Page 14 of Tempt the Boss
Reading through my manuscript that night, my brow furrows. I haven’t read it since Darla started submitting it to publishers. The last thing I want to be is conceited, but as I’m going over my own work, I end up crying with the characters. My writing is powerful. I’m good at this, and a rush of gratitude and elation fills my heart.
Plus, with the help of Carmichael Publishing, more people are going to see my talent. The company’s going to market me and turn my life upside down, making me into one of the Thirty Under Thirty new must-read new authors. I can’t wait, and with a contented sigh, turn in.
But when I wake up in the morning, my laptop has fallen off the couch from where I fell asleep. Oof. These things are expensive and I don’t have the money to replace it yet. Lifting it up, the screen buzzes back to life and I flush. Because oh god, but I spent an embarrassing amount of time looking at pictures of Chris last night. The gorgeous man in these photos was literally inside me last week. How did that happen? Plus, I’m meeting with him again today at his offices once more.
I won’t sleep with him again. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.Not that there’s even a possibility of it happening. After all, this is a professional meeting where we’re going to sign papers and do other boring professional things.
Except I make sure to put on my best bra and panties before heading to the train station into the city. I head out earlier than I need to. The train ride from my town into the city is only twenty minutes, but I leave at ten thirty, so I can psych myself up for the meeting and convince myself I should absolutely, under no circumstances, sleep with Chris again.
I walk around the city for an hour, careful not to work up a sweat because the last thing I need is to show up at my meeting smelling like I’ve been walking around the city for an hour. Ugh. Exhaust fumes and NYC garbage don’t exactly make for an appetizing mix.
I arrive at the sleek Midtown building that houses Carmichael Publishing with fifteen minutes to spare. My stomach grumbles as I hit the elevator button to the seventeenth floor. I should have spent my extra hour eating, but then my breath might have smelled bad. That would have been worse than smelling like sweat. Why am I so nervous about going in with my best foot forward? The contract’s already in my hands, and it’s signed, no less. I can relax and let go a little. This is really happening.
The elevator opens onto the Carmichael Publishing floor. The same receptionist I met last week is sitting at the large front desk, phone pinned to her ear. She holds up a finger, asking me to wait. Once she hangs up, I approach the desk.
“Hi, I’m…”
“Ali Hartman. I remember,” she interrupts. The receptionist smiles at me, her face open and friendly. “I’m good with names and faces.”
“That must make your job a bit easier.”
She laughs. “It really does. Jenny is expecting you. Do you remember how to get to her desk?”
“I’m not great with directions,” I tell her honestly. “Can you point me where I need to go?”
“Of course. Her desk is at the end of the row just to your left.”
“Perfect. Thanks so much!”
“Sure thing!”
I walk to Jenny’s desk, and the woman jumps up and gives me a hug as I approach. “Ali! Are you here with good news?”
I pull the folder from my bag. “I am!”
Jenny practically shakes with excitement. She’s a friendly person and I love her for it. “This is amazing. I’m so excited to get to work! I shouldn’t tell you this, but I’ve already got your editorial letter ready. I figured I’d trash it if you went somewhere else.”
I laugh. “I appreciate your enthusiasm.”
She smiles and takes her seat again. “I’ll get this contract filed and send the editorial letter to your agent next week. I want to give the manuscript one more look before I send you my notes.”
“Sounds good,” I say shyly. “I really appreciate it.”
Jenny nods, her head bobbing up and down like a toy puppy dog.
“Chris wants to see you, too. You can go straight down this row and take a right. His assistant will let you in.”
“Cool. Thank you so much, by the way. You’ve been a dream to work with.”
She grins sassily.
“No worries. You’re welcome. I’ll see you around.”
And with one last wave, I follow Jenny’s directions and end up outside Chris’s door. His assistant knocks and lets me in. But I know I’m in for trouble when I see Chris looking just as perfect as he did the last time we met. Better, in fact. Today, his hair is hanging in a black comma over those startling blue eyes, his broad form draped in a perfectly cut suit. Were his shoulders this broad last time? His chest this deep and muscular? All I know is that I can’t wait to feel those pecs again … if it happens.
I blush, and the man grins like he’s reading my mind.
“I’m glad you came,” he says, his voice deep.