A spark ignites in my chest with the same thrill that chased through me when his rare praise lit up my intern days. I remind myself I’m not that girl anymore. I’m grown up. Better equipped to deal with a man like him.
“Are we done here?”
“Barely getting started.” I wrap my hands around my cup and draw it toward me. “Six months’ severance if you fire me.”
His eyes flash with warning. “If I fire you, it will be for cause.”
“Wasn’t last time.”
My words hang in the air. A threatening pulse tics in his temple, warning that I’ve pushed too far. Still, I don’t back down.
“Anything else?” he bites out.
“An expense account for travel, mileage if I run errands for you.”
“You’re trying my patience.”
“Now that those things are out of the way, let’s discuss my day-to-day activities.” Because I’d known three of his assistants, nothing he says surprises me. “All very doable.”
“We’re in accord. Let’s get to work.”
“Wait.” I take a drink. “One more thing. No touching.” My insides tighten, betraying how my body craves his hands—those hands that spanked me, that cupped my jaw during that kiss—despite my resolve.
Silence thumps. “No…”
“None.”
“Mmm.”
“That’s not a problem for you, is it, Mr. Blackwell?”
“No touching.” He leans forward. His half grin is wicked, and his masculine scent teases my senses. “Unless you ask.”
I gasp. “That won’t happen.”
“We’ll see, Ms. Hollis. We’ll see.”
His confidence terrifies me, and I’m afraid he might be right. Deciding it’s a good idea to put some distance between us, I slip off my chair and take a step back. “And now that we’re actually in agreement, we’re definitely done here.”
“Not so fast.” He rounds the counter, and now he’s even closer than he was before. “There’s the matter of a dress code.”
Embarrassment creeps up my neck. “I’ll borrow some suitable clothing until I get my first paycheck.”
He scowls. “Borrow?”
“I did what I had to do.” Determinedly I force away my humiliation. “A consignment shop sold my business clothing for me.”
For a moment, his eyes flicker. Guilt? No that’s not possible. Surely Blackheart doesn’t have human emotions.
He takes out his phone and taps in a message. “You’ll need a wardrobe that represents me. I’ll provide an allowance for a month’s worth of clothes.”
More than generous. And if I lose my job, I can consign them as well. “I’ll consider it part of my signing bonus.”
His brows shoot up. “Your what?”
I smile, all innocence, despite the way my heart is pounding. “That’s traditional in corporate circles, isn’t it?”
“Not for a fucking assistant.”
