Executive Assistant Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2014 Evernight Publishing

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-892-2

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: JS Cook

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT

  Edited by JS Cook

  12 AUTHOR ANTHOLOGY

  A Knight with the Boss by Lila Shaw

  Operation Conquer and Seduction by Michelle Rhys

  The Takeover by Doris O’Connor

  Room for Two by Michelle Graham

  Trade and Affairs by Chacelyn Pierce

  Suddenly by Beth D. Carter

  The Only Way to Dance by Elodie Parkes

  The Terminatrix by Jean Maxwell

  His Perfect PA by Allyson Young

  All Tied Up by LeTeisha Newton

  Unravel Me by S.J. Maylee

  Helpdesk Hijinks by Jezebel Jorge

  A KNIGHT WITH THE BOSS

  Lila Shaw

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  Tory smoothed her skirt for the fifth time since walking into the main lobby of Gorman Designs. The grand entrance loomed at least three stories, monstrously smug in scope and grandeur. The kaleidoscope of modern artwork, bronze plaques with smiling employee faces, and water features designed to impress visitors did nothing to soothe her sense of defeat.

  She could do this. It was only for a year. She had no other choice. Gone was the bright future of a few months ago, snuffed out by a competitor she had been forced to join.

  Only a year, she repeated to herself softly.

  A brisk elevator ride deposited Tory on the fifteenth floor, the Holy Grail for application designers such as herself. A pretty blonde with blood red lips and a pair of severe black-rimmed glasses looked up and met her gaze as she approached. Most programmers her age would give their right and left arm and their home Wi-Fi to work at Gorman Designs. Unfortunately, Gorman was Tory's second choice.

  “Hello." The woman flashed a broad, guileless smile, her brows arched high in inquiry. A desk plate proclaimed her to be “Madison Sewell”—young, enthusiastic Madison Sewell.

  Older, resigned Tory jerked her lips into a semblance of a smile. “Hi. I’m Tory Carruthers. Today’s my first day in the department?”

  "Awesome! Welcome, welcome. Let me just find you in my agenda here." Madison's blonde head tipped downward and a green-tipped finger traced a line down her computer screen. Madison turned a perplexed face her way. "Tory Carruthers you said?"

  "Yes. Oh! Wait. I used my legal name on the application and other paperwork. It's Victoria Carruthers-Knight."

  Madison smiled. "Just married?"

  "No." Best to leave it that. Although Carruthers-Knight was her legal last name, Knight was her father's family name while her mother had been born Carruthers. Problem was the timing of the legal name change—after the ink dried on her birth certificate instead of before. Never mind the fact her parents had never actually married either. It was too difficult to explain, especially to strangers who had no need to know.

  "Oh, sorry." Madison gave a sympathetic pout, obviously assuming she'd recently divorced. Most people held either-or beliefs when it came to women and last name changes. Fine. That worked too. Madison turned back to her screen and ran her finger down the list again. When she stopped, her eyes widened and she thrust her face closer. "Your professional name is VC Knight?"

  "Yes. VC Knight for written correspondence and copyrights; Tory in person."

  Madison nodded, her eyes bright and all traces of the pout gone. "Good for you! These rabid gamers are wonderful customers but sexist as hell. They won't give you a shred of respect if they know you're a girl. But I guess you already knew that." She reached into a stack of folders, withdrew one, and slid it across the reception counter. "Here are some welcome materials, a few rules and regulations specific to the department—you'll definitely want to pay close attention to those because it's a big deal here—and a calendar of events for the next thirty days. Please have a seat and I'll let him know you're here."

  "Him?" Tory's boss was supposed to be a woman, Rachel Chandra.

  "Mr. Gorman."

  Tory blinked, desperate to keep her eyes sub-saucer sized. "The head of the company?" Her voice came out in a squeak.

  "At least in name," came a deep male voice from behind her, close enough for her to feel the vibrations. The voice's owner stepped up beside her and extended his hand. "Rafe Gorman. And you are...?"

  Tory gaped. He wasn't old. He wasn't geeky or ugly nor did he have a big red nose from too many martini lunches, didn't wear a suit that cost more than the home she grew up in. Rafe Gorman also didn't look like he spent vampire hours behind a monitor designing code and intricate game plots. He looked ... like he got his way far too often with his good looks. A headful of blue-black hair immaculately groomed topped a rugged, angular face. Blade-like cheekbones, a subtle cleft in his chin, firm jaw ... oh boy, his pictures did not do him justice. But more than that were the eyes—not blue, not brown, but hazel with an evergreen ring around the golden taupe interiors.

  Good God, who made this man? A woman could easily be sucked down and smothered in those quicksand eyes. And his scent was urban male, all leather and shoe polish with a hint of ... was that Irish Spring and Ben Gay? Odd. The man looked amazing for thirty.

  Stop staring! He asked you a question. What was it again?

  "Oh! I'm uh...." Below the radar for a year, she reminded herself. The head of the company didn't need or want to know the gory machinations of his acquisition team, nor would he want a human being attached to a commodity. "Tory Carruthers." She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Gorman."

