitation that she had been hounding him about for the last couple days.
“No. No way.”
“You don’t have to give a speech. Just say ‘thank you’ for the award and be on your way. You care about that one, too. You know you do. All the money you’ve spent on—”
“Forget it. Let’s go, uh…”
“Camilla. Her name is Camilla”
“Where’s what’s-his-name? The usual one?”
“Sam got tired of you shouting at him and forgetting his name. He said he didn’t go to Yale for that. He quit. Camilla here is his replacement.”
The new hire played with her pearls, a twist of the single strand around her index finger, and treated him to that wide smile again. Glossy cherry lips and teeth so white they put her jewels to shame. He had a sudden vision of tilting her heart-shaped chin up and running his tongue along the gloss, savoring the fruity taste of her. Unclasping the necklace to let it drop slowly into the satiny crevice between her breasts. Fishing it out with long strokes on her bare skin along the way.
Mason shrugged into his jacket, missing the armhole twice before he finally got it on, and looked away. Okay, that was weird. And not good. Where the hell had that come from? He had never looked at a suit—his term for one of the troop of business executives who kept his company humming—with that in mind, no matter how attractive she was. Suits were for advancing more important business agendas.
He strode out the door with the new lawyer behind him. “I hope you didn’t go to Yale,” he said over his shoulder.
“Harvard.”
“Well, that’s a little better.”
“Camilla, hang back a minute,” Marcia called out. “I’ve told the limousine to wait. You go on ahead downstairs, Mason.”
Sam Shreeman had tried to talk Camilla out of taking his old job, but the salary Talbot, Inc. offered spoke louder. She’d done her research on Mason Talbot before she applied for the job as his corporate counsel, and everything she saw on the record was admirable. Degree from Caltech, Ph.D. at twenty-five, CEO of his own company one short year later, and a billionaire by thirty.
“Forget the record,” Shreeman had advised, “the man is practically Asperger-Syndrome-worthy.”
And this from the guy who was interviewing her for the job. Even if her predecessor’s unflattering portrait of Talbot wasn’t sour grapes, all she needed to do was manage to last one measly year. Then she could pay off her student loans and finally be free of the worst decision she’d ever made. Going to law school.
Uncomfortable with slurs involving developmental disorders, however, she had reminded Shreeman about the generous severance package he bragged he was getting “to keep his mouth shut”—otherwise known as a non-disparagement agreement—and he admitted, “You’re right. It was just a joke anyway. But man, Talbot is downright odd. Acts like he doesn’t know you’re in the room half the time and the other half he treats you like shit.”