Under His Command (For His Pleasure, Book 17) (2 page)

Her heels were too high and she was having difficulty walking in them.

Luckily, she would be sitting through most of the interview, because if they made her walk too much she would no doubt fall on her butt and make a total fool of herself in front of Red and the entire office.

Red Jameson.

She almost said the name aloud, like an incantation. A chant. A spell.

How many times in the last week or two had she pictured Red and Nicole together, eating dinner, laughing, playing with their baby, even—she hated to admit—

making love?

She’d wanted to know every detail of their lives.

Well, she’d learned an awful lot. And now, if all went as planned, she was going to learn even more, because she’d be working with Red as his personal assistant, hand in glove.

And then, who knew how close she might get?

Kennedy tried to keep the nerves at bay as she held her own resume, re-reading it but hardly even seeing the words anymore. The resume was refined, polished, and elegant. She’d been proud of it, proud of seeing all of her accomplishments laid out in such a clear, concise way.

But would Red like it? Would she be able to convince him that her talents would translate over to the hard charging, down and dirty world of corporate advertising?

She closed her eyes briefly and told herself that she would indeed. She needed to convince him that she was the one. She was almost all of the way there now. It wasn’t a coincidence that she’d come across this job posting just at the moment when her crisis of faith had reached its apex.

She was meant to work with Red Jameson—meant to be close to him and Nicole.

As crazy as it might be, Kennedy simply knew that it was fate.

“Miss Saunders?” the receptionist called out softly, his boyish face expectant as she met his gaze.

“Yes?” she licked her lips, her heartbeat speeding to a gallop.

“Mister Rather is on his way, he’ll be out to greet you shortly.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her face flushing. “Mr. Rather?”

She didn’t recognize the name. And Kennedy knew the name of every single person who worked at the agency, unless they’d recently hired someone else.

The receptionist’s brow furrowed slightly. “Yes, Mr. Rather. He’ll be meeting with you for the executive assistant position.”

Her heart sank. But then, she thought, it was probably just that she’d be meeting with somebody from HR before being introduced to Red or other members of the organization.

Don’t freak out just because you don’t recognize one single name.

Kennedy took a deep breath and released it.

The receptionist shot her a look and then raised his eyebrows, looking back at his computer screen and typing away rapid-fire on his keyboard.

After what seemed like hours, a shadow rippled across the opaque glass of the door into the waiting area, and then it opened, revealing a tall, shockingly handsome guy in dark slacks with a white button-down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had dirty blond hair that was a bit wavy and long, and beard stubble that somehow added to his already young appearance.

He didn’t look like any HR guy she could imagine—in fact, he didn’t look like he belonged there at all. He seemed like the sort of person who would be rebuilding boats or old cars, or maybe even being deployed to Afghanistan.

As she stood up and shook his strong, large hand, Kennedy met his green eyes and felt another shock at just how hot he was.

“I’m Easton Rather,” he said, in a friendly but gritty voice—something in his tone reminded her of a laughing pirate, a man who would charm you and crack a joke or two but then maybe make you walk the plank not long after.

“Hello,” she whispered, trying to find her voice.

“And you must be Kennedy Saunders?”

She nodded, no longer able to meet his gaze. His eyes were steely, and intense, and she felt he could instantly tell how sheltered and confused she truly was. Although he was young, Easton Rather seemed to have been around the block more than a few times.

“Pleased to meet you,” she finally said, her voice still too quiet to be of service.

He nodded briskly. “Follow me to the conference room, Kennedy. We have a lot to discuss, you and I.” He turned and she watched his shirt stretch across the length of his broad shoulders and muscular back. Easton Rather looked more like a linebacker than an ad executive.

She didn’t have much of a chance to see the rest of the office, since the conference room he led her to wasn’t far from the entranceway. The room itself was large, intimidating, with an ebony table that was polished to glassy perfection and seats that looked as if they could swallow her whole.

She sat down, trying to maintain a confident posture.

