All I need is for him to like me. That’s it.
It’s my first day at Crown Enterprises, working as a secretary for the notorious Jude Crown, who is as known for his fiery temper as he is for his incredible good looks. And if I was shaking any harder, I think I’d probably come right out of my flats.
“You can do this, you can do this,” I say for what must be the thousandth time as I approach the enormous glass doors of the skyscraper housing Crown Enterprises. I’ve been repeating this to myself for the entire subway ride from my apartment in Brooklyn, but I don’t think it’s been helping, because as the doorman lets me in and I make my way to the elevator, I’m pretty sure my heart is about to explode like a bomb out of the next Mission Impossible movie.
I close my eyes and focus on my breath. In…out. In…out. By the time I and the other two people, who are obviously much better off than I, reach the 75th floor, I’ve definitely increased my oxygen levels, but have done nothing to combat my heart that’s still pounding like the bass of my neighbor’s techno tracks they love playing at all hours of the night.
The elevator doors ding and open, and I’m greeted with a view of the most spectacular offices I could ever imagine. And tasteful too. No gold plating or crystal chandeliers, just gorgeous desks, glass panels, modern art, eggshell floors, and furniture that I’d imagine is custom and must cost a fortune. I barely have a chance to take it all in before a man in a gray suit steps up to me.
“You must be Penny,” he says.
“Yes, I am—”
“I’m Carlos. Mr. Crown is waiting for you. If you’ll follow me this way.”
Wow. No orientation, no office tour, no asking me if I’d like a coffee? Just right down to business.
I follow Carlos quickly past a row of desks, men and women on phones and computers all hard at work, then down a hallway to a set of large, closed doors. There’s no name on them, but why would there be? This is clearly Mr. Crown’s office. The office of the company CEO.
As we approach, they open, and a girl wearing heels and an ankle-length black pencil skirt comes storming out, her face red and streaked with mascara tears. My already-pounding heart skips a beat as she strides right up to me and waves a finger straight in my face.
“So, you’re the new girl?” she asks, her voice choked with sobs. “Well quit now while you’re ahead! Because you won’t last long!”
“Gretchen, think about what you’re doing—” Carlos starts but is instantly cut off.
“He’ll fire you! He’ll fire you like that!” she snaps. “And you’ll be back on the subway looking for a new job.”
“Security!” Carlos calls.
“Because that’s what he did to the last six girls and me!” she hisses. “Because that man is the devil!”
Two enormous men in suits appear behind me. Gretchen raises her hands in the air innocently. “It’s all right, boys. I’m leaving now.”
Her eyes on me, she walks past me toward the men, who walk beside her back toward the elevator. Everyone tries their best not to stare, but she draws quite a few eyes on her way out.
“I’m so sorry,” Carlos whispers. “But Mr. Crown needs you. You can go in now.”
Every nerve in my body is tingling as Carlos gently ushers me forward toward the partially open doors. I’m so brimming with energy right now that if you hooked me up to the grid, I could probably power half of Lower Manhattan. And when I hear his voice from inside, a fuzzy feeling comes over my head, and I have to genuinely focus on not passing out as I step into his office.
“How do you know it will work out? Because I say it will!” he barks into the phone, his back to me. “You think I got to where I am today by being wrong? Just do what I say and don’t make me ask again.”
I’m faced with a pair of broad shoulders beneath a white dress shirt. I watch his body move as he slams the phone down on his desk, taken aback by the size and shape of the muscles visible beneath his clothes. In another life, this man could have been a linebacker. He takes a breath and gazes out the window at the most breathtaking view of New York City I’ve ever seen, clearly completely unaware of my presence, then thumbs a button on his desk.
“Carlos, where the hell is Gretchen’s replacement?”
“Ahem.” I clear my throat, causing him to turn. He sees me, and his hypnotic, deep brown eyes fix on me. If I didn’t already feel small, his gaze would do the trick. Instantly, it’s like I’m an ant staring up at a bear, praying he won’t drop a paw down on me and crush me.
“Cancel that, Carlos,” he says, removing his thumb from the buzzer. He stares at me like an appraiser would stare at a painting, and I just stand there, unmoving, as his eyes drink me in.
God, he’s handsome. I’ve seen pictures of him in magazines, online, and even the one interview he did when discussing how he made his first billion. But none of that compares to seeing him in person.
His chiseled jaw, his high cheekbones, the way his face seems like it was sculpted from marble by a master sculptor from the Renaissance era. The way he stands like an athlete but is dressed like a businessman.
Please like me. Please, please, please, please.
But he’s frowning. Whatever happened between him and Gretchen, whatever he was barking about on the phone when I came in, it all clearly got him in a bad mood before I got here. She was right; I have no chance.
But then, something strange happens. The edges of his lips twist up, slowly but surely. And then a smile forms on his mouth.
“Well, finally,” he says. “Finally they send a good-looking girl to work for me.”
I nearly forget how to breathe for a moment. I don’t know whether to pass out or jump for joy, but seeing as how I can’t do either of those things, I smile professionally and wait for him to make the next move. But wow, did he really say that? Jude Crown thinks I’m good-looking?
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Um, P-Penny,” I stammer like an idiot. “Penny Johnson.”
Jude, hands in his pockets, nods and slowly comes around from behind his desk. The way he moves is hypnotic. Such precision, such control. He’s not at all like the other billionaire CEOs you see on TV. This man could be a movie star, a model. I have to fight every feminine urge I have not to let my eyes move to the very obvious bulge in his pants as he steps closer to me and stops not even six feet from me. Again, his eyes hold me where I stand and seem to bore a hole straight through me.
“Well, Penny Johnson.” He smiles. “I’m glad you showed up here today. You do well, and I may just keep you around. After we make a few changes, of course.”
