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I stiffen, suddenly enraged. “You went through my personal file? You’re not allowed to access any employee file without the consent of Human Resources!”
Mr. Thornton peers through hooded lashes. “Caleb provided certain files for me to go through. His own research. I have not begun my own work… yet. The files I left for you are the ones I have approved for dismissal.” He takes a step forward, which almost seems threatening, but I hold my ground. “Caleb gave me forty-two files.”
His voice is low. “From those files, I concurred that twenty of those individuals are damaging to this company. Something you would have realized if you had gone through those files instead of marching over to my office to pick a fight with me.”
I feel a flush crawl up my neck, and I see his satisfaction at putting me in my place.
However, I didn’t get where I am by letting men walk all over me. “I wouldn’t have had to march over to your office if you had given me the consideration of introducing yourself, Mr. Thornton. You toss off files of employees I work with and expect me to fire them without so much as a courtesy call or a proper report.” I give him a withering glare. “Next time you decide to fire an employee, don’t leave files in my office. I expect you to follow the proper procedure. And if you don’t know that, my assistant will send you the SOP. You’re going to have to learn to work with me rather than around me, Mr. Thornton.”
Without giving him a chance to reply, I turn on my heel and stalk out of his office.
* * *
Oliver Thornton is right about me putting in overtime.
I do that a lot.
Even tonight, I sit in my office, my blazer hanging from the back of a chair, my bare feet curled up under me as I sit on the couch, pouring through the files before me. I’ve already gone
through eleven of them.
The man was right.
All of these individuals are high-level executives who are bleeding the company.
Adding another file to the ‘fire them tomorrow’ heap, I glance at the one file that is in the ‘Oliver Thornton knows jack shit’ pile. I scowl at that particular stack, wishing it were higher.
Rubbing my eyes, I reach for my coffee just as I hear a knock on my door.
A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s one in the morning. I freeze, wondering who else is in the office.
“Come in,” I say loudly. The handle twists, the door opening to reveal the man in question.
“Mr. Thornton,” I say, trying for an icy tone but sounding weary instead. “What are you doing here?”
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I remember the rumor he murdered his wife in mysterious circumstances. Fear chokes my throat before I force it down, scolding myself for being ridiculous.
His hair is mussed, as if he raked his fingers through it for hours, but his eyes are sharp. He looks deliciously rumpled, and I frown at myself for the inappropriate line of thought.
“I had a feeling you’d be here,” he murmurs, and I can’t help but notice how his eyes wander over my relaxed form.
I narrow my own. “Yes, well, I have a lot of work to do.”
“No, you don’t,” he says easily.
I stiffen. Does he plan on firing me next?
“You’re going home. I have a driver waiting downstairs.”
I straighten as shock and insult war through me. “Excuse me?”
He walks into my office, studying the spacious room I painstakingly decorated to be welcoming and official at the same time. Moving toward me, he leans down, crowding into my personal space. “I don’t need you wearing yourself out.”
I grit my teeth, uncurling my legs and standing, ignoring the sudden flare of emotion in his eyes when I get into his personal space. “My well-being is hardly any of your concern, Mr. Thornton.”
We are so close I can feel his breath on my face. I firmly stamp on the way my lower abdomen tightens at the proximity to this man, who is so much more attractive than his picture in the article I’d read. His lips are thin, his cheekbones high. It as if his face has been chiseled by the angels themselves, all sharp planes and haughty lines.
And I despise myself for feeling any hint of attraction to him.
