Romantic women's fiction

In less than 24 hours, headhunter, Melanie Gordon’s life turns completely upside down. Her dream promotion, and the man of her dreams, fall at her feet, and in her bed, unexpectedly. Only neither is exactly what it seems. Mel must decide whether she will fall apart, as she did five years ago, or let go of her misguided expectations and go for what she really wants.

Chapter One

Damien Jasper is brilliant and asshole in equal amounts, wrapped in one stunningly handsome, well-dressed package. And he’s headed directly toward me.

This cannot be good.

There are only two reasons Damien Jasper visits the peons this early in the morning. He’s in hot pursuit of a new female employee, or the building is on fire. We haven’t hired anyone new, and the building isn’t on fire. So I’m pretty sure I’m screwed.

His intense eye contact is unnerving. Especially since Damien’s idea of eye contact usually lands somewhere in the vicinity of my boobs.

“Good morning, Ms. Gordon.”

I force a smile. You’d think shoving your tongue down a woman’s throat would give you the right to call her by her first name in perpetuity. But the rules in Damien Jasper’s world are pretty hard to follow. “Good morning, Damien.”

“When you’re done with your phone call, please come to my office.” The muscles in his face barely stir. His voice is a deep, low rumble.

My shoulders tense and a hard knot forms in my gut. I nod and force a smile so stiff it’s more of a grimace.

Damien turns on the heels of chestnut-colored loafers that cost more than my rent.

My heart is beating a mile a minute. I’ve completely forgotten I’m on the phone.

“Melanie? You still there?”

I take a deep breath and nod. “Sorry. Yes, I’m here. I’ve got, like, three minutes.” I look at my watch. “What’s up?”

Raine clears his throat then attempts to speak. His words come out too fast and at least two octaves higher than his normal speaking voice, like an old vinyl record that’s been sped up.

“What was that?”

“Sorry, I just…I wanted to talk to you about…” He sighs. “You know what, you’re busy. We should do this later.”

“Why don’t I give you a call later tonight or over the weekend?” I watch as the elevator door closes behind Damien.

“Okay—”

“Great. I really have to go. Talk to you later.”

As I return the phone to its cradle, my glass of water topples over. Thank God only my copy of the San Francisco Gazette gets wet. I toss the paper in the trash and take a deep breath. My hands shake like crumpled, brown leaves barely clinging to the trees at the end of fall.

Damien Jasper’s late-night trysts with overeager female employees are legendary here at Jasper & Graevel. A fact I wasn’t privy to that late night two years ago, when I was invited to accompany him to a client dinner.

We nailed our pitch over dinner and snagged the new client. Damien, in turn, tried to nail me. I’d had a drink or two more than I should have, at his urging, but I wasn’t drunk enough to believe that screwing the company CEO wouldn’t end badly. I politely extracted his tongue from my mouth, inserted my knee into his crotch and excused myself from the elevator we’d been sharing.

Jasper & Graevel is a major player in my industry. So rather than raising hell over the incident, I chose to ignore it and hoped Damien would do the same. For the past two years we’ve nodded politely and exchanged pleasantries whenever the situation required it. Still I’ve always had this nagging feeling that one day Damien would exact his revenge. That day, I fear, is today.

My throat is parched. Wish I had that damned glass of water. I survey my cubicle. Maybe I should box up my things now, rather than suffer the humiliation of stuffing my things in a box while two impatient rent-a-cops hover over me. Legs wobbling, I climb to my feet and take small, wooden steps toward the elevator.

“You’ve done it this time, Gordon.” Priscilla Cohen, Miss Prissy when she isn’t in earshot, leans against the outside of her cubicle, one hand on her waist. She arches her back to provide us all with a proper view of the size-D cups acquired during her last “vacation.” Her walking-stick-thin frame strains to hold them up.

I pretend not to hear her, but Priscilla is part pit bull, part crazed stalker. She will not be ignored. She steps into the center of the aisle, her arms folded over her chest.

“I told you not to hire that fat guy. He could barely talk for all that damn wheezing.” Priscilla hunches her shoulders and imitates Edmond Bennett, the man to whom she’s referring. She draws snickers from a few occupants of nearby cubicles. I garner looks of pity from a few others.

My cheeks sting, but I’m compelled to defend my candidate. My eyes lock with hers. “Mr. Bennett was a solid candidate with impressive credentials. I haven’t had a single complaint about him or any of my other placements.”

A menacing smile spreads across Priscilla’s face. “Until today.”

I sneer and push my way past her. Priscilla teeters on her four-inch heels and grabs the cubicle wall to steady herself. I conceal a wicked smile and nod to acknowledge mental high-fives doled out by a few of my coworkers. If this is going to be my last day at Jasper & Graevel, I’m going out with a bang.

I punch the Up arrow. The elevator doors creak open. I step inside, half expecting the floor to give way and send me careening down a tube into the basement—where J&G rejects belong.

I press my back against the wall to steady my legs. Forget wispy-winged butterflies. I’ve got a frickin’ Cirque du Soleil performance happening in my belly and I’m afraid I might lose the raspberry Danish I had for breakfast.

The elevator jolts to a stop and does a little bounce. Marilyn, Damien’s assistant, buzzes his office and whispers into the receiver as I approach.

“Hi, Marilyn.” I press my lips into a feeble smile. “I’m here to see Damien.”

“Yes, I know, dear.”

I fight the urge to fling myself at her feet and plead for information.

“Have a seat. He’ll be out when he’s ready for you.” She gestures to an arrangement of chairs covered in buttery leather.

“So this is where they keep the good chairs.” A high-pitched hyena laugh escapes my lips. I clear my throat. “Thanks, Marilyn.”

She tells me he won’t be long then hurries down the hall.

I squeeze my eyes shut, take a deep breath and think of things that make me happy. Things like keeping my job.

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