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Two years, one month, nine days, six hours, and forty-five seconds. That’s how long he’d known Gigi Goddess Green. Now, every time she walked into his office, all he could think was Goddess.
One would think that her name was made up. He’d tried hard not to look up her initials—that little thing called privacy. But after months of restlessly tapping his pen against his keyboard, when her documents came back initialed GGG in purple-inked calligraphy, he broke down and opened her employment file. A fake middle name? Please let it be!
But no, of course not. A photocopy of her driver’s license sat before him with a black and white picture of a woman so much more vibrant in the flesh and that name. Dear god, what were her parents thinking? If he ever named a child, it would have to pass the résumé test. Can the child secure reasonable employment as an adult when their full name is on display? And yet, he’d hired her anyway. To be fair, she was fully qualified—the best candidate for the job. It would have been unfair if he hadn’t. Her skills brought a creative side to his campaigns that his previous advertising managers had failed to conceive.
Goddess. One of these days, it was going to slip.
“Mr. King, my team completed the new ad.” Gigi dropped a glossy brochure on his desk. “We’ve added a fuchsia and lime green double border around the ad copy. I think some eye-catching pizzazz will help us draw in new clients. We should focus on more than business types in suits.” She blew a giant pink bubble, letting it smack against her lips with a loud pop.
Brendan wrinkled his nose. Gum? He didn’t even know how to blow a bubble. He’d never tried. So unprofessional. But would he say something? Could he say something? Not to her. Because while his impulse was annoyance at her every action, word, and movement, his pulse hammered at those very same things. Gigi could do anything she pleased. She could own him and didn’t have a clue.
He cleared his throat. “Gigi, how many times do I have to ask you to please call me Brendan?”
Gigi shook her head and sat on the edge of his desk. “I’m sorry, Mr. King, but that seems unprofessional. Everyone here calls you Mr. King. Why should it be any different for me?”
A dampened laugh sprang out of him. Oh, that she considered unprofessional. Hell, he was doomed.
Gigi cocked her head, and her long hair streaked with red highlights silked across her royal blue button-up blouse. He didn’t know what shampoo she used or how it was possible for a woman to smell like a warm spring day in the early fall, but he ached to reach up, twist a rose-scented strand around his finger, and pull her mouth down on his. And then what? Get slapped and told off as he damn well should.
“You should laugh more often. I’ve only ever seen you crack a smile.”
And then, before he could respond, she sashayed out of his office.
Brendan thumped his forehead down on his mahogany desk, his glasses jamming into the bridge of his nose. “Ouch,” he groaned.
What now? He didn’t know what to do. Numbers, analytics, and computer programs, he understood. He’d dropped out of college and started a multi-million-dollar finance firm on his own—a brilliant set of apps and programs with killer advice on creating portfolios. His clients invested in stocks, retirement funds, kids’ education plans, and more, utilizing his programable recommendations in real time. Within ten short years, he’d become a twenty-eight-year-old multi-millionaire—who hadn’t had a date since his band girlfriend in high school. It wasn’t that women hadn’t gone after him; it’s that he’d never really been interested—until her.
Heat crept up his neck to his face, prickling his fair, sensitive skin. “Ugh,” he said, flattening the side of his head against the polished wood grains, trying to ignore the fact they were likely imprinting his flushed cheek. Why would a poised, creative marketing goddess ever see him as anything other than a CEO super nerd? And why did he have to feel something for her? She worked for him, for god’s sake.
It was like she was his fated mate or some crazy thing. He could feel her energy when she entered a room—a senseless jolt that vibrated through his system when she spoke, when she walked, heck, even when she breathed. And that floral fragrance when she brushed by—man, it was addictive—a soft combination of jasmine, rose, and the sun like he was burying his face in the garden of life. He could get lost in everything about her and forget his own damn name. No wonder he’d bypassed her middle name when he’d hired her. He currently didn’t even know his own.
“One more thing.” Gigi knocked softly, letting out a sharp gasp. “Mr. King! What’s wrong? Did you faint?” She ran to his side, her black-and-silver heels clicking across the tile floor.
Her hands braced his shoulders, and Brendan moaned. He pressed his lips together, trying to hide the guttural vibration from deep within his throat. Tingles shot up his spine as she brushed a palm across his narrow cheek and up to cup his forehead.
Slowly lifting his chin, Brendan got lost in the golden depths of her gorgeous, caramel-colored eyes. “Goddess.”
Gigi jumped back. “What?”
Shoot…oops. Snap out of it!
He coughed into his fist and cleared his throat. “There’s a marketing event called The Goddess that I’d like you to attend with me. In Breckenridge. In a couple of weeks?”
“Really?” Gigi placed a firm hand on her hip and strummed her fingers. Level with his eyes, he followed the fluid movement of her red-coated fingernails along the curve of her waist, his imagination running wild. What would it feel like if he could slide his hands into her fitted black slacks and caress her beautiful beige skin? He snapped his eyes shut to break his inappropriate train of thought and gulped down a breath as she continued, “I haven’t heard of it. Are you sure that’s what it’s called?”
Oh no, how much would this cost him? Now, he had to create a marketing event within days and cover his involvement or look like a fool. And he wasn’t a liar. He despised dishonesty. But one more look into the captivating depths of those killer caramel eyes, and he was lost.
And he was going to lie.
Two
GENEVIEVE
Was he on to her? Genevieve had applied to hundreds of places under the pretense that she’d previously worked as an advertising manager for a Caribbean resort chain, and she hadn’t had a bite, not even a nibble, until Brendan King. Brendan Carter King, to be exact. It was ironic—here she was, a desperate fraud with an ex from hell, and she’d secured employment using a fake identity right under the number master’s nose. A Colorado ski resort town wasn’t her first choice to hide—she’d have preferred a bigger city—but perhaps Jed’s thugs would never think to look for her here.
Aspen was like nowhere she’d ever been. Early fall had arrived, and with it, fresh powder sprinkled across the blended green and golden blades of grass. The reflective silver sparkles that bounced off the white snowbanks were nothing like the flashy multicolored city lights and noisy casinos she’d grown up with in Reno. Aspen was peaceful—a vacation haven and tranquil mountain paradise with kind people, fashionable boutiques, and trendy breweries. She could live here forever—if only life were that simple.
Genevieve bit her lip as Mr. King melted into her eyes through his thick, square-shaped glasses, and a pitter-patter set off in her chest. He was the strangest man. Was she crazy to think he was into her? A freaking millionaire? He’d better run. She wasn’t girlfriend material—not even close. Her stupid ex had seen to that. He’d slandered her name with a felony record and so much debt no company on earth that did their research would ever consider employing her.
