Page 17 of Her Impossible Boss's Baby

She nodded, and scurried from the room, as efficient as ever.

And he was left to get ready. Everything he was meant to wear was chosen, and ordered, so that it would be easy for him to put together, easy for him to find which suits went with which speech.

It was no matter to him whether anyone understood that or not, but for him, each detail flowed into one another. And it was an exceptionally important thing. Disrupt one link in the chain and the whole of it was compromised.

He would have to find someone else who could handle his details.

He thought of that as he put on his black shirt, black tie and black suit. He did not have to run through his speech again, he had it memorized. Each and every word. Every pause.

He was very good with this sort of thing. He had ample time to rehearse. If he could rehearse everything, he wouldn’t need an assistant. But unfortunately, life moved at a pace, and interaction was often random.

None of that mattered tonight, though. Because tonight, he was going to be giving the most defining speech of his career, introducing the early detection processes and technologies that had been so long missing from the world of medicine.

Everyone wanted a cure for cancer. He among them.

But in the absence of a cure for advanced cancers, early detection was almost as good.

He would be saying just that tonight.

There was a knock on the door. He knew that it was her. She did not normally knock, but she had indicated that she thought she should have after walking in on him in a state of undress. Also, it was just how she would knock. Brisk, efficient. Not timid, even though what had occurred earlier had clearly embarrassed her.

He was fascinated by his assistant. He had made a study of her.

How could he not?

He had never known anyone like her.

She was expert with all people. Soft when she needed to be, hard when it was required. She seemed to possess the ability to make anyone feel at ease. And the truth was, if he could see that it must be profound.

She also seemed to take people exactly as they were, with no questions. She evaluated them and the situation, clearly and cleanly, and then moved on.

She accepted him in a way no one else ever had.

Not since his mother.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened. And there was Polly, wearing a fuchsia-colored dress that conformed to her curves, hugging her body tightly, flaring out down past her knees. The neckline was plunging, revealing the plump curve of her breasts.

Damn, but she was beautiful. He was not a man who wanted what he couldn’t have, as a general rule.

That had been a choice.

It had nothing to do with compartmentalizing or appetites or anything of the like.

No. It had to do with being a small boy who looked at groups of kids playing together and couldn’t figure out how to approach them. It had to do with loving a mother who had gone, never to return.

Having a father he could never please no matter how hard he tried.

He had given up on desiring what he could not have.

He was a billionaire. There was never a reason—not one—for him to ever be desirous of that which could not be his.

And yet, he wanted her.

In that moment, more than he could remember wanting anything.

It was a craving.

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