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The ringing of the phone pulls me out of the report I’m buried in. I answer and give permission to the building security in the main floor lobby for Alexandra Clark to be allowed up. I stand and stretch while ignoring the hunger pains starting.
Pulling out her file from under the others I have been working through today I wonder where the file I was promised from Diego is. Diego has always delivered on time. The knock on my door brings my head up from the file I’ve already committed to memory. “Come in.”
When she opens the door, her eyes widen, and she pauses before moving again. It is a common occurrence I experience. My height, at six-foot-four coupled with a build honed by years of weight training and working out with a trainer, impresses most people. I do not do it to impress. I do it because Victoria found out my doctor told me I was a heart attack waiting to happen.
At the time I disregarded his warnings, then Victoria came across the follow-up notes and suggestions. My life was an open book to her since her third year with me. One day I walked into my office to find a dietician, and a trainer waiting for me. Victoria told me if I did not make use of them, she would quit. I called her bluff. She walked out the door. Three days later I gave in when her first replacement cried every time I raised my voice in the slightest and the second woman included nude photos of herself in a report I asked for.
I am aware my features combine into something people deem attractive. I do not see it, I think my nose is too big and brow too heavy. I also have a half inch scar on my cheek and an inch-long scar on my chin, both gifts from Agatha’s ring worn when she struck me. Alexandra’s appeal goes up a notch when she blinks, and there is not a hint of attraction in them.
I wish I could say the same. The picture in her file did not come close to the Alexandra Clark in front of me. Her hair is not nearly as mousy brown as it looked in the picture. Long and straight and cascading down her shoulders it is dark, rich mahogany with natural red and gold highlights. Alexa’s eyes are not merely blue they are a brilliant deep sapphire. She is not wearing any makeup; with her light olive skin tone and clear complexion she does not need it.
She has a heart-shaped face with round high cheekbones, a small pert nose, over a wide soft mouth that has me wondering what her lips will look like around my cock, and—what the fuck was that? No, not happening is what I’m thinking even as my cock stirs.
Alexa’s body is lush, soft, ripe, and incredibly sensuous. Even though she is shorter than the six-foot-plus models I usually fuck, she is still taller than average, somewhere around five nine. Nothing about her has ever appealed to me before. So why the fuck am I staring at her legs beneath her prim skirt, thinking as good as they look they will look better wrapped around my waist?
This is a fucking aberration, knock it off, I scold my cock. Then I take the hand she offers me. Her hand is small, soft and in my larger hand feels fragile. A low hum of electricity shoots through me at her touch, and I’m dropping it as if it were burning me. This is not fucking happening. It’s been several weeks since my last release after having to end things with clingy Tara, that is all this is.
Her eyes are cool as ice, she’s looking at my tie with a small, bland smile. There is no hint she is going through the same turmoil I am. I motion for her to sit. Only now do I notice she is carrying a small paper bag I recognize immediately. It’s takeout from Maki Sushi, my preferred sushi restaurant. She sets the bag on my desk then steps back, sitting she crosses her legs primly at the ankle. I sit, careful of my thickening cock.
“The sushi is a suggestion of Victoria’s. Two lobster rolls and one California roll with salmon instead of crab. Victoria was sure you wouldn’t have had dinner yet and would be hungry.”
Even her voice is sexy, light yet husky. I imagine it coming out of the dark begging me to fuck her. Instantly, I’m starving, only I’m not hungry for food, my cock is salivating for her. I pull her file close to me even though I do not see a word as I fight to get myself under control.
She is finally hesitant. “I hope it’s okay to have brought you dinner.”
The slight tremor in her voice has my eyes up, searching for the answer to what the hell is going on with me. This is her fault, what is it about her? My voice is harsher than I intend, needing to put her further out of her comfort zone. “Tell me why you want to work for me.”
Blue eyes blink fast, her hands tighten in her lap, her lips thin then the ice is back. “It’s a tie between the salary and the opportunity of working for you.”
Her voice is cool, even. Her composure in the face of my own inner unrest infuriates me, “Explain yourself.”
Alexandra Clark is looking through me, no one has looked through me since Agatha. It incites violence within me.
