Page 2 of The Boss's Forbidden Assistant

‘You have an impressive CV,’ he said, gesturing to his screen once more.

Damn straight. At twenty-six, Harper had worked for some of the biggest names in the corporate world and, except for that awful business with Peter Cavstock, she had covered herself in glory each and every time. For the last two years, she’d been stationed at the Chicago office of da Rocha Industries, working for the head of North American operations.

‘Thank you,’ she said with a dip of her head.

‘Why did you join da Rocha Industries?’ he asked, fixing her with a level stare.

She bit back a desire to ask why it mattered. Wasn’t it more important that she did work for him? That she was regarded as indispensable to one of his busiest executives?

‘It was an excellent opportunity,’ she supplied, the answer revealing very little.

‘What do you enjoy about your current role?’

‘Enjoyment is beside the point,’ she said after a beat. ‘It’s a job.’

‘You don’t enjoy what you do?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ she said quietly. ‘But I’m not turning up each day looking to be entertained. Whether I enjoy my job or not, I still do it to an excellent standard, always. Every day.’

He pressed his chin to his fingers, steepling them once more. His face was fascinating. She found her eyes clinging to his sharp features longer than was necessary or wise, admiring the chiselled cut of his cheekbones, his jaw, the strength of his patrician nose and the effect his five o’clock shadow had on his overall appearance, giving him a ‘devil may care’ attitude that was, frankly, quite beautiful. ‘Do you like working with Jack?’

She frowned, bringing her errant thoughts back to the present situation. ‘Yes,’ she said, quickly. ‘But I’ve worked with plenty of people I didn’t like. I’m a professional, Mr da Rocha. I come to work to get the job done, and don’t leave until I’m finished. Does that satisfy you?’

He studied her for so long, with such intensity, she had a new-found sympathy for bugs under the microscope. Finally, he spoke again, his Brazilian accent every bit as mesmerising as his face.

‘Amanda tells me you have some conditions of your own.’

Harper had no doubt Amanda had informed him of those conditions, but Salvador was evaluating her, trying to get a read on her confidence to negotiate for herself.

She fixed him with a direct stare. ‘Yes.’

‘They are?’

‘I need half an hour a day to myself. During those thirty minutes, I will be completely unavailable.’

Their eyes were locked in a stare that was laced with challenge on both sides. Who would blink first?

‘It’s an unusual request,’ he said.

‘To have some time to myself?’

‘Such a specific amount of time.’

She compressed her lips, not willing to be drawn on that. ‘Mr da Rocha, I have no doubt I can do this job. I would love to work alongside you, and I’m confident I can take care of things in Amanda’s absence. I want the money, yes, but more than that, I want the experience. Jobs like this don’t come along every day.’

His eyes flashed gold then copper.

‘But I will walk away if you don’t agree to this condition.’

She’d surprised him. It was evident in the way his mouth stretched, his brows lifting when they met hers.

‘I don’t like it,’ he said after a beat.

She was unflinching, but beneath the desk, away from his view, she kept her fingers crossed. She couldn’t budge on this point. Every day, she called her mother in the nursing home and read to her. The doctors weren’t sure how much of it her mother understood, but Harper knew it meant the world to her mum, and she had no intention of disappearing into thin air.

‘Shall I wait outside while you consider it?’ she asked, standing to her full height. She wasn’t tall, nor was she short, but she was well aware she had a body that drew the attention of the opposite sex, with curves in what her mother would have called ‘all the right places’. It made Harper uncomfortable. While her mother had been adored and feted for her looks, Harper had never welcomed that kind of attention. She pulled her dark-brown hair over one shoulder, then winced, because it was a gesture that spoke of nerves—something she’d trained herself never to show.

His eyes flickered over her body and, despite the fact Harper usually hated it when men looked at her, now the lightest goose bumps lifted her skin, which she preferred to attribute to the sea breeze that brushed in through the ocean-side window, bringing with it a hint of salt in the air.

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