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“Mr. Sanderson with the London Car Company.”
He laughed softly. “Yes.”
She scribbled the onslaught of instructions. “You’ll want some files for the plane,” she said.
“Of course.”
“The financials on the Grand are up for review next week,” she reminded him, still writing. “And you’ll need the latest investment results, and the agenda for the exec committee meeting next—”
“Get me everything we have on the Garrison Grand-Bahamas.”
She did look up at that, it threw her so completely. “The hotel in Nassau?”
“Everything,” he repeated.
“Of course.” She scratched another note, swallowing the question of why? A good admin didn’t ask. “And you’ll probably need to review your speech for the business council so I’ll include the notes, and you have an appointment with a marketing firm regarding new collateral materials late next week, so no doubt you’ll want a complete…” A strange tingling sensation suddenly froze her pen in hand. Slowly, she looked up from her pad to find him staring at her. “You do still want to meet with that firm on Thursday afternoon, right?”
Staring? No. Bottomless brown bedroom eyes practically swallowed her whole.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, striking a neutral chord in her voice despite the way her limbs turned heavy.
“Make it easy on me, Anna, and come to London.”
Oh. Oh. “Make what easy?”
“The work. You know so much about my work and you’re so incredible… incredibly organized. I can only rationalize this much time away from the office if I’m productive. And with you, I’m productive.”
The work. Of course. Why else would he want her to go to London? And why else would she even consider it?
“You can have comp vacation days to make up for the lost weekend,” he added, as though she were actually worried about that. He had no way of knowing that her hesitation had nothing to do with losing a weekend, and everything to do with losing her mind. Proximity to the object of her steamiest nightly fantasies could drive her crazy.
“That’s no problem,” she said slowly. “I don’t mind working the weekend.”
“Then you’ll go.” He smiled, a genuine grin that he saved for when he won a small victory in business. Something he did about a million times a day. “Perfect. You’ll need something very formal. That ball at Guildhall is over the top.”
“The ball?” He couldn’t be serious. “You want me to go to the ball?”
He laughed lightly. “That’s the idea, Cinderella. Why would I dig up a date when you’ll already be there?”
Like he’d have to dig far. “Because…” She couldn’t think of a reason. Except that one.
He’s your boss, dummy.
Unless what he’d seen in the bathroom made him think of her differently.
“Mr. Garrison, uh, Parker,” she said, standing just so she could gain the minor advantage of height for once. “I’m sorry about this morning. I—”
He pointed toward the bathroom door. “That?” He waved away her concern as if it were no more than a flea. “Totally forgotten, I assure you.” Tapping the call sheet, he added, “Better get that charter booked and get all the files in order, and I’ll get to these seventeen calls.”
Done. Decision made. No arguing or second-guessing or trying to explain that she couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t go to London with him. Because she could, and she would.
Leaving his office, Anna found Sheila McKay in the act of depositing more handwritten messages.
“These came to the front desk while you were in with Mr. Garrison,” the receptionist said. “The phones absolutely haven’t stopped since that meeting ended.”
“I just gave him seventeen others,” Anna said with a sigh. “Looks like it’s going to be a busy day.”
Sheila wrinkled a picture-perfect nose, which fit her picture-perfect face and body. Anna hadn’t been surprised to learn the stunning woman was a former Playmate who’d probably filled her bunny suit very nicely. She’d always been very friendly with Anna, especially since Anna had received the promotion to work for the CEO. But Anna remained distant with all her coworkers.
Friends wanted to know your past.
“So,” Sheila said, sliding a well-toned hip on the corner of Anna’s desk. “What went down in Garrison land? Did the old man drop a bomb from the grave or something?”
The words DNA test and contest the will rang in Anna’s ears.
“I wouldn’t know,” she said coolly. Even if she did, she wouldn’t tell the receptionist.
“There’s buzz, you know,” Sheila whispered, undaunted. “Mario in the mail room told me La Grande Madame left the conference room muttering obscenities, and is rumored to have had a bottle open before the limo door closed.”