“I would be lying if I didn’t say the money mattered. With the money I’ll be making, things I didn’t think were possible will be. Then there’s working with you. Despite what movies and books want to make out, becoming a billionaire isn’t something that just happens. Thousands of people work hard and never make it. There’s an extra something that takes a person from million to billion that can’t be taught. There are people who would pay to be where I will be, but it’s me who will be paid, and very well.”
Now, I am on an even keel. This is what I am used to, my money being the draw. It is refreshing to have a person admit money is what brings them to me. For ninety-nine-point-nine percent of people I meet, women and men, my appeal is my money. Only they want to pretend it’s something else. Begrudgingly, I give Alexa Clark another point, in addition to all the others.
“You will earn your money. I do not keep banker’s hours, as you can see. While I will not expect you to work as many hours as I do you will be expected to be available to me every day of the week, to pick up when I call whatever you may be doing. Is that something you are prepared for? To work for what you want? What are you working for, Ms. Clark? What are your plans for your future?”
The question throws her, her ice melts for a moment. “I’m aware I’ll need to be available, and I’m willing to be.” A pause of hesitation. “I want to be able to write full time before I retire. That’s my plan for the future, working for you will make it possible. I’ve completed three novels to date, with my fourth releasing in a few months. My plan is after five years at this salary. I’ll be able to live off what I’ve saved while I write full time.”
I am intrigued by her honesty. “What have you written?”
“Historical fiction, set in Renaissance Italy.”
Interesting, I wonder if I have read her before. I enjoy reading for relaxation although I do not read as often as I would like. “I can understand someone wanting to work with me if they were looking to start their own company, or work for themselves. You write about Renaissance Italy what do you hope to learn working for me?”
“My main characters are various members of the Medici family. The Prince was written then, and it’s still as relevant now as it was then.”
The tart reply earns her a smile, I have no control over.
Her blue eyes glow in return. “You believe I would make a good character study?”
Her head tilts ever so slightly, “I believe I’ll never find anyone better to observe. I’ve never been able to pin down Cosimo’s ambitious plans where he was always several steps ahead of everyone else. I’d like to see it in action.”
“I do believe there is a whole chapter on avoiding flatterers.”
“There’s flattery, and there’s fact. You’re the one who must recognize one from the other. Because of course, you’ve read The Prince. Did you highlight it as well?” She responds with a quirk of those soft, plump lips.
I want those lips around my cock. “Of course, when I was thirteen and then again at university. I don’t use highlighters. So, you are going to study me.”
Blue eyes trail down my body then she blinks fast, her blush is down to her beautiful neck. “Observe by doing work—working for you. It’s obvious you’ve used principles Machiavelli expounded on successfully. I couldn’t find someone better to observe if I were in that period of time in Italy.”
Hmm, she has eyes in her head no doubt about it. Still, the blush fades fast from her cheeks.
“You have visited Italy?” I ask in Italian, interested in just how fluent she is. Her resume said fluent, not all resumes tell the truth.
Delight shines from her, her cheeks are pink for a new reason, her eyes sparkle brightly as she responds in Italian. “I visited Florence for a week three years ago, it was amazing. I was worried it would disappoint from fantasy to reality, it was even better. Have you been?”
“Not to Florence, to Milan and Rome. It has been several years. Their economy sputters so often investing there would be a bad bet. I attended a few conferences. While I was there, I took the time to see the cities. Beautiful.”
“How did you learn Italian? You speak it like a native with all the casual élan, not formal at all.” She speaks even faster in Italian now, choppy, also very much like a native.
“My roommate at Stanford. He wanted to learn to speak English like a native. I wanted to learn Italian. And you?”
“My mother came from Florence when she was five with her mother and sister. They still spoke Italian with each other until my mom passed. My dad, to make her happy, learned Italian and was happy to speak it with my sisters and me at home. It made my mom happy to know we kept a piece of her past alive.”
I am reminded of not having Diego’s file. If I had it, I would have known about Alexa’s mother. I don’t like the way her eyes dim at the memory of her mother’s death. “Is your writing of Florence and its history another way for you to keep her past alive?”
