The Office Slave #2: The Boss (8 page)

"That's better. Now, you will listen."

He stepped from behind the desk and paced,
his hands folded behind his back. His white robes billowed as he
strode back and forth.

"As I see it, there are two possibilities.
One, you were involved in kidnapping Dhiya and transporting her out
of the country. Two, you helped Dhiya at her request, taking her
necklace as payment. Either way, you are in grave trouble. Both are
an insult to me and my family."

She shook her head in disbelief, knowing she
had to set him straight.

"She robbed me at gunpoint."

"Dhiya would never touch a gun."

"But—"

"—if you were a man, there would be many
options open to me to exact justice."

He sat on the edge of his desk facing her,
his arms crossed over his chest.

Her heart hammered loudly and the muscles in
her chest tightened painfully. Just what did he intend to do to
her? She'd heard of officials in these small countries throwing
people into prison for years because of some inadvertent
transgression. She pictured herself stuck in a grimy jail cell,
sharing scraps of food with rats.

"But I cannot bring myself to be so harsh
with a woman." He watched her with those coal-black eyes.

She let out a sigh of relief. She'd never
wanted to use her gender as an advantage, but right now, she had no
such qualms.

"What …?" Her voice came out choked, so she
cleared her throat and tried again. "What do you intend to do with
me?"

He stared at her for a long moment and his
gaze slipped past her chin to her chest. She raised her hand to toy
with the top button of the robe, at least the top button that was
still fastened.

A drop of perspiration glided slowly down her
neck. Like a breath of fire grazing her skin, his gaze seared her
as he followed the progress of the drop as it forged a path down
her chest, then disappeared between her breasts. He lingered on the
swell of flesh peeking from the deep neckline. He might as well
have been caressing her breasts physically for the affect he was
having on her. Her nipples pebbled, hardening and peaking against
the thin fabric.

Awareness shimmered through her, of his
overwhelming masculinity, and of just how vulnerable she was.

His gaze shifted to her face.

"To repay the debt of dishonor, you will
serve me."

"What do you mean 'serve you'? "

"You will warm my bed. Tonight, and for as
many nights as I see fit."

She blinked at him.

"I … beg your pardon?"

"You may well do, but I will not pardon you.
You have wronged me and you will pay with the only currency you
have as a woman. Your body."

Her stomach clenched painfully and her hands
started to shake. Oh, God. This couldn't really be happening.

"You can't mean …"

His hot gaze told her otherwise.

"But that's barbaric." Yet the thought of
this man dragging her into his arms, his mouth devouring hers, sent
shivers of excitement through her.

"Insults will not better your position."

"How long do you intend to … keep me
here?"

"When Dhiya returns, I will have answers. If
you merely helped her, then I will consider your debt of dishonor
repaid and I will let you go. If it turns out you were involved in
kidnapping her, then your situation will change, for the
worse."

"And if she doesn't return?"

His expression turned dangerous.

"You had better hope that she does," he
growled.

She bolted to her feet, her hands clenched
into fists at her sides.

"You don't seem to understand. I'm the victim
here."

"Silence."

Obviously, he wasn't going to listen. Fear
sliced through her, colliding with anger at the unfairness of it
all. There had to be some way to straighten out this whole
mess.

She glared at him.

"This is ridiculous. I have rights. I demand
to see the Canadian ambassador at once," she said with as much
authority as she could muster.

She stomped across the room toward the exit
and flung open the door. Two very large, very scary looking guards
turned and stared at her. Their expressions dared her to try and
leave. She took one step forward and they tensed. She glanced at
the long swords settled in scabbards at their waists. Of course,
they wouldn't even need to unsheathe those things. All they'd have
to do is pick her up bodily and put her where they wanted her.

"They won't let you leave unless I allow
it."

She turned to face the man at the desk.

"And I will not allow you to leave my house,
or my country, until you have paid your debt."

