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“Mr. Savitch. Sir. I tried to tell you, but—”
“But,” the woman said coldly, “I am weary of wasting my time trying to talk sense to your secretary!”
“I’m Mr. Savitch’s assistant. And—”
Kaz rose to his feet.
“Excuse me,” he said, just as coldly, “but who in blazes are you?”
The woman drew herself up, straight and tall. Tall, indeed, Kaz’s brain registered.
And stunning.
Platinum hair. Violet eyes. Long legs visible under a bright red wool coat. Knee-high black leather boots that were part of the reason for her height because the heels were the kind that gave men nosebleeds just to dream about them.
“Are you done?”
Kaz dragged his eyes up to meet hers. She was looking at him the way he figured Catherine the Great might have looked at a peasant.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, are you done with your assessment, Mr. Savitch—I assume that you are Kazimir Savitch?”
Kaz cleared his throat.
“Yes. I am. And you are…”
“I am Ekaterina Rostov.” She turned her chilly gaze on Zach, who had gotten to his feet and was watching her with an expression halfway between amusement and irritation. “And I am weary of waiting, Mr. Castelianos. You said this would only take minutes.”
“Yeah. Well, it took longer than I’d expected.”
That piercing violet gaze returned to Kaz. No, he thought, not Catherine the Great. The Queen of Mean.
“This,” she said, “is the man you thought would make a suitable addition to my staff?”
Her tone dripped acid. Kaz felt a muscle knot in his jaw. He flashed a look at his PA.
“Please leave us, Susan,” he said, far more calmly than he felt.
His PA nodded, stepped out and closed the door. Kaz looked at the woman. She was not looking at him. All her attention was on Zach.
“Mr. Castelianos. I asked you a question. Is this the man you said you had hand-chosen?”
“That’s what I said, yes.”
Now she turned her attention to Kaz. Her eyes raked him up and down. Kaz wasn’t a man much taken to thinking about his looks, but he wasn’t dead, either. He knew damn well that women generally admired what they saw.
Admired?
Most times, they wanted what they saw.
Not this woman.
As far as she was concerned, on a scale of one to ten he’d owe points.
“I am not impressed.” One last dismissive look and she focused on Zach again. “Not at all. This man doesn’t give any indication of being up to the job.”
“Well,” Zach said, “it doesn’t matter. He’s your only hope—and he’s not interested.”