No wonder Mario had been in the mailroom since the day John Garrison had started the company. Gossips didn’t get promoted. Anna flipped through the messages, deciding the best way to deflect the conversation.
“I’m really in the weeds, Sheila, trying to get Mr. Garrison ready for a trip to London.”
Sheila levered off the desk with a sigh of resignation. “London, huh? Ah, the lucky lifestyles of the rich and famous. Must be nice.” With a wave, she disappeared around the corner and left Anna with her mountain of messages.
Was it nice? She was about to find out. She knew she should be honored, excited and delighted for the opportunity to spend a weekend working in London.
But she had so much to hide, starting with the fact that she had a killer crush on her boss. But, honestly, that was the least of her secrets. And, if she wasn’t careful, Parker Garrison could find out something far worse than the fact that he was the object of a few daydreams.
And that would be a nightmare.
Two
“We’ve reached our cruising altitude, Mr. Garrison. Would you care for the usual?” The lone flight attendant on the G5 that the Garrison family routinely rented for business travel smiled benevolently at him. Her prematurely gray hair was, as always, pulled back into an elegant bun, her simple dark suit unmarred by even a fleck of lint.
“Thank you, Christine, I would. Anna?”
Across the small expanse that separated the two widest leather recliners on the plane, Anna had already lined a granite-topped table with a sea of manila folders and papers, and she had a laptop open and fired up for work.
“It depends,” she said. “What is the usual?”
“Tomato juice and Tabasco.”
She made a face. “Coffee, please.”
“Come on, Anna,” he urged. “Live dangerously.”
He hoped for a clever quip, an easy smile, but got only a shake of her head.
“Just coffee, thank you.” When the attendant nodded and moved toward the galley, Anna lifted a paper and held it toward him. “I’ve compiled a list of pending open items for your attention, Mr. Garrison.”
He didn’t remind her to call him Parker. Anna Cross was back to business in a big way. It was as though she’d been wearing a sign that said This Is Work, Not Fun ever since she’d arrived at the executive airport and climbed out of her little Saturn wearing her most staid suit selected from a wardrobe that couldn’t be called anything but ultraconservative. Navy jacket, shapeless trousers, flat shoes.
Where was the girl who felt pretty in pink underwear?
Parker took the list, and reminded himself that he was the one who’d suggested she accompany him to work. He’d made that clear. At least, that was how he rationalized what was, at the moment, an impulsive idea brought on by the not-so-semi state of arousal the bathroom encounter had left him in.
He knew why he’d suggested Anna accompany him to London.
But did she? Sure, she was a terrific, grade-A, indispensable administrative assistant. Sure, she was attractive, classy and intelligent enough to make small talk with the high rollers at the hotel gala. And best of all, he trusted her. She had no gold digger’s interest in his money, ready to translate one weekend in Europe into a lifetime of luxury like so many of the women he knew.
But, to be honest, not one of those was the real reason he’d made the unorthodox suggestion. The real reason was simple: he liked what he’d seen in that bathroom. And he wanted to see more. And seeing, he knew as sure as he breathed, wouldn’t be enough.
Under any other circumstances, he’d make his move and he’d make it in about five minutes, launching a romantic, sex-charged weekend with champagne and hot kisses at thirty thousand feet. Seducing a woman was an art and a pleasure he took seriously. And often.
But something indefinable held him back. Something oddly unfamiliar had him waiting for a clear invitation, a straightforward cue from her.
Maybe she’d take off her jacket, playfully taste his spicy tomato juice, unclip her barrette and give her hair a sensual shake. That was what other women would do. They’d throw in a head-tilting giggle; slide their bare, pedicured feet on his lap and let the games begin.
But not Anna.
She pulled a pair of butt-ugly reading glasses out of her purse and slipped them up her pert nose. She tightened the clip that held her hair severely off a face devoid of anything but lip gloss and maybe mascara. Then she took her copy of his agenda, pointed to item number one, cleared her throat and said, “You mentioned the Nassau property. I have the files.”
Not only did she refuse to send a single cue of feminine interest, she doused his low simmer by mentioning the biggest headache in his life.
