How to Resist Prince Charming (20 page)

After clearing his throat again, he gave the man a brief nod and turned to leave.

But Tasha stopped him. “How was Paris?”

Braxton paused. “Paris,” he murmured and exhaled a breath of air, “was amazing.”

“So...business went well?” Tasha pressed.

“Oh!” Shit. For some reason, he hadn’t known she’d been asking about
business
. “Yeah,” he said. “Yes, as a matter of fact, our contact with Renault, Richard Trousseau, seemed very impressed with our product. He signed on with us, and I have a good feeling he’s not just going to renew his contract at the end of our term, but he might become one of our biggest buyers before long.”

He grinned at Tasha and winked. “I’d say, start looking for a raise in the near future.” Then he strolled away, taking up where he’d left off whistling.

* * * *

The three in the break room stared after Braxton.

Finally, Ben murmured, “Wow. Who here thinks Boss Boy got himself a little
bow chica wow wow
while he was in France?”

As he lifted his own hand, Tasha raised hers as well.

Tom, however, contorted his face into a revolted scowl. “That’s disgusting,” he grumbled. “Are you two
trying
to make me lose my breakfast?”

He didn’t care to know about the little punk’s sex life. And when Ben and Tasha started to discuss how Braxton probably found himself some pretty French tulip to deflower, Tom huffed from the room, not wanting to hear another word.

* * * *

Braxton couldn’t stop daydreaming. But something had changed. Something big had altered in his life.

He’d been fixated on Lenna since the first moment he’d met her. After spending three days straight with her, however, his fixation had flourished into a raving obsession. Now his every thought centered around her, wondering when he could see her again, listen to her voice, watch her green eyes sparkle when she smiled, taste her orgasm when she came against his tongue.

God, he had it bad.

Reliving the weekend in his head, he recalled a thought he’d formed when he’d been in France. He remembered how Lenna had enjoyed translating for him so much. And bam, the idea he’d been watering bloomed into fruition.

Before he could rethink his actions, he lifted the phone and called his friend Greg at ProTech.

* * * *

Lenna was nearly ready to leave for work when her phone rang. Already dressed in her waitress uniform, she paused at the door before answering. “Hello?”

“Howdy,” a male returned.

Lenna frowned, not recognizing the voice. Thinking it was a telemarketer, she was on the verge of hanging up.

“This is Lenna, right?” he asked.

Cautiously, she answered, “Yes. Who is this?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Greg Scanlon. We met at the Wild Side Night Club a couple months ago.”

Okay, now that was weird. Lenna couldn’t remember anyone named Greg. And she hadn’t been to a club in...well, not since the night she’d brought Braxton back to her apartment from a club.

“I was with your dad’s boss,” Greg clarified. “Braxton Farris.”

“Oh,” Lenna said quickly.

Ohhh
. He was
that
guy. Sadly, she barely remembered him. But really, what was
he
doing, calling her? Was Braxton okay?

“Anyway,” Greg went on after pausing to clear his throat. “I’m looking for some help at my company, ProTech, and my man Brax mentioned your name.”

ProTech? Growing more and more intrigued, Lenna replied, “Okay.”

“Great. So, here’s the deal,” Greg said. “ProTech provides different websites with internet security, right?”

He waited a beat as if he expected Lenna to reply, so she quickly answered, “Right.”

Sure.
Whatever.

“And we’ve been doing this really awesome job. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but we’ve been getting business out the—” He coughed to keep himself from cursing. “Anyway, we’ve started to get business from these foreign places needing our services. But...” he snorted. “No one can understand what the heck the sites are about because, well, they’re foreign. Most of them aren’t in English. And, sure, java and HTML is universal, but we’d still like to know what they’re saying on the web front. Therefore, what I’ve been looking for is someone to translate these sites for our security team in order for us to be able to, you know, better expand our business internationally. And Farris said the daughter of one of his employees—that would be you—was really good with translating different languages.”

“Oh,” Lenna said in surprise. They needed a translator. The guy wanted her to come work for him as a translator.

Oh, wow.

