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CHAPTER ONE
MARCHING HAPPILY DOWNthe hall, Emma Hartman pushed through the double glass doors and walked across the parking lot to her brand new, cherry red, Mustang convertible.
She’d just graduated from Cinema Studies University, a small, elite college, and the snappy car was a graduation gift from her Oscar-winning father, director Justin Hartman. He’d made some calls, and unlike many who would be struggling to find a job in the highly competitive show business industry, she already had interviews lined up.
But her thoughts were abruptly interrupted.
Zach Taylor, Head of Motion Picture Development for Continental Pictures, was ambling towards her.
He was cute, really cute, with unruly chocolate brown hair, chiseled features, and the sexiest caramel-colored eyes she’d ever seen. His position gave him power, and powerful men made Emma’s toes curl. His choice of clothes was another turn-on—a three-piece and trendy tie. He’d been a guest lecturer at her class several times, but all she’d been able to focus on were his broad shoulders and ridiculously full lips.
“Hello, Emma,” he said, greeting her with his wickedly sexy smile as he approached. “I’ve been waiting for you. Are you ready for the real world?”
Emma threw back her head and laughed out loud, mostly from nerves.
“Did I say something funny?”
“Zach, I’ve been in the real world since I was three-years old and went to my first premiere. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
Her heart skipped.
“How did you know I was here?”
“I had to stop by and saw your car.”
“Oh...well...I assume you want me to work with you at Continental,” she declared confidently. “Sorry, but I’ll have to think about it. I already have several interviews lined up and a couple offers already.”
“I don’t have a place for you at Continental.”
“You don’t? But dad said—”
“Emma, I only agree to meet with someone if I have a position open,” he said curtly, cutting her off, “not because their very important daddy made a phone call.”
“I see,” she mumbled, her heart sinking, then suddenly bristling, she retorted, “I suppose you’ve decided I don’t deserve a break because my father happens to be famous.”
“There’s no offer from Continental because there’s nothing that would be right for you.”
“Whatever,” she said flippantly, rummaging for her car key and lifting it from her oversized, grey leather, Prada handbag. “If you’re not here to talk to me about a job, why are you here?”
“I have an offer for you.”
“But you just—?” she exclaimed, jerking her head up.
“A spanking!”
Stunned, then flustered as her face flushed red, she dropped the key.
“Dammit! Now look what you’ve made me do!”
“I made you drop your key?”
“Of course you did, with that ridiculous, uh—”
“Offer?”
“Is that what you’d call it?”