He took the file and flipped it open.
“Is there something in particular you’re looking for?” she asked.
There sure was. Dirt. Problems. Issues. Anything that could get rid of the half sister who’d just been named his equal partner at Garrison, Inc. “Just want to see how the business is doing.”
“Last quarter’s financials are on the left side, including occupancy rates and banquet revenue,” she told him. “On the right, you’ll see information about new resort programs and key employee files. The manager of the resort, Cassie Sinclair, seems to be running things quite smoothly.”
At the mention of her name, Parker sucked in a slow and disgusted breath. He flipped through the pages, immaculately ordered and filed, frowning at the excellent revenue stream and the strong outlook for the next season based on advance reservations.
“Is something wrong?”
Yes, something was very, very wrong. He wanted the property to be a disaster. Wanted something he could hang on Cassie Sinclair to prove she couldn’t be a Garrison.
“No,” he assured her.
“Oh, I thought I might have misfiled something.”
“Have you ever misfiled anything, Anna?” he asked with a teasing smile.
A soft blush rose in her cheeks. “If you’re asking if I ever make mistakes, I think you, of all people, know that I do.”
Mistakes like lingering in his shower a little too long? He held her gaze, still hoping for a spark of connection, but she looked away—as she always did—just as Christine returned with the drinks, some fruit and freshly baked muffins.
Parker returned his attention to the file. “The place is turning a nice profit,” he said, half to himself.
“You make it sound like that’s a problem.”
Should he confide in his assistant? Maybe a little shared confidence would loosen her up. At least get her to slide out of that straitjacket she wore. Plus, he needed someone to talk to. Someone he trusted.
He lifted his tomato juice and took a long drink before he dove in. “Cassie Sinclair, it seems, is more than just the manager of the Garrison Grand-Bahamas.”
“She is?”
“She’s my half sister.”
Anna’s jaw dropped an inch. “No way.”
He gave her a bittersweet smile. “Evidently there is a way. It’s called an affair and my father had one for a long time, resulting in the birth of a woman who is now, according to his will, my equal partner in Garrison, Inc. and—” he held the file up “—the owner of this hotel.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said, dropping back into her seat.
“Neither do I. But that’s why God invented lawyers,” he said with a shrug. “And why I have to make an appearance in London this weekend.”
“Will she be there?”
“Oh, I doubt it. But it’s only a matter of time until this gets out to the very small and incestuous hospitality industry. It can’t help my business. I’m attending this event for visibility and positioning. More of a PR move than one that will impact the bottom line.”
“So that’s why you were talking about DNA testing and contesting the will,” she said. “Oh, and why… your mother…” Her voice drifted off.
So the rumor mill had already started churning.
“My mother has her way of coping.” He picked up the drink again. “And I’m afraid it’s not Tabasco in her tomato juice.”
She gave him a sympathetic look. “Your family is strong. You’ll weather this storm.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“You just have to stay focused and keep running everything the way you have. You can’t let this distract you.”
The unsolicited—and amazingly accurate—advice took him by surprise. “You’re right, Anna. Very astute.” He smiled and leaned forward, inexplicably drawn to her. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
She held his gaze just long enough to give him hope that the cue he wanted was right around the corner. But she just handed him another file.
“When you’re ready to go over the agenda for the marketing-firm meeting, it’s all inhere. And I’m able to take any e-mail dictation now,” she added, tapping the open laptop. “I’ll download it and send it when we arrive in London.”
Oh, yeah. Anna Cross was all business today, and being a smart CEO, he ignored the urge to reach across the space that separated them and unclip her hair just to see what she’d do. She was way too valuable an asset to him to let hormones screw it up.
So he took the cue—even if it wasn’t the one he wanted—along with the file, and worked for a solid nine hours, through breakfast, lunch and almost no small talk, until they landed.
Through it all, she never tired, never complained and never even took the damn jacket off. Maybe that was the real reason he didn’t make the move to seduce her: they were kindred spirits. Workaholics, both of them, with a bone-deep love for control over their respective worlds.
Sex, in fact, could really screw that up.
