"No, Miss Holland, he did not. May I tell him you'll be available tomorrow at noon?"

Why, oh, why, after all his protestations did Caine want to see me again? What had happened since I crashed into his office? My stomach did that nervous flippy thing again. "Um ..." Had Benito said yes or no? Or was this about something else? What did Caine want from me?

Did it matter?

He wanted to see me again, and that was an opportunity to change his mind about me.

"Sure. I'll be there."

Ethan led me into Caine's office the next afternoon and I was surprised to find Caine not behind his desk but standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows staring out over High Street and Atlantic Avenue to the harbor beyond.

With his back to me, I stole that moment to fully appreciate Caine Carraway without him knowing it. So yeah, I couldn't see his face, which was the best part, but with him standing with his hands in his trouser pockets, legs braced, shoulders relaxed, the view was delicious enough for me. His height, those broad shoulders, and let's not forget that ass.

That was a mighty fine ass.

When the seconds ticked by without a response from him, I began to feel like a high school nerd waiting for the captain of the football team to pay attention to her.

I didn't like that nearly as much as the view of his ass.

"You rang?"

Caine turned his head slightly in profile. "I did."

"And I assume there was a reason?"

He faced me and I felt that flush of attraction as his eyes swept over me. "You would assume right." He sighed and strolled over to his desk, his gaze raking over me speculatively as he did so. "Do you own a suit, heels?" His scrutiny moved to my face. "Makeup?"

I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing jeans and a sweater, and no, I wasn't wearing makeup. I had good skin. I'd inherited my olive skin from my mother, and despite those darn freckles sprinkled across the crest of my nose, it was blemish free. I rarely wore foundation or blush, and because my eyes were so light and my lashes so dark, I only wore mascara when dressing up for an occasion.

I knew I wasn't glamorous, but I looked like my mom-I had her apple cheekbones, blue-green eyes, and dark hair-and my mom had been very pretty. No one had ever looked me over and considered my lack of makeup with disdain before.

I frowned. "Weird question."

Caine relaxed against his desk in much the same pose as he had used the last time he pinched his lips at me in his office. And he was pinching his lips and inspecting me. I felt like I was being judged and found wanting, which was insulting normally but somehow even worse coming from a guy who looked as put together as he did.

Sexy jackass.

"I couldn't change Benito's mind," Caine informed me. "That little bastard can hold a grudge."

If I weren't so deflated by his news I would have laughed. "Bu-"

"So I thought about it," he said, cutting me off, "and you can try working for me. You'll need to invest in some appropriate clothing, however."

Um ... what? Did he just ...? "I'm sorry. What?"

"Benito informed me that it kills him but he just can't take you back after your behavior with a client lost him such big accounts. You're the biggest disappointment of his thirties and before you went insane you were the best PA he ever had. The disappointment of your behavior on-set, and I quote, Broke. His. Heart."

"Oh yeah, he sounds devastated."

"Despite his flair for the melodramatic, it seems he has high standards and he has led me to believe that before you acted like an insane person you were intelligent, efficient, and hardworking."

"Insane person?" That word had been used as an adjective to describe me twice now.

He ignored me. "I need a PA. Ethan is a temp and my previous PA has decided not to return from maternity leave. I have a job opening and I'm offering it to you."

Dumbfounded.

There was no other word for how I was feeling.

How could this man go from never wanting to see me again to offering me a job that meant I was going to be in his face? A lot.

"But ... I thought you didn't want me around."

Caine narrowed his eyes. "I need a PA who will fulfill all my wishes and demands immediately. That's not easy to find-most people have social lives. You, however, are desperate, and the way I see it, you owe me."

I sobered at his reminder of the past. "So what ... you get to act out some kind of vengeance by working me into an early grave?"

"Something like that." He smirked. "It'll be a comfortable grave, though." He told me the salary and I almost passed out.

My mouth parted on a gasp. "For a PA job? Are you serious?"

I'd get to keep my apartment. I'd get to keep my car. Screw that ... I'd be able to save enough money to afford a deposit on my apartment.

Caine's eyes glittered triumphantly at my obvious excitement. "As I said, it comes with a price." His grin was wicked and I suddenly felt a little breathless. "I'm a hard man to please. And I'm also a very busy man. You'll do what I want when I want and I won't always be nice about it. In fact, considering what your surname is, you can pretty much guarantee I won't be nice about it."

My heart thumped at the warning. "So you're saying you plan to make my life miserable?"

"If you equate hard work with misery." He considered me as I considered him, and that damnable little smirk quirked his beautiful mouth again. "So ... just how desperate are you?"

I stared at him, this man who held up an armored shield so high in the hopes that nothing would penetrate it. But call it intuition or call it wishful thinking, I believed I could see past that shield of his-like I could feel the emotion he fought so hard to hide. And that emotion was anger. He was angry with me, whether because of my father or my sudden intrusion into his life, and this job ... this job was his way of taking back control, of making me pay for throwing him off balance. If I took it I had no doubt he was going to do his best to test my patience to the limit. I was a pretty patient person normally. No way I could have worked with someone like Benito and not have been. But I didn't feel like myself around Caine.

Not at all.

I was defensive and scared and vulnerable.

It would be a huge risk putting myself in his control.

However, I knew it was a risk I would take. And not just because he was offering me more money than I would ever make anywhere else, nor because this job would look great on my resume. I would take this risk because I wanted him to see I wasn't anything like my dad. I wanted Caine to see that if anything, I was like him.

I jutted my chin out defiantly. "I worked for Benito for six years. You don't scare me." You terrify me.

Caine slipped on that intimidatingly blank mask of his and pushed up off his desk. I held my breath, my skin prickling as he prowled across the room. I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze as he came to a stop inches before me.

He smelled really, really good.

"We'll see," he murmured.

I felt that murmur between my legs.

Oh boy.

I stuck out my hand. "I accept the job."

Caine's eyes dropped to my hand. I tried not to tremble as I waited for him to decide whether or not he wanted to touch me. Swallowing my misery at his reluctance, I kept my gaze unwavering.

Finally he reached out and slid his large hand into mine.

The friction of the rougher skin of his palm against the soft skin of mine sent sparks shooting up my arm, and arousal tightened my muscles, including those in my fingers.

Surprise flared in both of our eyes.

Quite abruptly, Caine ripped his hand from mine and turned his back on me. "You start Monday," he said, his words curt as he made his way to his desk. "At six thirty. Ethan will give you the particulars of my morning schedule."

Still shaken from the sizzle that had just passed between us, I said hoarsely, "Six thirty?"

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.