LITMIR.BIZ

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to apply eye shadow and visited her friend Olga’s father in his swanky Manhattan office, to be a glamorous PA. To wear beautiful suits to the office every day, to live in the vibrant city she loved and to work in the upper echelons of power where all the big deals were made.

      If that had gone against her parents’ wishes to have her remain in the family restaurant business, so be it. She’d put herself through administrative-assistant school with her tip money, graduated top of her class and gone after her dream.

      Landing a job with the insanely handsome, charming younger Grant brother, Coburn, had seemed like her dream come true. Working for the legendary Grant family, who commanded one of America’s oldest automotive dynasties from one of Manhattan’s marquee skyscrapers, was like taking her “what do I want to be in five years” plan and fast-forwarding it five years.

      She had seized the opportunity with both hands, molding herself into the epitome of efficiency and professionalism in her six months with Coburn. Her boss’s flashing blue eyes and easy smile wore his vice presidency with a stark sex appeal few women could resist, but resist Frankie had. She knew he’d hired her for both her skills and the fact she hadn’t fallen all over him in the interview like the others had. In return, he’d been a dream to work with. He appreciated every ounce of the tightly coiled efficiency she brought to his office, reining in his tendency to run askew with his passion for his work.

      So why throw her to the wolves so easily? She swallowed past the distressed lump in her throat and took a sip of the herbal French lavender tea that was supposed to calm her. Harrison Grant was reputed to be as serious and tunnel-visioned as his younger brother was hot-blooded and impulsive. He had a filthy temper from all accounts. She said “from all accounts” because Tessa had always shielded her from her boss, coming downstairs to Coburn’s office if she needed something rather than expose Frankie to one of his moods. Frankie had accepted the arrangement gladly. She could live without having to deal with the massive ego of the man voted most likely to become president by his peers at Yale, his alma mater. Rumor had it that time wasn’t far off for the thirty-three-year-old Harrison. Her father had told her he had enough clout within the business community to run as an independent in the next election and, in these disaffected times, he just might win.

      If that happened, Coburn would take over as CEO and Frankie would be head honcho admin. The perfect career scenario by all accounts. If she survived the next six months.

      A throb pulsed its way from her left temple through to the center of her head as she considered the files Tessa had left marked urgent. A key takeover to help facilitate, shareholder meetings to organize, a trip to India coming up in just weeks... It seemed way beyond her means.

      Rocky caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, swimming now in faster, demonic circles as if signaling an imminent disaster. His eyes bulged out of his aristocratic head, his expression foreboding. Yes, I know, Frankie wanted to reassure him, but we have twenty-four hours to prepare for his arrival.

      Which meant she needed to get this work done. Despite her misgivings about the whirlwind change in plans, she was determined to prove to Harrison Grant she was the best PA he could ever have behind Tessa, a modern-day version of Wonder Woman. There was no other possible outcome.

      The acquisition file was on top of the heap. Apparently Grant Industries was in the midst of attempting to purchase Siberius, a Russian automotive parts supplier. Job number one, Tessa had managed to tell her on the way to the hospital, was to finish the additional background Harrison had requested to support two outstanding contract negotiation points.

      She scanned it, decided it was going to be a long night and rifled around in Tessa’s desk until she found some takeout menus. The local Thai place appealed. She ordered herself some dinner to be delivered, slipped off her shoes and got comfortable. At seven, the new security guard brought her food up, noticed she was working alone and said he’d check on her throughout the evening. Deciding Harrison Grant owed her a glass of Pinot Grigio for this one, she procured a bottle of reasonably, but not overly, expensive wine from the heftily stocked bar in his office, took it back to her desk with a glass and opened it.

      She was about to dig into her noodles when she realized the restaurant had forgotten to include a fork in the bag. Eating noodles with her hands not being an option, she toed her way around for her shoes and came up empty. She stuck her head under the massive desk and looked for them. It was dark under there and it took her eyes a few moments to adjust. Finally she located a shoe she’d kicked to the left and was holding it triumphantly in her hand and reaching for the second when a deep voice laced with an arctic coolness pierced the solid wooden desk.

      “It didn’t occur to me you were going to like it, Geoffrey. I pay people like you to make things happen, not for your incredibly insightful strategic thinking.”

      Harrison Grant. Oh, my God. What is he doing back tonight?

      She reared her head up, her skull connecting hard with the inch-thick top of the desk. Stars exploded behind her eyes. A curse escaped her as she dropped the shoe, clasped her head in her hands and absorbed the pulsing aftershocks.

      “Good God.” The harsh-edged voice came closer. “Geoffrey, I’m going to have to call you back.”

      Frankie was vaguely aware of strong male hands levering her chair away from the desk and lifting her chin. She blinked as he pulled her hands from her head, and tipped her skull back. A clear head might have been a good weapon to face Harrison Grant with for the first time, but her cerebral matter was hazy, her vision shadowy as she took him in at close range. Dressed in a black trench coat in deference to the rainy, overcast New York day, he was tall, imposingly tall. The charcoal-gray suit he wore beneath the trench coat, the amount of rough stubble shading his aristocratic jaw and the laser-like stare of his black eyes under designer glasses made her giddily wonder if he was the devil himself.

      Biting out a low curse, he tossed his cell phone on the desk and cupped the back of her head with one of his big hands, his fingers pressing into her scalp to feel for a bump. When he located the growing mass that was causing the deep throb in her head, a furrow ruffled his brow. “What exactly were you doing down there?”

      “Shoes,” Frankie muttered absently as the world began to right itself. She sucked in a couple of deep breaths and examined him closer. Along with those deadly dark eyes, he had a perfect aquiline nose that framed a firm, wide mouth. Apparently the devil came in extremely good-looking versions that also smelled amazing.

      He held up three fingers. “How many?”

      “Three.”

      “What day is it?”

      “Tuesday, the sixth of August.”

      He let his fingers slide from her head. His black gaze, however, remained pinned on her face. “Unless this is Goldilocks and the Three Bears redone to feature a brunette, you are sitting in the wrong chair.”

      Her heart sped up in her chest at his low, silky tone, as curiosity radiated from the inky darkness of his somewhat mesmerizing gaze. “What if this is actually the right chair?” she offered in an attempt to defuse the tension.

      His mouth curved. “Now I know that would have to be a tale, because this chair belongs to my assistant, Tessa, and you,” he murmured, his sweeping stare taking in all of her, including a rather comprehensive study of her legs, “are not her.”

      Frankie swallowed hard and followed his gaze. In the commotion, her conservative skirt had ridden up her thighs, baring the lacy black pull-ups that were her one nod toward femininity in her proper office attire. Oh, God. She tugged the summer-weight wool back to her knees, so much heat rushing to her face she might as well have been on fire. With difficulty, she moved her gaze back up to his and saw...disappointment?

      “Tessa,” she murmured, searching vainly for a way to rescue the situation, “went into premature labor and had her baby last night. Co—” Her words died in her throat as a flash of silver glinted across the room. She blinked, thinking her swimming head had manufactured it, but when she looked again,

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