Page 1 of Summoned by the CEO (Curvy for Keeps)

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ANGIE

I’m scared.

For the first time in my perfectly safe and organized little life, I’m scared.

CEO Aran Archer just called me into his office, and I’m shaking like a schoolgirl, shivering like a kitten, feeling chills all over my body as I sit here on this cold leather chair and stare into the darkness all around me.

“Why is it so dark and cold in here when it’s bright and sunny outside?” I say out loud—to myself, of course, since there’s no one else in this massive, sparsely furnished, weirdly cold office on the top floor of Archer Tower. I say weirdly cold because the rest of the office is like a freakin’ sauna—thanks to me, mostly, since I secretly turn up the heat whenever I can get my paws on the thermostat. Can’t help it. I get cold easily, even though I’ve got enough um, “baby fat” to keep me warm through a freakin’ ice-age.

“Because Aran Archer is the devil, which means this is hell, and contrary to what people think, hell is a cold, dark place, not a hot, steamy, underground spa,” I reply, also to myself.

Or maybe notquiteto myself.

OMFG.

“The devil himself? That’s a new one,” comes his voice from the bowels of hell. Or maybe just a dark corner of the office, which is so large that I think the far walls are obscured by clouds. “Oh wait,” he drawls in a bloodcurdling whisper that sends a different sort of chill through my curves, a chill that makes me feel hot and uncomfortable. “That’s not new at all. My employees have been calling me the devil for decades. I encourage it. Nothing like fear to get people working their asses off.”

“Yes, sir,” I say quickly, not sure why I’m calling him sir, not sure what the hell I’m saying yes to either. “I mean no, sir. Ohmygod, I’m gonna just shut up.”

“That would be wise,” he says, stepping into the sliver of light that’s cutting in through the black curtains that are billowing in a breeze I can’t feel. He stands there for a moment, tall and broad and magnificent, tailored black trousers hugging his tight hips and muscular thighs. He’s wearing a black silk shirt that’s fitted to the deadly V of his physique, and a black tie knotted thick and hanging loose around his massive neck that makes him look like a freakin’ beast of myth. “Talking to yourself is either a sign of madness or loneliness,” he says, lowering his voice and his gaze as he takes a step towards me, those green eyes of his blazing a path through the darkness like iridescent orbs from another dimension. “Which is it, Ms. Angela? Madness or loneliness?”

I stare into his eyes like I’m hypnotized, and then I blink and clear my throat. “Um, is that a serious question, Mister Archer? I mean sir. I mean—”

“I’malwaysserious, Ms. Angela. But you don’t need to answer the question. I already know the answer.”

My mouth hangs slightly open as I sit like a statue on the cool leather, my eyes locked into his green gaze. Did he just decide that I’m either crazy or lonely?!

“Let’s see here . . .” he mutters, breaking the killer eye-contact and striding over to his desk. I try not to look at his perfectly designed ass in those tailored pants. Oh, right. If I’mtryingnot to look at his butt, it means I’m looking at it. Shit, maybe Iamlonely.

Or crazy, if I think Aran Archer is ever gonna be interested in . . . wait, why am I even here?!

“You’re here because I asked for you,” he says, casually bending his long, hard body over his broad desk. He elegantly taps a key on the sleek black keyboard. Then he looks up at me suddenly, totally catching me staring at his muscular ass. “Call me Archer, by the way. No need for Mister. No need for Sir.” He narrows his eyes and then winks. “Just make sure you never call me Aran.”

“Aran,” I stammer, wincing as I realize I just did what he told me not to do. Am I an idiot? “I mean, OK. Sure.” I swallow, not sure why I’m still talking. “What’s wrong with Aran?”

Archer straightens up and stares like he’s surprised I’m even daring to ask him a question that’s bordering on personal. “I didn’t realize I needed to explain my likes and dislikes to you, Ms. Angela.”

I swallow hard, and now I know I’m either gonna get fired or simply tossed out of the top floor window of Archer Tower by the devil dressed in tailored black. I wonder how fast I’ll drop. Will I bounce when I hit the ground?

“Angie,” I say hoarsely. “Everyone calls me Angie.”

“That they do,” Archer says, taking a long look at me, his eyes darting to my heavy bosom for just a fraction of a second like he couldn’t help it.

He blinks and clenches his jaw, immediately looking away from my boobs. His dark face goes even darker with color, and I can see that he’s not just pissed at himself but he’s also . . . surprised?

And nowI’mpissed off. Is big-shot CEO Aran Archersurprisedthat he just checked out my boobs, that heaven forbid, he might be attracted to a big girl like me?!

I take a long breath and blink away my anger even as I feel an uncomfortable heat pass through my body. My nipples stiffen under my bra, and I have to acknowledge that the way he looked at me did something to me, to my body.

I shift on the smooth leather, feeling the wetness between my legs as I fight away the image of Aran Archer bending me over his desk, ripping my panties off, and showing me that he’s in charge, that he’s the goddamn boss.

“Wait, how do you know that everyone calls me Angie?” I say quickly, forcing myself to talk just to clear away the filthy images that are shockingly clear, awfully crisp, disturbingly real. I’m no saint, but I’m no wild thing either. My sexual experiences have been woefully ordinary and mundane thus far, to the point where I’d come to the firm conclusion that I’m not a very sexual person at all. But being in Archer’s presence is casting that long-held belief in serious doubt, and I swallow hard and touch my neck as I fight the temptation to look down to make sure the outline of my nipples can’t be seen through my black top.

Again I think about what the women in the office whisper about Aran Archer, about how he’s the devil in black. Viciously handsome, with a temper to match. Sole owner of the Archer empire—an empire he actually built himself. Famously single, and even more famously alone. Surprisingly alone, in fact. Not a rumor in existence about his sexual exploits. Not a whisper to be heard about inappropriate behavior towards female employees at Archer Industries. No scandals. No lawsuits. No ex-wives, secret babies, private prostitutes. In fact, Aran Archer is so damned clean it drives the women in the office crazy with curiosity! How can a man who oozes sexuality and darkness be so . . . so . . .

“It’s in your file,” Archer says, breaking me from my daydream as he glances back to his computer screen. “Goes by Angie,” he says like he’s reading. Then he raises an eyebrow and rubs his square, perfectly stubbled jaw. “Huh. That’s interesting.”

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