On His Terms

Evernight
Publishing ®

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2014
Jenika
Snow

 
ISBN: 978-1-77233-033-5

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry
Designs

Editor:
Karyn
White

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.

DEDICATION

As always
this is for you…all of you…

ON HIS TERMS

Jenika
Snow

Copyright © 2014

Chapter One

Rian
Hartford had been called many
things, with the more pleasing ones being charming, wealthy, charismatic, and
attractive. For only being thirty-seven he was one of the wealthiest men in
America. But to be at the top like that meant a man had to have a certain
amount of bitterness in his life, and
Rian
had that
tenfold.

Sorcha
Case knew just about everything there was to know about Mr. Hartford, and not
because she was his secretary. His reputation was what scandals were made of,
but he couldn’t care less about what others thought. He did what he wanted,
when he wanted, and how he liked. He was a cocky bastard for sure. After
working for the man for the last six months, she had learned his daily routine,
his love interests, or lack thereof, and his moods. The latter was more of his
cool exterior, arrogant persona, and displeasure with anything that he didn’t
think suited his needs. But then again when a man such as he ran a
multi-billionaire dollar company, had several smaller entrepreneur businesses
on the side, and had a slew of eligible socialites clawing to get into his bed,
maybe he had to be a bastard to get through it all.

He
played the part well, that was for sure. Being pleasant when the time called
for it was what he did best, and even though Sorcha had this hatred for a part
of him, she also admired the side of
Rian
Hartford
that didn’t take shit from anyone. More times than not she tried to look past
the domineering and hardened exterior, but he wore it like a second skin.
Surely the devil could take on many forms, because she could have sworn the man
in the expensively tailored suits came from straight from hell.

But
despite all of that, despite all of the internal monologues she recited to
herself when it came to him, Sorcha had this sick desire for her boss. She
wanted him in the worst kind of way, but she was able to keep that lust in
check, because showing it would be a weakness. Sorcha was sure as hell not
going to be another notch on his bedpost, because when
Rian
had his fun he discarded the women like they bored him.

Sorcha
heard the elevator ding and knew
Rian
was right on
time
. She glanced at the clock, saw that it was exactly
seven in the morning, and gritted her teeth as she slowly rose to greet him.
She had made sure all of his appointments were in order, because he’d come
right toward her, not speak to her besides a crisp “Hello”, and take his
portfolio. Sorcha had been here since six A.M., and had already done more
things in that hour than most people did in half a day.

The
elevator slid open, and she grabbed the portfolio with all of Mr. Hartford’s
appointments for the day perfectly labeled and divided up, and turned to face
him. He stood in the center of that metal, yet elegant box. His head was
downcast, his focus on the smartphone he held in his hand. Without looking up
he moved out of the evaluator, his black cashmere Burberry duster moving around
his knees as he came closer. Already she smelled his No.1 Clive Christian
cologne, and damn her body for warming and tingling to the scent.

“Miss
Case,”
Rian
said in his deeply masculine, yet cold as
ice, voice. He stopped at her desk, his focus still on that damn phone, and his
other hand holding his two thousand dollar black briefcase.

“Your appointments for the day,
sir.”

He
slipped his phone in the inner pocket of his jacket and looked at her with his
blue eyes that were just as cold and arrogant as the rest of him. He might be
intelligent, might be wealthy, but his attitude turned her off like nothing
else in this world. With his gaze locked on her she felt this chill move over
her, like she was bared to him. It was annoyance and arousal all wrapped into
one, and she hated herself for wanting him as much as she did. Before she could
give him the rundown of his day, he grabbed the folder, looked down at it, and
turned to head through the massive steel and oak double doors to his office.

When
they were shut with an audible click, she breathed out and sat back down. The
entire top floor of the Hartford and McNamara building was
Rian
Hartford's office, but then again he was the co-owner of the entire building.
With the other half being owned and run by the McNamara Law Firm, this
skyscraper was one of the most powerful and successful business in New York.

She
glanced at the office, at the décor that was tastefully simple, but elegant at
the same time. The view right across from her desk was stunning. They were
seventy-five stories up, and she had thought on more than one occasion, because
of the frustration she felt daily working for him, that she wished she could
have just jumped from the window. Of course that was a figurative thought,
because no matter how infuriating
Rian
Hartford was,
and for as much as she wanted him, she stuck through his bullshit.

The
phone rang, drawing her out of her musing and murderous thoughts.

“Hartford
office, how may I help you?” Sorcha said and turned toward her computer to
enter in the information the caller gave her. “Mr. Hartford just came in, but
I’ll certainly pass the message along.” She glanced up when she heard the heavy
footfalls coming from the other side of the doors, and then watched them open
wide.
Rian
had this annoyed look on his face as he
held the memo she had set on his desk just this morning. For a man so
electronically and technologically advanced with his real estate and
entrepreneur businesses, he was all about getting his daily schedule in the
form of paper on his desk. But Sorcha had a feeling he made her do it because
he knew damn well the annoyance he caused her by having her write his messages
down by hand day in and day out.

“I
said push back the Anderson meeting to ten,”
Rian
all
but growled before stopping right in front of her desk. He slammed the memo
right in front of her, and the small items on her desk rattled from the force
of his actions.

Sorcha
ended the call and put the phone back on the receiver. She stared at the man
that infuriated her on a daily basis. God, he was gorgeous, and she hated him
even more because of it. There also had to be a sick part of her deep down
inside because hearing him use his “pissed” voice did something between her
thighs. She tingled, grew wet, and felt this undeniable need to have him
bark
out orders to her while she was in nothing but her
flesh. There he stood, in that damn suit and bowtie, his nostrils flaring
because she had yet to respond, and then crossing his arms in impatience. She
didn’t know anyone that even wore bowties anymore, but she couldn’t deny that
he made something that sounded silly, look really damn good.

“Well,
Miss Case?” he gritted out, and there was that flash of
assholishness
that had her thinking about reaching up and wrapping her hands around his too
perfect neck and squeezing hard. Everything about him was too damn perfect.
From his dark hair that was brushed stylishly away from his forehead, to his
hard, square jaw, and perfectly placed eyes, nose and full lips. Hell, the man
was GQ personified.

If
she didn’t need this job so damn badly, want
Rian
like a damn fiend, and if her friend Cora hadn’t gotten her the position, she
would have left.

No, you wouldn’t, because for as
much as you are irritated with him, there is this pull you have to
Rian
that makes you a masochist to his sadistic tendencies.

 
“Mr. Hartford, remember, I explained that Mr.
Anderson couldn’t push the meeting back.” She stared into his blue eyes, and
willed herself not to snarl out the words. “You’ve canceled two other times,
and agreed to do it this morning.” This man was a cocky bastard deep down, a
man that she would have slapped on any other occasion just from the expression
he wore most of the time.

He
picked up the memo and crumpled the sheet in his hand before tossing it on her
desk again. “If I can’t count on you to make sure my appointments are scheduled
when I need them, then I’m not sure what good you are to me.”

Her
anger rose. She had kept her mouth shut these last six months, worked through
his tirades, because she needed this job like she needed to breathe. It wasn’t
easy finding a decent paying job in New York, especially when she had money
problems of her own. But she was done with this. She knew he had gone through
four other secretaries before Sorcha had started working for him. So, it wasn’t
just her, because this man brought infuriating to a whole other level.