Caine glanced over his shoulder at me as he shuffled some papers on his desk. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s early.”

“It is.” His tone brooked no denial.

Six thirty it was, then. “I’ll be here.”

“And dress appropriately.” I bristled but nodded at the command. “And do something with your hair.”

I frowned and touched a strand of it. “What do you mean?” I wore my hair long with a slight wave in it. There was nothing wrong with my hair.

Annoyed, Caine turned to face me. “This isn’t a nightclub. I expect your hair and clothes to be stylish but conservative. Image is important, and from now on you represent this company. Slovenly hair and clothes do not reflect the company image.”

Stylish but conservative? Slovenly hair and clothes?

I contemplated him and how pompous he could be. You have quite the stick up your ass, don’t you?

He glowered as if he’d read my mind. “Tomorrow you’ll receive employment contracts. Once you sign those I’m your boss.” When I didn’t answer he said, “That means you act the way I want you to act. That means you shelve the attitude and the twenty questions.”

“Should I shelve those next to ‘personality’?”

Caine did not look amused. In fact, the look in his eyes bordered on predatory. “That would be wise.”

I gulped, suddenly wondering why I’d thought it was smart to poke the tiger. “Noted.” Already I could tell this arrangement between us was not going to be easy, but I just had to remember my endgame here. “I guess I’ll see you Monday, Caine.”

He lowered himself into his seat without looking up at me. “Ethan will provide you with all the information you need before you leave.”

“Great.”

“Oh, and, Alexa?”

I froze but my pulse sped up. He’d never said my name before.

It sounded nice on his lips. Very, very nice.

“Yeah?” I whispered.

“From now on you will refer to me as Mr. Carraway and only Mr. Carraway.”

Ouch. Talk about putting me in my place. “Of course.” I took another step toward the door.

“And one other thing.” This time I halted at his dark, dangerous tone. “You never mention your father or my mother, ever again.”

My heart practically clenched at the pain I heard in his voice.

With a careful nod, I slipped out of his office, and despite the way he threw me off balance, I was more determined than ever that this was the right decision. Somehow this was where I was meant to be.

CHAPTER 4

The hot water sluiced down over me and I waited for it to wake me up. So far, nothing. In fact, I was so tired I couldn’t even find the energy for first-day-on-the-job-jitters. I washed the conditioner out of my hair and stumbled from the shower.

Coffee.

I needed coffee.

I groaned and leaned back against the cool tiled wall of my bathroom and closed my eyes. I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew I was jolted into full consciousness by the sounds of Rush’s “Working Man” blaring from my cell. It took me a minute to realize I’d made it my ringtone the night before.

I sleepily made my way into my bedroom and snatched the cell up off my bedside table. “ ’Ello?”

“I’m just checking if you managed to haul yourself out of bed,” Caine’s voice rumbled down the line.

It was like a double shot of espresso, shooting through my blood and waking me up.

“Of course I am,” I said, proud that I actually sounded alert. “I’ll be at the office at six thirty sharp.”

“I’d like a decaf latte macchiato on my desk when I get in.”

Uh … I glanced at the clock. I had not factored in coffee-buying time. “Okay, but I’ll probably be a little later, then.”

“No.” Caine’s voice suddenly lowered in warning. “You’ll get your ass in the office at six thirty with a latte or don’t bother coming in at all.” He hung up.

I sighed and threw my phone on the bed. Caine had warned me he was pretty much going to be an asshole, so I couldn’t be surprised by this. I also didn’t have time to be annoyed. If I was going to get him his damn latte and get into the office on time, I was going to have to forgo blowing out my hair. Instead I hurried around my room like a frantic person. I gave my hair a quick couple of blasts with my hair dryer and then coiled it up into a neat French knot.

The whole time I dressed I frowned, and it wasn’t just because of my cranky tiredness. It was because of the stockings I’d had to pull on, and the tight, ass-cupping black pencil skirt I was wearing. Rachel had accompanied me on a shopping trip to Newbury Street that weekend so I could find “appropriate” clothing for my new job. We’d barely made it two blocks before I dropped a small fortune on stylish, expensive suits and blouses so I could fit the image of a Carraway Financial Holdings employee. This meant I was heading to work in that darn figure-hugging pencil skirt with a blue silk blouse tucked into it, a black peplum jacket to match the skirt, and black three-inch Prada heels I already owned but had rarely worn.

I’d even swiped on a little mascara.

I stared at my reflection in my full-length mirror and nodded. Stylish but conservative.

I wrinkled my nose.

I missed my boy shorts and flip-flops.

There was no more time to glower at my reflection. I had coffee to get! I jumped in my silver-blue Miata, flew through the streets, and got to International Place in less than fifteen minutes. After parking in the underground garage of our building, I ran inelegantly in my Pradas to the coffee place around the corner since the one in the courtyard of our building hadn’t opened yet. When I got to the coffee place, I was surprised by the lack of a line.