Easton took a seat not far from her and gestured to a sweating pitcher of ice water nearby. “Could I pour you a drink?” he asked.

“No thanks,” she said, even though she was thirsty. Her lips were dry and she had to forcibly remind herself not to lick them.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

Easton had a pen and what looked like a copy of her resume with him. He sighed and shook his head. “When your resume first came across my desk, I honestly thought it was a joke.”

“A joke?” Kennedy said.

Easton glanced at her and then back at the piece of paper in front of him. “Well, you’re not the typical candidate I’m used to seeing for this kind of position.”

Remember, you expected this sort of question. You prepared for it.

“I know that most of my background is academic,” she said, “but I think that my skills will transfer really well to the corporate environment.”

Easton scratched his beard and nodded. “I didn’t even want to interview you, frankly,” he said.

She felt her heart stop. Was he basically telling her this was already a lost cause?

She’d upped and moved based on her conviction that she could get this job, and now this man—a man she’d never even heard of before—was telling her she didn’t have a chance.

Kennedy almost asked him where Red Jameson was. She was supposed to be meeting with Red, not this football jock with a chip on his shoulder. Red would understand that she wasn’t some joke.

“Well, I’m glad you did decide to interview me,” she said. “Because I know I can do this job.”

He picked up the resume and tapped it with his pen. “The reason I said yes, after some deliberation, was that I saw that you said you can type over one hundred and twenty words per minute. Is that accurate?”

“Yes, it is.”

“For how long?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“How long can you type that fast?” he challenged. “I mean, it doesn’t impress me if you can only type that speed for ten seconds at a stretch. How long can you keep that up?”

She straightened, squaring her shoulders. “That’s my average speed. I can type that fast as long as necessary. I’d be happy to take a test if you don’t believe me.”

He chuckled. “I do have my doubts, Kennedy. Can I call you Kennedy?”

“Sure.” She wanted to tell him to call her Miss Saunders. She found that she was simultaneously attracted and repulsed by him. He was arrogant and glib and seemed to take pleasure in trying to poke holes in what she was telling him. At the same time, she couldn’t deny that he had a magnetism that was compelling—he had the confidence that just screamed he was good in bed.

Of course, she didn’t know what that really meant—her lack of experience made it impossible. And yet, somehow Easton Rather
made
her know, at a primal level, that he could do things to her, and make her do things to him, and she would love every second of it.

“Well Kennedy,” he said, stretching back and putting his feet out so far that they were nearly touching hers, “I do have my doubts about the claims you made in your resume. I mean, this reads like someone who’s on track to win a Nobel Prize or something.”

“I think you mean a Fields Medal,” she replied. “There’s no Nobel Prize for mathematics.”

His right eyebrow rose as if he found her reply humorous. “Be that as it may, your resume reads like a laundry list someone concocted out of thin air, or ripped off from the Internet.”

“It’s my resume. I’m not lying, Mr. Rather. And I resent you insinuating that I might have made up the qualifications that I worked for years to accomplish.”

“It’s just a little odd.” His mirthful expression faded and he looked at her, his eyes turning suddenly predatory. “Why did you completely switch tracks like this? Why leave everything you had going on at MIT to come to New York and take diction for some entitled COO?”

“I don’t think Red Jameson is some “entitled” CEO, as you put it. And I’m not sure he’d appreciate you referring to him that way.”

Easton folded his arms and smiled at her, but his eyes were somewhat cold. “You should listen better, Miss Saunders. I said COO, not CEO.”

Now that he was referring to her by last name, she found she didn’t like it very much. Kennedy knew she was blowing the interview, being far too defensive, and yet somehow she didn’t seem to be able to stop it from happening.

He was prodding, poking her, finding her weaknesses and insecurities with effortless precision. She wanted to right the ship but didn’t feel capable of doing so.

“I’m sorry I misheard you,” she told him, shifting in her seat. “But my understanding was that I would be interviewing for a job as executive assistant to the CEO.”