“But...” She winced. “I only know French. I mean, that’s the only language where I’m adept. I can probably do passably in Spanish, and I know minimal Italian. But I’m not very—”

“Hell, French, Spanish and Italian are a heck of a lot more than anyone around here knows.”

“But—” she said again. Dear Lord, was this really happening? Someone was calling to offer her a dream job of a lifetime, and she was arguing with him?

“Why don’t you just come by ProTech and talk to me some time. I’ll show you a few websites, and we’ll see if you think you can figure them out. It’s not like you have to know the translations immediately, anyway. You can always cheat and look up words, or contact a professional translator who can help you. I just need someone to do that specific job. How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful,” she blurted out. But there was no way she was in any way qualified for the position.

“Awesome,” Greg said. “How about you swing by ProTech at, say, nine tomorrow morning?”

Lenna was flabbergasted, absolutely speechless. She bobbed her head vigorously before she realized he couldn’t see her silent answer.

Then, unable to contain her excitement, she burst out—a little too vociferously—“Yes! Oh, my God. Yes. Thank you so much, Mr...” Shoot! What was his last name again?

He chuckled. “Just call me Greg. We’re pretty informal around here.”

“Thank you, Greg. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After he disconnected, Lenna stared at the phone and then let out a shrill scream of excitement. Falling back on her bed, she stared at the ceiling and grinned. She had an interview in the morning.

And she had Braxton to thank for it.

* * * *

It was nearly nine that night by the time Braxton made it home. Delightfully surprised to find a gorgeous blonde sitting on his front step, his heart rate picked up, and his shoulders tensed in anticipation. He could definitely get used to coming home to a sight like this.

He cut the engine, snagged his briefcase from the passenger seat, and hopped out of his Land Rover, hurrying around the hood toward her as she got to her feet.

He was about to ask her what she was doing off work so early when she said, “Where were you? I took off work early to talk to you, and I’ve been waiting here ever since.”

“Lenna, Jesus, I’m sorry,” he answered, drained after the day he’d put in. “I wished I’d known that; I would’ve called. After going international, we’ve been swamped in the office, so I decided to put in a little overtime.”

“Overtime?” Lenna repeated as if she didn’t believe him. “Company presidents still have to work
overtime
?”

Braxton nodded and slowed to a stop. “The good ones certainly do.” The smile slipped off his face as he noticed how accusing her gaze appeared. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Did you tell one of your friends about me today?” she asked, coming straight to the point.

Worry laced his stomach and it stirred uneasily. Oh, Lord, he hadn’t thought she’d be mad at him over his call to Greg. He hadn’t even considered that possibility.

“I...I...I didn’t tell him about
us
,” he reassured her.

“But you mentioned my name?” she pressed.

He nodded nervously. “As the daughter of one of my employees, yeah, I did. My friend, Greg, needs a translator for his business and I...I mentioned how well you spoke French.” Braxton blew out a breath. “Was that bad?”

Lenna continued to eye him with that freaky, blank look she had going.

He swallowed. Great, he’d messed up. Big time.

But then she let out a piercing shriek of excitement, and her face lit with pleasure. Flying at him, she opened her arms and flung herself against him, kissing and hugging him like crazy. It almost knocked him over backward and right onto his butt.

“I have an interview tomorrow at nine,” she told him between kisses. “And I have
you
to thank for it.”

Braxton was too relieved to immediately care about her job interview. He was more relieved she wasn’t mad at him. He caught her mouth and kissed her long and hard. Finally, he came up for air and wheezed, “That’s great. But don’t thank me. I just gave him a name.”

“But you gave him
my
name,” Lenna insisted. “Oh, Braxton, I can’t believe I have an interview for a career I’d
like
. Do you know how exciting it’d be to figure out all these different languages? This is, like, my dream job. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I knew when I found it, it’d feel right. And this feels
so
right.”

Yes, indeed it did, especially when she attacked him as soon he unlocked his front door.

Braxton barely got them inside before she pushed him against the wall and unzipped his jeans. He could only watch in amazement as she knelt before him and took him into her mouth.

Soaking in her pure, unadulterated joy as he fisted his hands in her hair and closed his eyes, Braxton’s mind screamed in red alert. But he ignored the warning signs; falling totally and irreversibly in love with Lenna Davenport.

