CHAPTER ONE
“Someone important?” her boss asked.
Chrissy’s sigh dragged her attention from the window, where she’d been staring blankly at the clouds, toward James Pearson. Her new boss was in his forties, with salt and pepper hair, and wore a black Italian suit with a crisp cream shirt and, today, an azure tie patterned in tiny diamond shapes with orange dots in the center. The hue of the tie highlighted his crystal blue eyes, which now were studying the screen of an iPad as intently as a cat hunting a mouse.
“I’m sorry?” Chrissy asked as she blinked several times. She had no idea what he’d said.
“Someone important capturing your thoughts? That man in the brown leather jacket?” Pearson’s tone dripped with disapproval.
She shook her head, even though an electric current ran from her toes up through her spine when she thought of Saks. It didn’t take much for Chrissy to imagine Saks’ hands on her body, his low, sexy voice commanding her to come. But that was a relationship that could never be. He was too immersed in that motorcycle club of his to fit into her family. Not to mention too connected to organized crime.
No! Chrissy wanted the white picket fence, the nice professional man, and two-point-four children who she shepherded to soccer practice and took to the beach. Saks never was and never could be part of that.
You’re a snob, her little voice whispered.
Shut up. It’s not snobbish to know what you want out of life.
Yeah, right. That’s why you’re sitting on a plane with a man you don’t like, to do a job you hardly want so you can run away from your life.
“No. He was just a friend,” Chrissy replied. She looked out the window again, ignoring the white wine that the plane’s steward placed before her without asking.
Pearson raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond to her denial of the depth of her feelings for Saks. He had seen the searing kiss that Saks gave her at the airport, one that most definitely was not one of a ‘friend’. But her enigmatic boss made no further comment.
They had completed the flight from Connecticut to New York barely a half hour prior before they’d boarded an even larger private jet. This plane featured rooms built within its frame. So far, she’d only seen the lounge with the large leather sofa that curved against one bulkhead into soft ‘L’ shape, on which she and Mr. Pearson sat, and a mahogany bar on the opposite side of the plane.
Pearson busied himself with the iPad held in his grasp. “Good. I don’t need my new employee distracted.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Here’s your iPad. All communications take place through that, so guard it with your life. Our schedule is on there, and it’s your job to update it. Either the secretary in the central office or I will send you an email to put in new information.”
“You have a secretary?” This latest piece of information confused Chrissy, who thought that was her job.
“No. The central office has one, or rather an office assistant. Her name is Marta Grayles. She takes calls, among other things, and keeps track of financial
records. You’re now her boss.”
Chrissy’s brow knit with worry. Pearson hadn’t discussed this with her. “She’s my employee?”
“Yes, along with the other assistants in the different offices I keep. There’s London, Madrid, Milano, Tokyo. I can’t remember all of them. There’s a list on the pad with the cities in which we have offices. You might want to send each location an email to introduce yourself. That’s up to you. I emailed the offices, informing them of the change in personnel. Your email address is [email protected] dot com. That’s with two mms, not one.”
“Jammeworld dot com,” she said, typing in the address. The page displayed as not found, and she frowned.
“You won’t find a website,” he said, eyes glued to his phone. In fact, not once did he glance up to Chrissy to be certain she was still paying him any mind. He simply expected it. “We use it for email addresses. I keep a private server for communications. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
“Yes, Mr. Pearson.” She made a mental note to add the email address to her phone. It couldn’t hurt to be over prepared.
“Your first assignment is to go through the tablet and familiarize yourself with it.”
She nodded, and opened the document folder and found some rather mundane files. Business staff, all cities, said one. Pearson, personal services, all cities, said another. One in particular stood out: Pearson, personal preferences. That folder had to be interesting.
But before she could open it, an instant message popped up on the screen. London 10 PM canceled.
She stared at it and wondered what it meant. “Mr. Pearson, I received a message that said London 10 PM canceled.”
“Well, I damn well hope so,” said Pearson. “We’d never make it.”
Chrissy must have looked as confused as she felt, because when she glanced up Pearson gave her a hard stare.
“I hope I didn’t make a mistake in hiring you, Ms. Serafini.” he said irritably. “Or do you not realize that the UK is five hours ahead of us? It takes eight to ten hours to get there. But the time we arrive it would be 1:00 AM tomorrow.”
Of course, she knew that. She wasn't used to thinking in those terms. And she didn’t need for Pearson to act like a jerk on her first day. She stared at him, not even batting her eyelashes. “Do you need coffee, Mr. Pearson? Or are you always this cranky?”
He chuckled then. “There. That’s better. Yes. I’m a beast in the morning. More than any other parts of the day. So yes, I’d like coffee, or rather a latte.”
Chrissy’s brow furrowed.
“Just ask the steward,” Pearson said quietly.
“Sure.” She rose to get up.
“No,” ordered Pearson. “Just call him. That’s what I pay him for.”
Now Chrissy felt embarrassed and stuck like a fly in amber. She didn’t want just to shout out, “Hey, steward person,” because she didn’t learn his name when she climbed on board. And here Pearson told her not to go to him. “It’s fine. I have to find the ladies room, anyway.”
“Do you now?” Pearson murmured sarcastically, staring at his screen.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, with an imperious edge to her voice.
“Of course,” he said derisively.
She wasn’t accustomed to being treated as a servant. Even if she now was one.
Chill, Chrissy. He’s paying you big bucks to take his shit.
She supposed men like James Pearson, who had everything but manners and class, had to pay big to keep staff.
But I’m not doing this for the money.
The next thought slammed into her with the force of a freight train.
That’s right. You’re doing this because you don’t have guts enough to stand up to your family.
All her rationalizations pitched themselves in a high-altitude dive out the entry hatch. As she stood, stunned at her insight, the jet jolted and she lurched forward. Nearly tumbling off her feet, she regained herself beyond the lounge’s partition in the tiniest kitchenette she ever saw. The steward sat belted on a bench dropped from the partition wall.
“Turbulence,” he said knowingly. “Are you okay, Miss?”
“Excuse me. I don’t know your name.”