“Originally that’s what Red envisioned. But,” Easton said, grinning, “he changed his mind and decided to bring me on board instead. You’re not the only one who’s surprised. Ninety-nine percent of the company is going to find out that I’ve been brought in to lead the day-to-day operations of The Red Agency, while Red himself steps back and deals more with strategic planning and big picture issues.”

Kennedy tried to keep her expression neutral, but the news crushed her. The whole point of coming to New York and leaving her old life behind had been to work with Red Jameson, to find a way to get closer to him and then Nicole.

But her plan, ridiculous as it had been before, now seemed completely worthless.

“That’s a big change,” Kennedy said, the phony smile she’d put on temporarily disappearing from her face.

Easton watched her. “You don’t seem to happy with the idea. Look, I understand that the Chief Operating Officer seems like a bit of a step down—“

“It’s not that,” Kennedy said, shaking her head. “I just was under the impression that I’d be working for Red Jameson.”

Easton’s jaw twitched. “I get it. He’s practically a movie star. But I doubt he wants some star struck kid fresh out of college following him around all day with puppy dog eyes.”

“I wouldn’t do that. I’d never do that. I’m a professional, trust me.”

“I believe you.” He smiled, but the smile was distinctly less friendly now. “In any case, I’m sure there will be a lot of disappointment from a lot of people when we break the news that Red’s taking a step back. He’s a very charismatic, accomplished person and people get excited to work with him. Unfortunately, I’m me,” Easton said, a trace of humor creeping back into his voice. “And so I’m stuck trying to explain to everyone why I’m going to be just as good, if not better at this whole running a business thing, as Red himself.”

Kennedy knew she’d screwed up. Her mind was racing. She also had figured out that her only chance of getting closer to Red and Nicole was still through working with Easton. Clearly, Easton would be meeting with Red on a frequent basis. She would in turn get to have some contact with him. And something was still better than nothing.

“I can tell that you’re a very smart and capable leader,” Kennedy said, trying to dig herself out of the very deep hole she seemed to be in.

“Well thanks for the vote of confidence. But this interview isn’t about me, Miss Saunders. I’ve already got the job, for better or worse.” His eyes fixed on her again, displaying no pity or compassion. He was like something out of her nightmares. “As far as I can tell, I still haven’t figured out why you think you belong here.”

Sweat had started to bead up on her forehead and now her mouth really was dry.

She licked her lips, despite knowing better. Her nerves were showing and everything was going wrong at once. “Maybe I haven’t gotten it across just yet,” she said, “but I can assure you that the very skills that allow me to succeed at MIT will serve me well here. I have a photographic memory, for one thing.”

“That’s certainly unique. How will it come into play as my assistant?”

“I’ll learn quickly. I’ll remember dates and times, things you tell me to do will be remembered and executed to the letter.”

“That’s very nice.” He crossed his arms. “So how about I test that theory right now?”

“Absolutely.” She sat up straighter. Being tested sounded good—sounded quite preferable to how things had been proceeding up to this point.

He cocked his head and scratched his chin lightly, as if still deciding what to do with her. She could see the strength in his shoulders, the thickness of his neck, the chiseled quality to his cheekbones. He had a bad boy’s eyes and features, but the polish and command of himself that Kennedy equated with a much older man. She hated to admit that part of the problem she was having was a strong physical reaction to him.

She couldn’t stop looking at him, and being affected by him, even as she tried to tell herself that she was not interested in him at all.

“All right, then,” Easton said. “I want you to tell me why you really left MIT to come to New York and work at this company.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Easton sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I’m waiting.”

“Because I didn’t want to be a math teacher, even if it was a math teacher at MIT,” she said suddenly. The answer surprised her, mostly because she realized it was actually true, but only after she’d already said it.

Easton nodded. “Why would you have dedicated so many years of your life to something that you found so unfulfilling?”

“I suppose I did it because I thought it was what I was good at.”