Chapter 2
Kat
I’d had a strange feeling about this gig from the start.
I’d pulled some really spectacular duds as an office temp in my time, but never one like this.
From the moment the office manager got all sphincter-mouthed and tense when I asked about a closet for my coat and a fridge to stow my plastic tub of leftovers-for-lunch, I’d been uneasy.
No, the woman had said, all snippy-like, “Keep your things under your desk.”
Hmph. Not a good sign.
As soon as I was left alone, I’d walked out of the reception area with its ridiculous, energy-sucking fountain, headed back to the office section, and found it empty.
Monumentally empty. Unused desks. Empty cubicles.
No computer equipment. Funereal silence.
A quarter of the high-rise building’s floor was deserted.
Clemens & Associates did not exist, at least not here.
And yet, a waterfall gurgled cheerfully in that lobby.
I was manning phones for an army of ghosts.
Was C&A a front for a shady business of some kind?
Some money-laundering operation? I so did not want to come to the attention of the law.
Or even worse, the media. Not with that murdering son-of-a-bitch Tony Petruzzi scheduled to walk out of prison any time now.
The idea of making the news, for any reason, made my guts cramp.
Maybe I should just walk right out of here. Right now, without a word to anyone.
The office manager hadn’t even briefed me on my duties.
She’d just bustled in, looking harassed, and told me to answer the phones.
Nothing else. She’d signed the authorization form for the temp agency, and then scurried away.
No instructions on fielding calls. No names to take messages for.
No friendly chitchat. No hints or clues.
Fine, whatever. They paid me by the hour, and the form was already signed.
But still, it bugged me to just sit by a silent phone until my ass went numb.
I’d gotten up early, put on mascara and heels and dragged myself in here on time, with brains and energy and good sense to trade for my hourly wage—and for what?
I’d rather type, file, photocopy, even fetch coffee for somebody rather than just sit here idle.
No sense getting worked up about it. I needed to make rent for the martial arts school, and fix the latest water damage, since the landlord wouldn’t.
And get glasses for Charlotte, a fourth grader in my Stand Up For Yourself class.
Charlotte was flunking out because she couldn’t see the blackboard at school, or read without getting headaches.
Eyes on the prize, Banner. If some dumbass wanted to pay me to sit in front of a silent phone, sit I would. That was the price I continually had to pay for not getting a “real” job. Not that the martial arts school wasn’t real. It just wasn’t real in a financial sort of way. Not yet.
Thinking about the school made me restless, so I got up to pace the room. No one was here to see or care and just sitting there made me twitch and drum my fingers.
A minute later, the elevator door pinged. Shit. I lunged for the desk.
The door opened to reveal two men talking in the elevator. I leaned over and punched buttons on the phone console in a vain attempt to look as if I had something to do, then glanced up…
And kept on looking. No, not just looking. Gawking.
The object of my gawk gazed calmly back as he followed the other guy out of the elevator. I just stood there. His dark, penetrating gaze pinned me to the spot.
I couldn’t move.
Panic stabbed through me. What the hell?
This wasn’t me. I never froze. That just didn’t happen, not after that fateful day years ago, with Raffi and Gabri and Tony.
That experience had wired me up to react instinctually.
No time for thought. I always kept my cool, had fast reflexes, made rapid-fire choices.
That was why I was still breathing.
After years of intense martial arts study, I was highly sensitive to the quality of energy moving in a person’s body, and the big guy vibrated with it.
His body was broad, thickly muscled but still graceful and well-proportioned in his sleek tailored suit.
The power of his sheer physical presence raised all my short hairs and made my toes tighten.
His face was rough-hewn. Long, narrow, with heavy brows and a strong, aquiline nose. Not pretty-boy at all. I liked that. And the sun wrinkles around those deep, dark eyes. Strong cheekbones, deep-carved seams around his mouth.
Which deepened as he smiled. I heard it almost as if he were saying it out loud. Go ahead and stare. They all do.
Someone was talking, but my brain was too occupied to decode the sound into words. This was ridiculous. I had to cough. Look up. Look down. Do anything.
The good-looking guy’s gaze flicked to the shorter guy, and I belatedly realized the short guy was addressing his words to me.
“…even awake?” Short Guy was glaring, his puffy face red. “Hello? Are you connected?” He waved his hand sarcastically in front of my face. “Anybody home in there, blondie?”
Blondie? “Yes,” I said coolly.
“Well, glad to hear it. As I was just saying, we’ll be meeting in the conference room down on the eleventh floor with the engineering team, since the conference room on this floor is booked up, so forward all my calls down there. Got it?”
Conference room, booked? That conference room didn’t even have a freaking table or chairs! Whatever weird shit was happening here today, I wanted no part of it.
The guy blathered on, his voice fake-hearty. “Okay, Ethan. We’re done here. I’ll see you downstairs.”
Ethan. Hmmm. The sex god’s name was Ethan. I liked the name Ethan.
