A Mistletoe Kiss With The Boss. Susan Meier

pulled her arm out of his short, stubby fingers. “Someday I’m going to build schools in third world countries. I have to learn to be brash.”

      She spun away from the clerk and shouted, “Mr. Suminski!”

      He totally ignored her.

      “Mr. Suminski! I know that’s you. I’ve seen your face on the internet.”

      He walked to the door.

      She scurried after him. “I just need two minutes.”

      Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the clerk point at a man behind another discreet desk. He nodded and bounded toward her. But Suminski walked out the door and she stayed on his heels, catching him when he stopped in front of a limo.

      “Seriously. Two minutes. That’s all I need.”

      In the silence of the crisp early December morning, at a hotel set back, away from the congestion of Paris’s main thoroughfare, she heard his annoyed sigh and was surprised when he faced her.

      “Who are you?”

      With his dark eyes locked on her face, Kristen froze. His black hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. His high forehead, straight nose and high cheekbones could have made him a king.

      When she didn’t answer, he said, “Fine,” and began to turn away.

      “I’m Kristen Anderson,” she said, her voice coming out louder than it should. She sucked in a quick gulp of air and calmed herself. When she spoke again, it was quieter, smoother, and with authority. “Gennady would like you to consider moving your company to our country.”

      He faced her again. “Prince Alex would know I wasn’t interested.”

      Prince Alex was the husband of Kristen’s boss, Princess Eva. As executive assistant to Grennady’s future queen, Kristen knew Alex had immediately said no to considering Suminski Stuff as one of the tech companies being recruited to boost their flagging economy. But their options had run out. Dean’s was the only company left.

      “So that’s why you weren’t put on the list?”

      He smiled. But the movement wasn’t warm or friendly. More sarcastic. Almost frightening. “There’s a list?”

      “There was. It’s dwindled.”

      “To no one, I’m guessing, if they sent you to barge in on my day.”

      She swallowed. Those black eyes were just too intense—like they saw every damned thing going on in her head. She’d read that he was shrewd, uncanny in his ability to judge his opponents. Orphaned at four, raised by a cold grandmother who hadn’t wanted him, he’d played video games to amuse himself. At fourteen, he’d gone to business school because he’d taught himself to code and didn’t need any more instructions in computers. He was brilliant. He was arrogant. He was also their last chance.

      She opened her hands in supplication. “If you could give me two minutes of your time, I could persuade you to visit and make an assessment about whether or not you might consider, perhaps, moving your company to Grennady.”

      “That’s a lotta maybes and mights and perhapses.”

      “It’s possible you’re not looking to move.”

      “I’m not.”

      “You should be. Grennady is a beautiful country with a diverse labor pool.”

      He scowled, and really just scared the hell out of her. Tall, broad-shouldered, and blunt, he made her blood tingle with fear. And she had the feeling he did it deliberately. Maybe this was why Prince Alex didn’t want him in their country? And maybe she had overstepped in contacting him. Grennady might be desperate to find an employer who could keep their younger, educated residents at home, but Suminski Stuff wasn’t the answer.

      She stepped back. “You know what? I’m sorry I bothered you. Have a nice day.”

      He shook his head. “You’re gonna give up that easily? I had higher hopes for you.”

      Her face scrunched in confusion. “What?”

      “You obviously flew from your frozen country to Paris where you don’t even speak the language.” His head tilted. “I heard you tell the clerk. You also didn’t mind running after me, shouting in a quiet lobby. That takes some guts. But when you finally had my attention, you backed off.” He almost smiled. “Too bad.”

      He turned to leave, but she caught his arm. “What would you have done, if you were me?”

      He laughed. “So now you want me to teach you how to dicker?”

      His dark eyes held her gaze. She swallowed down her fear because, damn it, why should she be afraid of this guy just because he had money? And was big. And handsome. And had a terrifying way of looking at her.

      “I don’t want you to teach me to dicker. I want you to listen to my pitch for about fifteen minutes.”

      “Before you said two minutes.”

      “That was if I didn’t show you some pictures.”

      He looked at the blue sky, then back at her. “All right. Get in the car. I’m on my way to the airport. You’ve got the entire drive. Give it your best shot.”

      Hope burst inside her. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, after all? “Really?”

      He motioned to the black limo awaiting him. “Here’s lesson one. Don’t question good luck.”

      The driver opened the car door and Kristen slid inside. Warm leather seats arranged in a semicircle greeted her.

      Dean Suminski eased in beside her. A few seconds passed in silence as the driver got behind the wheel. Dean spent the time texting.

      As the car pulled away from the hotel, Kristen said, “So I’m assuming you already know a little bit about Grennady?”

      “I own controlling interest in a big company. I know who’s managing the world’s oil. I met Xaviera’s Prince Alex a few years back. When he married, I did my research.”

      “Why would you care who he married?”

      He sniffed a laugh. “Would you put your money in oil stocks if the region was unstable?”

      “That has nothing to do with Alex getting married. Besides, that region’s always unstable.”

      “Let’s call it controlled instability because of people like Prince Alex’s dad, King Ronaldo. As long as Ronaldo is happy, he’s strong. I needed to make sure Alex’s marriage didn’t rock the boat.”

      She supposed that was true. “So you know that our country’s every bit as well ruled as Xaviera.”

      “Your country nearly had a coup at the beginning of the year.”

      “Nearly. King Mason was on top of things.”

      He made a noncommittal sound.

      “But, just for the sake of argument, let’s pretend he wasn’t. He is now.”

      “True.”

      “We’re going through something that could be described as a renaissance, and you could be part of that.”

      “I’m rich. I don’t need to be part of anything.”

      His phone rang. He slid it from his breast pocket. “Very few people have this number. So if someone’s calling it’s important.” He clicked the button to answer. “Hello?”

      A pause.

      “Maurice! Je m’excuse. Mon voyage a été coupé court...”

      French again. Damn it. She knew two languages. The language of her country and English. It was becoming clear that she would have to fix that, if she wanted to run an international charity.

      As he went