Decoding Emma (Fantasies, Inc. #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Emma

I sat in my small car in the warm spring air, trying to convince myself to get out. Why was I so nervous?

My boss, Alex Manning, called me right around sunrise and told me Fantasies, Inc. had hired Tri-O-Tech to streamline and expand the existing corporate mainframe and facilitate seamless integration of domestic and international operations. I needed to be at their facility by nine.

I’d handled projects like this before, so this would be a breeze.

Or so I thought until he told me I’d be working on site.

When I asked why I couldn’t work from the lab at Tri-O-Tech as I’d done in the past, apparently the guy in charge of the technology department was a control freak with a dash of paranoia who insisted all work be done inhouse because they didn’t want to permit the degree of access required for a project of this scope to an outsider. End of.

Which landed me, an introvert, a loner, in a place I’d never been to, working with a company I’d never heard of, in an unfamiliar environment, about to start a project on a network I knew nothing about and whose architecture I hadn’t been allowed to study.

And the cherry on the top of this sundae?

I’d be doing this while people I didn’t know were looking over my shoulder.

And one more thing: Alex hinted, no, actually insinuated that doing this job would help me get the promotion I craved.

No pressure. Sure…

I sighed.

“Come on, Emma, get your ass out of the car,” I muttered as I squared my shoulders and gathered my determination. After I retrieved my backpack and hoisted the strap over my shoulder, I closed my eyes and allowed myself a moment to enjoy the warmth of the springtime sunshine.

Okay, it’s now or never.

I had a flash (pun intended) of regret that I hadn’t worn sunglasses when the sun reflecting off the mirrored windows of the Fantasies, Inc.

building nearly fried my retinas. I could almost make out the company logo—a red heart with devil’s horns—in the afterimage flashing on the inside of my eyelids.

My sight finally recovered, and I started the short walk to the entrance.

I live outside of Seattle, which meant driving right into West Seattle and dealing with all the traffic. Luckily, I made it with more than enough time to gather my courage.

I stepped off to the side of the automatic doors so as not to block others from walking into the building. Some of them glanced at me and smiled, then continued on their way. They all seemed very relaxed and comfortable.

I glanced down at my black slacks and purple blouse. Yes, I was wearing sneakers, but I wanted to be comfortable. I fit right in.

Well, let’s do this.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the revolving door.

The coolness of the building’s AC wafted over my skin. The lobby was nicely decorated in neutral shades with sofas and chairs arranged in groupings around low tables. There were a few people waiting, probably meeting someone.

The large reception desk was backed by a mahogany paneled wall with the company name and logo in brushed steel mounted at its center.

At the desk, a tall man in perfectly tailored slacks and what was obviously an expensive button-down shirt said something to the receptionist who smiled, said something back, and they both laughed.

Another deep breath and I made my way over to the desk.

The receptionist glanced at me and made the slightest gesture, and the man turned.

When our gazes locked, I stopped breathing.

His green eyes were assessing, and I couldn’t help feeling like I lacked something he was searching for.

I adjusted my backpack and forced a smile.

“You must be Emma Palmer,” the man said and extended his hand. “I’m Asher Donahue, head of Technology here at Fantasies, Inc.”

“Mr. Donahue.” I shook his hand and heat invaded my veins. I took in his short dark hair and the slight scruff on his face. A shaft of awareness slid through my body.

“Call me Asher.”

“Emma.” I pulled my hand away from his, but my gaze stayed on him. Why did he look familiar? He shouldn’t.

“Our first stop is HR so we can get you set up.” He gestured toward the elevators with a smile, and damned if my pulse didn’t skip a beat or two.

“See you later, Jessica.” He started for the elevators, and I followed, assessing his broad shoulders and perfect ass, which didn’t do much to calm my heart down.

I fought to keep my attention on where we were going, not how he made me feel. He scanned his badge and then pushed the button for the elevator. When it arrived, we stepped in and Asher scanned his badge again, then pressed the button for the sixth floor.

“Access to all the floors is badge-controlled.” He paused. “I should’ve shown you the Savory café and Daily Perks, the coffee shop on the first floor.”