She swallowed the lump forming in her
throat.

by Amber Carew

Gillian is tired of her mother trying to
push her on a date with her boss' son. She doesn't want to be
hooked up with any guy—especially a rich one—let alone one who
would put an ad in the paper looking for a virgin, no less.

Cade is tired of his father trying to hook
him up with a bride. If he did want to find a wife, which is not
tops on his priority list, he is perfectly capable of finding his
own woman. In fact, he's quite intrigued by the sparky-eyed beauty
storming out of his office building. She's spunky, determined—and
sexy as hell. When she mistakes him for a blue collar worker, he
decides this is the perfect opportunity to get to know a woman he's
attracted to without worrying about whether she's after his
money.

Gill is determined to put Mr.
Tall-Dark-and-Handsome out of her mind, even though his touch
ignites her passion like a keg of jet fuel. Mom calls that kind of
passion infatuation. Cade calls it chemistry. Gill just calls it
dangerous.

Chapter 1

"Virgin Wanted

No experience necessary!"

Gillian's focus zeroed in on the phone
number at the bottom of the personal ad and she gasped. Snatching
up the phone, she jabbed out the sequence of numbers and drummed
her fingers on the table top while listening to the electronic whir
over the line.

When she heard the familiar voice on the
other end she cried, "Mother. How could you?"

"How could I what, dear?"

Her calm voice didn't fool Gill for a minute.
"I'm referring to the ad in the Citizen." Absently, she grabbed a
red pen from the collection of writing utensils in the blue plastic
cup beside the phone, then outlined the ad.

"Oh, you saw that, did you?" Mom's nonchalant
manner perturbed Gill. Had she hoped Gill wouldn't see it?

"Do you know how many crazy people you'll get
phoning you with an ad like that?"

"Yes, dear. I know. You're the first
one."

Gillian's fingers splayed flat on the table
top. "Mother!"

Why me?
she asked herself.
Why have
I been cursed with a mother who gets involved in such crazy
schemes?

"So, dear, are you calling to apply?" The
hopeful note in her voice put Gill on guard.

"For what exactly?" she asked, warily.

"Why, to marry Jeremy Farraday, of
course."

Oh, no. Not
Jeremy
again. Jeremy
Farraday. Mother had been after her for the past two years to meet
her employer's son and Gill had successfully avoided the event so
far. Now it seemed Mom's goal had evolved to marriage. Gill
suppressed a groan.

"What does this ad have to do with marrying
Farraday's son?"

"Mr. Farraday has decided it's long past time
for Jeremy to get married, so—you know how I've told you what a
take charge kind of guy Mr. Farraday is—he's decided to search for
a bride for his son. He asked me to help. Everyone's always talking
about the power of personal ads so I thought I'd try one."

Gill folded the open section of the newspaper
in half, then in half again, leaving the red-rimmed ad centered in
front of her. "Isn't this going a bit beyond the call of duty?
After all, you're the personnel manager for Farraday's company, not
for his family's personal life."

Gill heard her mother sigh heavily. "Gill,
Mr. Farraday sees getting a wife for his son as an important aspect
of continuing the business."

Gill snorted. "He wants heirs, you mean?"

"Yes. He's an old-fashioned man. He feels
this is part of the business and ... well, Gill, I just couldn't
say no."

Gill clenched her jaw. Mom was too willing to
be pushed around. When would she ever learn to push back? "Yes, you
could. If he tried to fire you, you could sue him. He'd be laughed
out of court when people found out he terminated you because you
refused to be a matchmaker for his son."

Mom's soft sigh whispered over the line.
"Gill, you know I don't like to make trouble."

Gill knew that only too well. When her
stepfather had been busy ripping Gill to shreds, making her feel
like the most incompetent fool on earth, Mom had held her silence.
Afterwards, she'd picked up the pieces of Gill's self-esteem and
helped patch it together again, but Gill had always wished she'd
stepped in and actually spoken up for her.

Did this Farraday Junior's father berate him?
Gill wondered. Probably not. He was probably spoiled rotten and
living grand on his daddy's cash. He probably got anything he
wanted. He wanted a wife, so Daddy just ordered his minion to stick
an ad in the paper and get him one.

