“Girls like what? Successful? Smart? Gorgeous?”
“You know what I mean,” I muttered, not wanting to say it out loud. Girls with curves. Girls who didn’t look like my half-sister Megan, who Mom regularly reminded me had “taken after her father’s side of the family, thank goodness.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean,” Emily said, but mercifully let it drop. “Team meeting at ten, don’t forget. Mr. Sullivan wants the latest quarter projections.”
“I’ve got them ready.” I was already pulling up the presentation I’d prepared the night before. “Sales are up 8% in my department, despite the company’s overall decline.”
“Show-off,” Emily grinned, heading for the door. “Try not to make too many googly eyes at Mr Sullivan during your meeting. It’s unprofessional.”
“I don’t make googly eyes!” I protested to her retreating back.
“Sure, Jan,” she called over her shoulder.
As Emily left, I allowed myself a quick glance across the floor to the executive wing. I could see him standing behind his desk, phone to his ear, his broad shoulders tense.
Three months ago, Catalyst Digital had brought Jack Sullivan in to stop our financial bleeding. The company wasn’t failing, not yet, but profit margins were shrinking, and the board was nervous. Jack’s reputation for turning companies around preceded him, along with whispers about his cutthroat methods.
So far, the most cutthroat thing he’d done was implement mandatory progress reports and ask too many questions in meetings. Well, that and stare at me with those intense hazel eyes whenever I presented, like he was trying to see inside my head.
As if sensing my gaze, Jack looked up suddenly, catching me watching him. I quickly dropped my eyes to my keyboard, heat creeping up my neck. Great. Now he probably thought I was a weirdo who stared at her boss.
When I risked another peek, his blinds were coming down.
I straightened my shoulders, took a fortifying gulp of coffee, and began reviewing my meeting notes. Jack Sullivan might be distractingly hot, but I had a sales team to run and targets to hit. And no amount of mysterious notes or broad shoulders was going to derail my focus.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
JACK
The steady stream of sales reps filing past my door pulled my attention from the dismal quarterly numbers on my screen. I glanced at my watch. 9:58 AM. Time for the meeting.
I’d strategically scheduled these Monday morning meetings to set the tone for the week, though lately I found myself looking forward to them for entirely unprofessional reasons. Right on cue, Mia Harris appeared in my line of sight, her dark hair bouncing with each step, a portfolio clutched against her chest.
Wait until she passes before you get up, Sullivan. Don’t make it obvious.
I shuffled papers on my desk, pretending to organize something important while tracking her movement in my peripheral vision. When she drew close enough, I stood and smoothed my tie, timing my exit to coincide with hers.
“Good morning, Mr. Sullivan.” She gave me a professional nod, her gray eyes briefly meeting mine before sliding away.
“Ms Harris,” I responded, keeping my voice neutral despite the way my pulse kicked up. I fell into step behind her, maintaining what I hoped was an appropriate distance.Don’t look at her ass. Don’t look at her ass.
I looked at her ass.
The trim pencil skirt she wore hugged curves that haunted my dreams, and I forced my gaze forward, silently reciting sales figures to distract myself.
When we reached the conference room, I reached around her to push the door open for her.
“Um, thank you.” She brushed past me, close enough that I caught the scent of something floral and warm. Vanilla maybe? Whatever it was, it was fucking amazing.
Get it together. She’s your employee. She’s off-limits.
I followed her in, choosing a seat on the opposite side of the conference room from where she sat with her assistant. Distance was my only defense against Mia Harris and the way she made me want to forget every professional boundary I’d ever set.
Once the teams were seated, Mia and her assistant distributed printed reports. Tamping down my frustration that it was the twenty-first century and this companystillhadn’t digitized, I held my hand out for my copy, as Mia approached.
“Your copy, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Thank you.”
