Page 15 of The Unplanned Wedding

He doesn’t reply, doesn’t even turn. Simply points his thumb at the door. I pivot and scramble out of his office. I race to my desk, shut down my computer, then grab my handbag and the garment box, and head down the corridor.

I pass Mary’s desk, which is empty. So are the desks of the other assistants. In fact, there is no one in any of the offices. Everyone has gone home. I check my phone and realize it’s almost midnight. I'm secretly glad he arranged a ride home for me. I step into the elevator, ride down, and leave the building. I get into the waiting car—the same limo that brought me here. As the vehicle slides forward, the tension in my body slowly fades away. Only then, do I glance around and take in the plush interior; I was too distracted to notice it earlier Wow, I’ve never been driven in such luxury before.

I sink back into the leather seat and press my head back into the cushion. I inhale deeply, and the scent of leather, and something else, the lingering darkness ofhisscent teases my nostrils. It's comforting and arousing, and I allow myself to be cocooned in it. My lips curve in a smile.I did it! I made it through my first week in the job from hell.Only question? Can I get through at least another three months of being attracted to my ridiculously hot boss?

6

June

“This is your wake-up call, Sir.”

It’s Monday morning, and I wait for him to respond to my greeting. Will he thank me today? I listen on the line for the acknowledgment I'm starting to crave from him. But like every morning over the last seven days, he disconnects without saying hello. My shoulders sag. My lips turn down.Why am I so disappointed?He’s a busy CEO. And I’m his assistant doing my job. Nothing else. Of course, he doesn’t have the time to acknowledge me. Also, heisa self-centered jerk, so I shouldn’t be surprised he didn’t thank me for waking him up at the arse-end of dawn.

He has no idea that this morning, I set four alarms on my phone—three of which I snoozed through, only managing to rouse myself on the fourth with less than a minute to go to call him. It was the same the last two days. I should berate him for forcing me to wake up and call him. I should resent him for cutting into my sleep. But the fact is, I want to please him.

I want to do a respectable job. I don’t want to fail him. Not that he’s going to notice the extra effort I’ve made. I’ll never tell him how I pouredcoffee into a travel mug next to my bed, so I could take a sip and rouse myself before phoning him. I’ll never reveal to him the thrill that grips my body when I dial his number every morning. Besides, he’s already paid me for my efforts. He’s compensated me by advancing my salary and none of my previous employers have done that.

I used most of what came in to pay off next quarter’s rent on my mother’s place, and the next semester’s fees for my siblings. Anything left over went toward paying my over-due credit card bills.

I yawn, then set the alarm for six a.m. and go back to sleep. Of course, I oversleep, then have to hurry to make it to work by eight a.m., where the first thing I do is get him his coffee.

He ignores me, except to issue a list of orders which I note down on my device—a new one which was waiting for me on my second day of work.

Then, it’s on to the staff meeting with his department heads. He has these meetings every Monday morning at nine a.m. and insists I sit in on them and take notes. I know most of them by face as they came in for meetings with him last week. I also emailed instructions to them on behalf of my boss, and while most of them had been fine with it, one of them, his Finance Director, replied to say he didn’t take orders from a lowly assistant. His words, not mine. Grr!

I tamped down on my annoyance and responded ultra-sweetly, telling him these werehisboss’ orders, not mine. I was only the messenger.

Now, the Finance Director hitches a hip against the conference room table where I'm seated to the left of the head of the table. “June Donnelly, huh?” He looks me up and down. “You managed to survive the week, not bad.”

“I’ve been here for six days. But who’s counting? Time flies when you’re having fun, eh?” I smile up at him in what I hope is a pleasant curve of my lips while trying my best not to shrink away from his presence.

He looks taken aback, then huffs out a laugh. “If you’re trying to tell me it’s fun working for The Beast, then you’re not fooling me, honey.”

Ugh, he called me honey.How condescending. I grit my teeth to keep the choice insults from spilling out. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say blandly.

He eyes me with disbelief. “Surely, you know that’s his”—he stabs his thumb in the direction of the seat at the head of the table—” nickname.”

“Is it?” I ask, feigning surprise.As if I, the person who works with him most closely, wouldn't already know everything?

“And with good reason. It must not be easy to look at his scarred face every day.”

What the—!That’s bold of him.How dare he talk about my boss like that?His face might be scarred, but it only adds to his appeal. I glare at the wanker, thinking,Better than looking at your face, dickhead;not that he notices.

“Anytime you feel like a change of scenery, my office is down the corridor.” He leans in and places his hand on my shoulder. “Whatever he’s good at, I’m better at it. My numbers speak for themselves.” He winks.

Was that a proposition? And he did it blatantly in front of the rest of the team.I’m so shocked, I gape at him open-mouthed. A slight commotion at the front of the room draws my attention toward the door. I find my boss standing there, glaring at me. His gaze is on where the other guy’s hand rests on my shoulder. For some reason, I flush. Then pull away so his hand drops. I berate myself. I didn’t do anything wrong.So why do I feel so guilty?

The wanker clears his throat and mumbles, “Looks like The Beast is in a mood today.”

No shit, Sherlock.

He sidles around to drop into the seat next to me. I pull my chair away from him, closer to the head of the table and toward my boss. Then lower my head and study the screen of my device. My boss stalks past me and sinks into the chair at the head of the table. Instantly, everyone quiets. There’s not even any shuffling of paper or coughing. Nothing. Ten other people in the room, and they've all faded into the background; that’s how silent they are.

The hair on the nape of my neck rises. I’m so aware of my boss’ presence, so conscious of his proximity, that my knees grow weak. The screen of my device fades in and out. I draw in a sharp breath to clear my head, but that only fills my senses with his scent. Instantly, I’m wet. I squeeze my thighs to stop the ache between them, but that doesn’t help. I pretend an undue interest in my device and start typing into it when, “Did you hear what I said Ms. Donnelly?” my boss fumes.

“Uh, what?” I glance up at him and flinch when I see the frost in his indigo eyes. Arctic. Frozen wasteland. A glacier that stretches into infinity.He looks like he crunched ice-chips for breakfast then swam ten miles in the freezing English Channel.

“I need the deck teed up on the laptop to project onto the screen,” he growls.

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