Her gaze flicked to the first line of the ad.
Virgin wanted.
It sounded like an ad for a human sacrifice.
Probably marrying Farraday Jr. would be about as much fun as being
thrown into a volcano.

Actually, it would probably be Dullsville in
the extreme. After all, what kind of personality could the guy have
if he needed his father to find a wife for him? She'd have thought
that even if his attractions were minimal, he'd have been able to
find someone willing to marry him with all his money. Of course,
that's what they'd be flaunting with this ad. And it would probably
work. Most women found wealth a great attraction, even if Gill
didn't.

Gill found it hard to believe the son would
actually go along with something like this. Would he just calmly
let his father pick out a wife for him? And how would a father come
up with an idea like this? She could just imagine Farraday calling
a meeting of his staff and calmly discussing the steps for a bride
hunt. Probably called for a statistical analysis to determine the
percentage of virgins available in the population around Ottawa and
a market report to decide what would attract the appropriate age
group. Gill shook her head, suppressing a giggle.

"So, how did this all start?" she asked.

"Well, Mr. Farraday has been suggesting
Jeremy get married for quite a while now, but Jeremy—like all
children it seems—is resisting. I think it's as much to annoy his
father as anything else."

"Mom, I'm sure this guy doesn't run his life
just to annoy his father."

"Sometimes I wonder. Anyway, Jeremy just got
back last week—remember I told you he went off to manage a project
in Japan?—and his father tried to pin him down on when he'd find a
wife. Well, maybe Jeremy's been thinking about
things
, you
know, because a close friend of his lost a brother recently and
sometimes that makes you think about where your own life is going.
Anyway, to make a long story short—"

"Too late, Mom." Gill smiled, as Mom carried
on, totally oblivious to her teasing comment.

"Jeremy told him he hasn't married yet
because he's looking for a woman who's ... shall we say ... saved
herself for marriage." Mom ignored Gill's snort of disapproval.

Saved herself?
Good heavens. This guy
must be straight out of the Dark Ages. "That explains why such an
attractive catch is still unattached at thirty-one. He also wants a
woman who's near his own age."

Gill traced her finger along the outline of
the airplane depicted on her purple coffee mug. "I'll bet there
aren't many women of that description floating around."

"Precisely my point. That's why you'd be so
perfect."

Gill clamped her eyes shut. She should have
seen this coming. "Why do you think I fit the bill?"

"Oh, don't be silly, dear."

Gill resented the fact Mom thought she knew
her so well. But she didn't call her on it. Gill valued their
closeness as much as Mom did. Mom had always believed in her, had
always made her believe in herself. Unlike her stepfather.

"I think he'd be perfect for you."

"You think his bank book would be perfect for
me, you mean."

"Darling, there's nothing wrong with marrying
a wealthy man."

"There is if that's the only reason for
marrying him." She took a sip of lukewarm coffee.

"So far, you haven't found a good reason for
marrying anyone. Or even dating, for that matter," she grumbled.
"But I think once you got to know Jeremy you wouldn't be marrying
him for his money."

"So you've told me."

"And he's gorgeous." Mom's voice had slipped
into her persuasive tone.

"Great. So I should marry him for his looks
instead." She plunked her cup on the table.

"That's not what I meant."

"Mom, you know how I feel about rich
men."

Her mother's voice softened. "Yes, I know,
dear. But you've got to remember, your stepfather was only one man.
Not all rich men are like Eric," Mother continued, "and I can
personally guarantee that Jeremy isn't."

Oh, Mom. You and I just don't see the world
the same way. All rich men are selfish and power-hungry. That's how
they get to be rich.

"I don't want to talk about this."

Gill could hear a tapping sound from the
other end of the line, probably her mother playing with a pen, as
she tended to do while on the phone. "Gill, if you'd just meet
Jeremy...."

"Don't start on that again! I don't want to
meet him. And I definitely don't want to marry him."