“I’ll head on down.” The big guy’s deep voice moved over my senses like warm, silky fur. He gave me a long, hungry look, and smiled.
I gathered my wits, and addressed Short Guy. “Excuse me, sir. Could I have your name?”
Short Guy froze, then turned to me slowly. His face had deepened to faint purplish red. “My name?” His voice was menacing.
“Yes,” I said blankly. “So I know who to forward messages to.”
He leaned over the desk, and his sour breath blasted in my face. I had to rock backward to avoid physical contact with him.
“Turn around,” he said. “See that name? Gold letters? On the wall behind you?”
I ventured a quick glance. Clemens & Associates. “Um, yeah. And so?”
“Can you read?” Another blast of his hot, stale breath made me gag.
Seriously? Outrage stacked the vertebrae in my spine to absolute verticality. I lifted my chin and declined to reply, letting my eyes say it for me. Asshole.
“My name is Clemens. Not that you’ll need it. Because you’re fired.” He turned to the door. “Julia!” he bawled. “Get out here right away!”
The office manager scurried out promptly. “Mr. Clemens? Is there a problem?”
Clemens waved his hand in my direction. “Get rid of this one immediately. There’s no place in my organization for idiots.”
“Idiot?” I leaped to my feet, sending the chair rolling back to hit the wall with a thud. “Mister, I just met you! What the hell is your problem?”
“Please get your things and leave, miss.” The office manager’s voice was shrill with tension. “We don’t want any scenes. Just go, right now.”
Clemens patted the shoulder of the tall guy, who was watching me with what appeared to be intense fascination. “Go on downstairs, Ethan,” he said. “Sorry you had to see that. Just a little housecleaning.”
“My ass!” I leaned to retrieve my coat and purse. “I am not the problem! This place is messed up!”
“Watch what you say,” Clemens warned.
“Why should I?” I asked him. “What are you going to do? Fire me again?”
Clemens glared at me as I slung my shoulder-strap across my chest to secure my purse, as was my custom. Ready to run or fight at all times. Out came the athletic shoes, swathed in plastic and stowed in my big purse for the self-same reason.
The two men waited and watched in charged silence as I sat back down, tugged on my first shoe, and pulled the laces nice and tight. Not hurrying in the least, because fuck them. Let them sweat and fidget and wait for me to finish.
“You could do that outside, you know,” Clemens growled.
“Maybe I could, but I won’t,” I said evenly, double knotting carefully. “I’ll do it…right…here.”
“Ethan, go on down,” Clemens urged. “Mitch and Follett are waiting for you.”
“And miss the floorshow?” he murmured. “Hell, no.”
Floorshow? He thought this was funny? I knotted my second shoe with an angry jerk, looked up, and almost lost myself in those dark, gorgeous eyes again.
“I am not here for your entertainment, buddy,” I told him.
“Of course not. Excuse me.” He lifted his hand in salute to Clemens and Julia, and strolled out to the elevator banks.
I realized, to my utter chagrin, that I had to follow him, that being the only exit from this place, aside from twenty-seven flights of stairs. Right after being insulted, fired, and publicly humiliated right in front of him. Sweet. Just stellar.
I tossed my coat over my arm and marched out. The elevator door was opening right now, and no way was I waiting for the next one while those blithering jerks gave me the hairy eyeball.
Too bad I was too rattled to try flirting with him. Flirting was hard for me in the best of times. I was clumsy as hell at it. I wasn’t likely to get lucky with it today, the way things were going so far.
“Hey! That elevator is for my associate! You wait for the next one!” Clemens lunged after me and grabbed me by the arm.
I wrested my arm out of his sweaty grip and pushed him, hard.
My shove sent him reeling backward, fighting for balance. I yanked one of my high-heeled shoes out of my bag. “Touch me again, and you get this heel right through your eye,” I warned.
Clemens stumbled black, blinking frantically. “You crazy bitch! I’m calling security!”
Ethan held the elevator door open. “I’ll share, Hugh.” There was laughter in his voice. “In the interests of saving your eyesight. Or maybe your life.”
He leaned out, and effortlessly scooped me into the elevator. I stayed right there, in the circle of his arms, astonished. For one…two…three seconds.
What the fuck had just happened? That was…unprecedented.
He’d touched me without warning, and I hadn’t exploded into automatic defense mode.
My few male friends had learned, to their cost, not to touch me without fair warning.
I needed to clench my teeth, breathe deep, brace myself for the contact.
Or else it turned into a bad scene, with bruises, torn ligaments, hurt feelings.
And this guy had just grabbed me and pulled me, out of nowhere. He had practically embraced me. And I hadn’t slugged or elbowed or kicked or torqued or chopped or finger-stabbed him at all. Nothing.
The elevator doors began to close.
“Hey!” Clemens trotted forward, hands up. “No! Ethan! Wait—”
The doors shut in his face.