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Chapter 1
The pounding and yelling next door startles me as I put together ten requested reports in the copy room. I staple the last one just as the pounding ceases, and I sigh while gathering the reports together in my arms. As I exit, I glance at the thick wooden door to the conference room, which is closed. The lights are on, illuminating the glass walls, meaning the shades are open. Since I need to pass by to get to my desk, I keep my head down as my heels clack on the dark marble floors, hurrying as quickly as I can. I’m home free until I hear my name.
“Paige! I want to see you in my office in two minutes.”
I turn, but my boss, Foster Black, has already retreated into the room. The yelling starts up again, and there is no envy on my part for the board members dealing with his wrath. It is nearly six in the evening, an hour past my time to leave. The rest of the office was empty except for the poor bastards dealing with Foster.
After I reach my small cubicle nearest to where Foster’s office is, I plunk the reports on my already chaotically full desk piled high with folders, reports, and index cards. Working for the man was not what I envisioned when I applied to Black Industries. He had a reputation for being an asshole, but it was either working here or mooching off my brother, Zane. I had no intention to since he’s already been so generous in supporting me until I secured this job.
I plop down into my chair and fish out a mirror from my purse to do a quick check of my hair and makeup. Besides requiring his staff to be precision perfect in office duties, Foster always wants us to maintain a clean and neat appearance. He entertains several clients daily, so he lives by first impressions.
Waiting outside his glass office door is nerve-wracking. I can only imagine what Foster wants to speak to me about. My stomach churns as I run through my day’s duties—did I do everything he asked? I stand straighter and smooth my navy pencil skirt and ivory sleeveless blouse.
Foster is as handsome as he is dangerous. A shark in business with a nose for his associates’ weakness. When he turns the corner, he takes my breath away, even though I am disgusted with his attitude. His chocolate brown hair is always perfectly coiffed and parted on the side. The gray pinstriped suit he is wearing fit him as if it was poured on, and he looked as fresh as he was when he arrived this morning.
Foster fixes his green eyes on me as he approaches. I feel uncomfortable as they travel from my beige heeled sandals to my face.
“Good, you’re here. You know how I hate to wait.” His voice is gruff.
He pushes by me as he opens his office door, leaving me in a cloud of his intoxicating cologne. I follow, bile rises in my throat, and causing me to swallow hard to send it back down. Foster’s office is massive. It’s designed with several areas designated for different activities, including a full black granite table with twelve leather chairs on casters, and a small eating area.
Out the window, the sun is just beginning to set over midtown, and I wish I were somewhere else. Foster looks at me as he unbuttons his jacket and settles into a high-backed leather chair behind his teak desk.
“Sit, Miss Butler.”
I dutifully sit on the butter-soft black leather chair in front of his desk, wondering why Foster called me into his office. He leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk, and steeples his hands in front of his face. I notice his previously clean-shaven cheeks are now full of dark stubble. It gives him a dark and dangerous look which suites him.
“I’m sorry.”
Foster raises his eyebrows. “For what, might I ask?”
I chew on the inside of my bottom lip and grip the arms of the chair until my knuckles turn white. “Whatever I did.”
“You did nothing. I need some information from you.”
I frown. “What kind of information?”
“Of a personal nature. It’s for a proposition of which I will reveal to you in the coming days.”
My head begins to spin. “Proposition?”
“Just answer my questions, and you’ll be fine.”
The leather of Foster’s chair creaks as he leans back and stares at me with such intensity that I avert my eyes to my lap.
I swallow hard. “What are they?”
“Look at me, please.”
I look up at him and clench my jaw in anticipation. Foster hesitates as if he is trying to find the right words. It amazes me since he always seems to be able to rattle information off in a second.
“How old are you?”
“I hardly think my age is–” He holds his hand up to stop me.
“What is your age?”
“I just turned twenty-six.”