  "Rafe is fine." He didn't release her hand or break eye contact. They stood locked in place. Or she did anyway. His gaze roamed over her face, eyes slightly narrowed. "I thought your last name was Knight?"

  Stunned, Tory blinked out of his tractor-beam like hold. "It is Knight. Actually it's hyphenated. Carruthers-Knight." She doubted he needed the whole gory story either.

  "Have we met before, Miss Knight?"

  Slowly shaking her head she said, "No." She definitely would have remembered him.

  Rafe rubbed his chin. "Hmm. Really? It's just ... I rarely forget a face."

  Tory shrugged. "I guess I have one of those common faces." And no doubt after a few cursory minutes to fulfill some Human Resources in-boarding directive, Rafe Gorman would quickly forget hers, no matter what he claimed. He might have bought her father's company and been forced to offer her a job as part of the terms, but they'd never met. As the minority shareholder, she'd been excluded from the negotiations, she recalled bitterly. Rafe Gorman owed her no special courtesies beyond a paycheck for services rendered. Best to remember that.

  "I'd say your face is anything but common. Oh well, I've been wrong about other things ... on extremely rare occasions. I suppose I could be wrong about you too." He turned and rapped his knuckles against the black marble counter. "Madison, could you let Rachel know I'll have Ms. Carruthers...." He turned to Tory. "I thought your first name was Victoria."

  Good grief. Tory rolled her eyes in mock apology. "It is, but I go by Tory."

  Rafe frowned. "Tory Carruthe
rs. Not Victoria Knight. Any other aliases we should be aware of other than those two and your professional screen name?" He shook his head, lips pressed together. Blood rushed everywhere his gaze roamed—her face, her ears, neck and shoulders. "No. I don't see it. Definitely more of a Victoria." He returned his attention to Madison. "Tell Rachel I'll go ahead and do parts one and two of Victoria's ... Tory's orientation. I know she could use the extra time to work on her presentation. I'll get Tory to HR for part three after lunch and she can pick up with part four."

  "Yes sir. I'll let her know. Welcome to Gorman Designs, Ms. Knight."

  Tory smiled, more at the brisk demeanor change in Madison in her dealings with Rafe Gorman than at the pleasantry. "Thank you."

  Another rap of his knuckles demanded her attention. "Let's go to my office and get started." In his left hand he held a gym bag, the handle of a racquetball racquet poking out. His right he pressed gently against the small of her back. "Through that door then to the left."

  Sizzling hot awareness exploded through Tory's body from that tiny point of contact, like an espresso machine steamer in a container of cold milk. She fought the infusion, but failed. Hopefully this would be a one-off encounter and she'd soon find a safe cubbyhole in which to hunker down. There she would be paid handsomely to do what she loved most—design intricate computer games. She'd do her best to overlook the one benefitting from her work, her new employer, the one responsible for putting her father's company out of business.

  One whole year. God help her.

  Chapter Two

  Despite looking like a ball of bunny fluff and smelling of line-dried sheets and lilacs, Victoria Carruthers had blasted his expectations to smithereens. Lurking beneath that fragile feminine exterior lay the clever mind of a true gamer. He was zealously familiar with her work, although until a few months earlier he'd labored under the impression that VC Knight was Victoria's father, Victor Knight.

  She'd been a gawky sixteen-year-old in the picture he'd seen in her father's office. Gone were the braces, the acne, the long skinny arms and legs. Curly hair previously cut in a short boyish cap now fell below her shoulders in a Bohemian mass of dark curls and waves. Her dusky skin tone could just as easily be attributed to a tanning bed discipleship as to her sub-Saharan genes. Her soulful brown eyes gave up no secrets at all. He knew her mother was at least part African American. Her father was Anglo and Indian, the product of late twentieth century British Imperialism one generation removed. The genetic melting pot that produced the creature in front of him had cooked up the most delightful human casserole imaginable. Throw in a top shelf brain, and he found himself disturbingly weak in the knees.

  "Have a seat," he said, pointing to the small conference table in the corner.

  She walked with purpose to where he indicated, all coiled power with no wasted movements. No swishing of the hips or hair tosses, not even readjustments of skirt, collar or cuffs.

  Rafe sat in the chair next to hers. He looked away to open his notepad and uncap his Montblanc pen. He had a standard list of topics he liked to cover with new hires, but at that moment they all seemed insipid and childlike, especially knowing all he already did about her, well not her exactly, but VC Knight. He charged forward anyway, hoping a new angle would present itself. "Rachel says you have equal experience with RAD and Agile techniques?"

  God, he did not want to talk shop with her. He didn't want to talk to her at all. He wanted to touch her, breathe her in, soak in her. He'd paid two and a half times market value to get his hands on her brain, and now he realized he'd pay triple that, if the body came with the deal. It didn't, of course.

  She had been talking and he hadn't heard a word. "...confidentiality reasons, I can't show you or tell you more about the games." She paused and her brow wrinkled slightly. "They haven't gone to market yet." She clasped her hands on top of the table and recrossed her legs. He liked that she was nervous. But what the hell was she talking about anyway?