CHAPTER 17

Tom sat, working at his desk Tuesday morning when Ben Hendricks strolled into his office.

“Well, it’s official,” Ben announced. “Boss Boy’s got himself a little girlfriend and not just a one-night stand like we thought after the hickey discovery.”

Tom lifted his face and frowned. “What?”

“When Farris got back from his trip, he went over his expenses with Tasha.” Ben wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “And it seems our boy paid out-of-pocket for a third member at his business dinner. But...he only had one hotel room with one king-sized bed. So, whoever he took to France slept with him. In his one-bed hotel room.”

Tom rolled his eyes, not caring at all who Braxton Farris was or wasn’t dating. There were big rumors going around the office about how their young boss didn’t have much of a social life. He never talked about dating women...or men for that matter. But Tom just figured Farris to be a private person. And he was glad. He didn’t want to hear about the kid’s raunchy escapades anyway.

“Or,” he said to Ben, “maybe he met someone in France and invited them along for dinner?” He hoped Ben would leave him alone and mull that idea over.

But Ben pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “
Au contraire
,” he told Tom. “This is one billing receipt for the
Hôtel Duc de Sáint-Simon
in Paris. Room service delivered to room 108,” he started to read. “Two glasses of water, one chicken cordon bleu, plus a Beef Burgundy with a side dish of sour cream. Then a bottle of their finest champagne. All of which, Farris paid for...out of pocket.”

Tom snagged the receipt from Ben’s hand and frowned down at that menu. It reminded him of his daughter. Lenna always ordered an extra side of sour cream. She ate the stuff with practically everything.

“So, he had someone eat in his room with him,” he grumbled, shoving the receipt back at Ben. “That doesn’t mean—”

“For breakfast the next morning,” Ben produced another receipt. “Two glasses of orange—”

But Tom lifted his hand to stop the man. “Okay!
Okay
,” he snapped. “The boy has himself a girlfriend. Who cares?”

Ben frowned. “Why aren’t you even a little curious?” he asked. “Everyone always talks about their families or who they’re dating. But this kid never,
never
, mentions a significant other. It’s like he doesn’t want us to know something. Which makes me wonder...what’s the big secret, huh?”

“This all may be an exciting mystery to you,” Tom said, lowering his head back to his work and lifting his hand to wave Ben from the room. “But I could honestly care less what Braxton Farris does on his off hours. Now, go gossip with someone else about it.”

Tom could feel Ben scowl at him for a minute. His friend grumbled about him being no fun as he slumped from the room. Tom shook his head over Ben’s fixation and returned his attention to work.

* * * *

On the sixth night in the past two weeks that Tom had to stay late for work , he conceded that if anything, his young punk boss couldn’t be called a slacker. Farris sat at the head of their conference table, looking as alert and refreshed as he had at seven-thirty this morning when Tom had dragged his tired old ass into the office.

While Braxton scowled at the screen of his electronic tablet doo-hickey thing and asked, “Did someone check on the shipping fees for all four places on my list?” Tom felt like groaning, crawling under the table, and taking a fifteen—possibly twenty—hour nap.

Beside him, Ben yawned and held up a wrinkled sheet of paper he’d scribbled on. “Right here.”

“Great.” Farris lifted his attention from his screen long enough to reach out and snag the information from Hendricks. He barely glanced it over before adding, “Looks like we’re going to go with option one then. Tasha, can you make a note to contact them in the morning and see if you can set up a contract with them?”

Wiping blurry eyes, his secretary nodded and scratched in his request under the half a dozen he’d shot at her in the last two hours.

A smug satisfaction filled Tom when the kid paused to scratch at the five o’clock shadow sprouting on his face. Oh, yeah. The punk was beginning to feel the side effects of twelve-hour days. Maybe he was human after all.

When Braxton’s cell phone sitting by his elbow buzzed, Tom almost wept. Every time that damn thing rang, they ended up working another two hours. Sure, all this work was getting him boo-coo’s of overtime and he had a feeling his end-of-the-year bonus would be his best yet, but he wasn’t a twenty-five-year-old kid anymore. He needed his beauty sleep.