Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss. Дженнифер Хейворд

vibe to a whole other level. “I am not afraid of you, Harrison. You’re not that scary.”

      “Don’t ask me to take that seriously.”

      She pursed her lips, feeling ridiculous. Injected an iron will into her tone. “I am not afraid of you, Harrison. You’re not that scary.”

      He nodded approvingly. “Better.”

      His undoubtedly sinfully expensive aftershave worked its way into her pores. They said a person’s own chemistry combined with a fragrance to make it what it was and in this case, it was spicy, all male and intoxicating. She wished he would take a step back and relinquish her personal space.

      “Francesca?”

      “Yes.”

      His gaze was hooded. Unreadable. “I agree last night was a...disconcerting way to meet. I suggest we wipe it from our memories and start fresh.”

      The message conveyed was unmistakable. He wasn’t just talking about the handcuffs...he was talking about the attraction between them.

      She firmed her mouth, taking a step backward. “I think that’s an excellent idea. Exactly what I was thinking this morning.”

      “Good.” He waved a hand toward the door. “Back in five. Can we go over the day then?”

      She nodded. “Should I really? Call you Harrison, I mean?”

      “Tessa does...so yes.”

      Frankie watched him go, then sat down with the loose limbs of a prisoner who’d just escaped execution and was profoundly grateful for the fact. She found her notebook, carried her tea into Harrison’s office and was pondering why Cecily Hargrove hadn’t been named Mrs. Harrison Grant yet if he really did have a sense of humor along with the brooding sex appeal, when the phone rang.

      She went and picked up the call at her own desk. Leonid Aristov’s assistant announced herself briskly and rather snootily. Frankie shifted into Russian, feeling a tug of satisfaction when the other woman paused, took the development in and continued on in her own language. “Mr. Aristov,” Tatiana Yankov stated, “would like to have a meeting with Mr. Grant in London next week.”

      Frankie glanced at Harrison’s schedule. “Impossible,” she regretted smoothly. If he had time to go to the bathroom it would be a miracle. “Perhaps the last week of August?”

      “If Mr. Grant would like to discuss closing this deal with Mr. Aristov, which I believe he is eager to do, he needs to be in London, next week,” the other woman repeated, as if unconvinced of her command of the language.

      Frankie kept her tone perfectly modulated. “Could you tell me what this meeting is to be about? That way I can discuss it with Mr. Grant.”

      “I couldn’t say,” came the distant response. “Mr. Aristov simply asked me to schedule the meeting. Call me back when you have a date.” Tatiana rattled off a London phone number.

      Frankie jotted the number down. “I can’t schedule a meeting without knowing what it’s a—” A dial tone sounded in her ear. She held the phone away from her and stared at it. She had not just done that. She was still staring at the phone when Harrison walked past her desk, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. “Ready?”

      She followed him into his office. “That was Leonid Aristov’s assistant on the phone.”

      He wheeled around, coffee sloshing in his mug. Frankie’s gaze flew to the boiling liquid as it skimmed the rim of the cup, wavered there like the high seas, then elected to stay in.

      “What did she want?”

      Frankie returned her gaze to his face. “Aristov wants a meeting next week.”

      “A meeting?” A frown furrowed his brow. “He’s already agreed to everything in principle. Did you ask what the meeting was for?”

      “I did. She wouldn’t give me anything. She just said Aristov wanted the meeting and it had to be next week.”

      “Have you had a look at my schedule?” He trained his gaze on her as if she had an IQ of fifty. “This deal is scheduled to pass regulatory authorities next month, Ms. Masseria. I don’t fly around the world on a whim because Leonid Aristov wants me to.”

      Great, they were back to Ms. Masseria... She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “I’m not suggesting you should. But she was very rude. She hung up on me.”

      He blinked at her. “Why would she hang up on you?”

      “She seemed busy. I was trying to probe for more information when she cut me off and hung up.”

      He impaled her on that razor-sharp gaze of his that had turned him from beauty to the beast in the space of a round second. Then he thrust out an elegant hand. “Give me the number.”

      She held on to it. “I can call her back. Just give me some direc—”

       “Give me the number.”

      Frankie went back to her desk, grabbed the pink message pad, marched into his office and gave it to him. And called him a bad name in her head. A big, bad one. She had liked him so much five minutes ago. She really had.

      He was dialing the ice queen back when she left. She put her head down and started working through his email. God forbid she’d missed something they’d need for their briefing.

      He came out minutes later. She suppressed a victorious thrill at the dark scowl on his face. “Cancel everything for Thursday and Friday of next week. We’ll fly to London Wednesday night, meet with Aristov Thursday morning then leave ourselves a buffer day in case we have more to talk about with him.”

      “Did you find out what the meeting is for?”

      “No,” he said icily. “It’s all going to be a pleasant surprise.”

      Frankie kept her eyes on the notepad she was scribbling on. “You said Wednesday night we fly out?”

      “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

      ‘Yes— No—” She lifted her gaze to his in a pained look. “It’s just that I have a special—commitment Wednesday night.”

      His expression darkened. “Taking into account you actually want this job, Ms. Masseria, you will learn to eat, breathe and sleep it for the next six months. So I suggest you...uncommit yourself.”

      She bit her lip and nodded. If there was one event this year she didn’t want to miss, it was Tomasino Giardelli’s eightieth birthday party. But this was her job and she needed it. And it had gotten off to a rocky enough start as it was.

      “May I ask a question?”

      He waved a hand at her.

      “I’ve been working through that last bit of research you wanted Tessa to compile for the Aristov deal. I get what you’re asking for, but, well, Coburn always counseled me to understand the big picture so I can visualize what you need in the end product. Give you my best work... What I don’t get,” she ventured frowning, “is why Grant Industries is buying a company that mirrors the exact capabilities of one of our subsidiaries...”

      His jaw went lax. She had the distinct impression he didn’t know how to answer her question from the silence that followed. But of course he did, didn’t he?

      “Coburn,” he rasped finally, “and I have different management styles, Ms. Masseria. Coburn likes to collaborate, to involve people in decisions. I don’t. I prefer people to do what I tell them. That’s what works for me.”

      Not a tyrant? Blood rushed to her face as if he’d physically slapped her. “Fine,” she agreed quietly. “If I have a specific question I’ll ask it.”

      “Excellent.” He scraped a hand through his hair, looking weary for a man who hadn’t yet hit