  "Right." Rafe cocked his head and perused her face. Dark deep-set eyes stared back at him. She wore makeup, but not a lot. Full lips a deep shade of rose reminded him of other lips on a woman's anatomy, the sentries to a feminine Garden of Eden. No secret to him why women wore the lipstick shades they did.

  "I understand you have a similar project underway?" she asked.

  Project? Fuck formalities. "Let's cut to chase here, Victoria. I prefer to be honest and forthright with the people who work for me. I assume coming from a family-owned company that's what you'd prefer as well?"

  She crossed her arms at her chest, brows angled inward. She wore her wariness like armor. "That's true."

  He matched her posture, crossing his own arms. "I hired you because I want you to finish all your in-process designs. If it works out, I'd like you to stay and continue to design for me."

  "You hired me because you were contractually obligated as was I."

  "True. But I think we can make it work out for both of our benefits."

  Her eyes narrowed. "How does being forced to work for someone benefit me?"

  "Please. You and I both know this is all you've ever done and all you want to do."

  Victoria launched out of her chair, her fists clenched at her sides and eyes shut, but she held her tongue. The contract was what it was and she was his now, bought and paid for, even if she wasn't quite happy about it at the moment. She'd come around. But artifice was not his style.

  He rose and stood in front of her. Hooking a finger under her chin he nudged until she opened her eyes and met his gaze. "Does it really matter? Look at this way. Your father was in financial straits. I helped him out. You needed a job. I gave you one. Win-win."

  She jerked her head away, lifting her proud little chin even higher. "I may work for you, but you don't own me. You'll never own me."

  With two hands raised in apology and a soft chuckle, he ceded the battle of wills because he had already won the war. He could afford her a few scraps of pride. "Forgive me. You're absolutely right." He sat back down. "Welcome to Gorman Designs. I hope you'll be ... contented here. If you need anything, you have only to ask, Miss Knight." And on that note, he flashed his deadliest grin.

  ****

  Tory nearly melted in her underwear when he suddenly backed off. He'd tugged and tugged on her like a rubber band, testing her tensile strength and just when she thought she'd surely snap, he suddenly released all tension. What was she to do then? Continue to bleat about how abusive her situation was? Was this a test? Maybe it was.

  "Well, since we understand each other," she said forcing a brittle smile into place. He was her employer after all. She could neither encourage nor discourage him.

  "So it would seem," he said with a lazy drawl in his tone. "Sit back down, please, and let's go over a few things." Tory slowly descended into her chair, her eyes never leaving his, and every muscle on high alert. "I don't bite. I promise. I'm sorry if I ruffled you." Another smile, this time with teeth—straight, perfectly aligned sparkling white teeth. Was he a shark or a Cheshire cat?

  "You didn't ruffle me." You dunked me underwater for a second though, and I don't know if you're playful or up to no good.

  The teeth went back into hiding but the smile remained, sly and predatory, until his thigh brushed against hers. Both his leg and smile immediately retreated as he cleared his throat. He pointed to the folder Madison had given her. "I see you have our policies and procedures. The one thing I require above anything else, Victoria, is loyalty. A lot of competitors would pay good money to get their hands on Gorman Designs, designs that include all your projects. You will only work behind the firewall, lock up all paper files every night—they never leave the building. No emailing of files outside the company. No working from home unless you're on the VPN. You may not discuss your projects or any projects your peers are working on with anyone outside of the company or in jobs graded below 18. And that includes your family. Are we clear?"

  "What's my job title and grade?"

  "You
're a chief developer, which is a grade twenty-five position. You have an organization chart in your package."

  Tory flipped open the folder and found the chart on top. She removed it and perused it briefly, noting her own name many tiers below Rafe's, He, of course, topped the chart.

  Rafe did not interrupt or hurry her, but as soon as she lifted her head, he continued. "I don't like employees to leave the campus during work hours, which is why Gorman provides a subsidized cafeteria. You're welcome to bring your own meals of course."

  The rattling off of the rules, all of which were clearly typed on the ten-page stapled document, seemed an unnecessary and mundane task for the head of the company to handle with a new hire. She could read. They could quiz her to make sure she had read them. Why the schoolteacher approach from the head guy? It made no sense.

  He suddenly stood and strolled over to his desk, returning with a three ring binder bearing the Gorman logo on the cover. "Here is your orientation manual. You have three hours to go through the modules. I will be working at my desk over there," he paused to give a quick jerk of his head. "Don't hesitate to ask me any questions you have while going over the material. But make sure you have my attention first before asking them. I tend to disappear into my work." The notebook fell with a dull thud on top of her folder. The thing was at least three inches thick.

  Mouth open, she gazed up at him. "I have three hours to go over all this?"

  "Yes. If you need to use the restroom, please use the private bathroom to your right." He pointed to the slightly ajar door at least five feet away. "There's a coffee pot in the corner and a mini-fridge beside it with juice and soda. Any other questions before you start?"