She considers the question. “I wasn’t thinking of it in those terms when I started. I think it kind of became that. A way of staying connected to her. How do you stay so fluent if you don’t visit often?”
“Victoria speaks Italian she would pick a week, and all we spoke was Italian. We still have lunch every few weeks and when we do we speak Italian. As it is the language I use least for business without her, I would likely lose it.”
“How many languages do you speak? I know about Greek and French, are there others?”
“I am fluent in German as well as Mandarin. Thanks to Dmitri Markhoff, I can hold my own in Russian. If you are open to learning other languages, let me know. I will see to it you get a tutor.”
“If you want, I’m a poor learner though. I took four years of Spanish in high school and college and can barely make it through an evening in a Mexican restaurant.”
“Then there is no need. I have others who handle those languages. Victoria did not want to learn either.”
She shakes her head, her eyes wide. “If you want me to learn another language I will. I’ll do what you want me to do.”
What I want her to do is strip and ride my cock. Does she see it? Does she feel it? As I watch her cheeks glow again, she drops her eyes down to the rings on her finger and twists them. Her engagement ring is a small diamond in plain gold, it matches the plain gold band beside it. It’s also the equivalent of a cold shower. Women who are married are as appealing as a kick to the balls. Of the sins people can lay at my feet, none of them will ever be me breaking up a marriage. I switch back to English. “I want to know that even with you writing your attention will be mine when I want it.”
The ice is back as she replies in English. “It won’t be a problem, Mr. Kaplan. I know there will be long hours, leaving me with less time to write. I’m prepared for it.”
For the first time, her eyes meet mine without a hint of ice in them. I am hard again in an instant. “Your husband does not have a problem with all of this? Working for me, being available to me and writing in the small amount of free time.” I cannot believe it. I sure as fuck would not be. If she were my woman, no other man would ever be allowed to have her attention more than me.
“I—yes, he’s fine with it. He understands. He’s a workaholic too. He spends a lot of time at work.”
“The plans you have together, what are they? A house in the suburbs? Three children and a dog?”
Her hands are almost white from how tight she has them clasped. “A home, yes, of course. As far as children, while we do want them, neither of us are ready for them. I’m also more of a cat person, as is my husband.”
I’m not sure I believe what she is saying, there’s something in her tone of voice that’s off. Was she already trying for children? It would be an inconvenience to establish her in the position only to have her gone for a three-month maternity leave. Then she will have available a further six months leave in the form of a thirty-two hour work week at the same rate of pay. While I am proud of the leave and how it enables my firm to attract and keep talent, the idea of it leaving me short an assistant I just trained is not appealing.
I also do not like the idea of her lying to me. Even if I understand why as the question is one Natalie would be angry at me for asking. “What made you speak to Victoria?”
She is less tense now; her eyes meet mine for a moment. Just as Natalie said, Alexa was married, and unlike the other women who have taken the position, she has no interest in me.
“To know what the position really entailed between the lines of the job description.”
“What did she tell that set your mind at rest?”
“You aren’t nearly as scary as I thought. I’ll regret not working for you.”
Hmm...I like the idea of people thinking I am scary, it usually worked to my advantage. I will have to take Victoria to task for divulging my secrets. Alexa is easier to read than she wants to be, her lips are thin, to keep something in. “What else did she say?”
She blushes. “I’m exactly what you need. You’ll regret not hiring me.”
Damn Victoria, after more than thirteen years I trust her. “Fine. You start on Monday. Take this week to wrap up what you have going for Lynch.”
Her eyes are wide, I have looked into blue eyes before, only none have seemed as endless as hers. For a long minute, she stares back. Then she springs up as if the chair was on fire. “Yes, okay. Monday. Thank you. My husband, I’ll tell him. He’ll be so happy.”
The mention of her husband stings against the pleasure of seeing her not quite as cool as she was when she walked in. When she walks out her hand is flat against her stomach. Fuck, is she pregnant already? My mouth is sour at the thought, only because of the inconvenience it would cause me. Not because the idea of her long legs wrapped around someone else begging to be fucked leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.