“No worries.” I kept my gaze on the elevator doors. “The company seems very security conscious.” A lot of companies had tight security, but this was next level. I liked it.

“We are.”

I barely stopped myself from tapping my toes as the elevator moved. I could smell Asher’s cologne. A nice sandalwood and cedar scent that pleased my senses. I gasped.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, sorry. I just remembered something I need to do.” A white lie, but his question and the tone in his voice made me remember where I’d seen him before. It was at a party I attended several months ago with the douchebag who ditched me the minute we got there.

I ended up hiding in a corner, trying to figure out how to escape the party and make my way home when a couple of women nearby started talking.

It didn’t take long for their conversation to morph into the typical mean girl sniping.

I intended to ignore it—really I did—until I heard douchebag’s name and where did he find such a drabulous, ordinary plus one.

This led to an in-depth analysis of my wardrobe.

They were sure I bought my outfit at some second-rate thrift shop.

But, hey, thrifting could be great if I had any fashion sense.

No, in their opinion, I was completely lacking.

Then came the hair critique. The stylist who did my cut and color was incompetent at best, not even worth one star on Yelp.

And last but never least… Who taught me how to use makeup, and I definitely didn’t take care of my skin because I looked like I was a hundred years old.

Yeah, the douchebag was probably just looking to get laid.

Well, thank you very much. Not.

The only truth in their review? Douchenozzle very likely was looking to just get laid. What else was new? Another guy out for what he thought he was owed after dinner and a date. I was an object rather than a person.

After the plastics left in search of other victims, I pulled out my phone and tapped the rideshare app. I was paying more attention to my phone rather than where I was walking and hit what turned out to be a wall of pecs and abs that belonged to a drop-dead handsome man.

Asher.

His hands on my shoulders kept me from landing on my butt, his touch firm and gentle at the same time.

His head was canted just off center, and his brow creased with concern as he asked if I was okay.

His voice was a perfect match to his looks—a little rough, deep, and all kinds of warm, like brandy on a cold day.

I managed to convince him I was fine, and just my luck, before either of us could say anything more, a woman sidled up to him, whispered something in his ear, and drew him away.

I never figured out if it took a second or minutes before my phone vibrated in my hand to let me know my ride had arrived.

I returned to the real world when the elevator doors opened to a tastefully decorated reception area.

This was definitely not the usual stark, cold utilitarian office décor.

Soft carpeting, windows for natural light, yet kept the heat out.

Some open area in the center and separate offices along two of the outside walls.

“Good morning, Mr. Donahue,” the blonde woman behind the desk said.

“Good morning, Sarah. Miles is expecting us.”

“He is.” She flashed a wide smile. “Please go right in.”

Asher nodded and turned to me. “Right this way.” He gestured for me to proceed him. At the end of what was a short hallway, there was a door with the name Miles Holt, Director of Human Resources, on it.

Heat flashed over my skin as Asher brushed my arm to knock on the door. He didn’t wait for an invitation before he opened it.

“Morning, Miles.” Asher guided me into the office. “This is Emma Palmer. She’ll be working with me to integrate domestic and international operations.”

The man sitting behind the desk stood. Tailored slacks, open neck of his button-down shirt, both in neutral colors. So business casual seemed to be the style here. His brown hair was cut short; his green eyes twinkled, and his smile reached his eyes as he extended his hand.

“Ms. Palmer, we’re glad you’re here.” We shook hands.

Warm handshake and a feeling of genuine welcome.

“Mr. Holt.”

“Please, Miles. Let’s sit down.” He gestured to what appeared to be a cherry conference table big enough to seat at least ten people.

That’s when I realized his office was huge.

Two sofas and a center coffee table with an arrangement of what looked like fresh flowers, end tables at both sofas, brass lamps, all in all, understated elegance.

If I had to guess, the whole room ran at least one-third the length of the entire floor.

Miles grabbed an envelope and file folder off his desk, cherry in the style that matched the conference table.

The men waited until I sat before they took their seats. I was used to the other coders in my office treating me like one of the guys. I wasn’t sure how I felt about being given this special attention.

“Water, coffee?” Miles asked.