LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter One

      “Can I lay it right out for you?” Dax Girard asked.

      Sitting across his wide black desk from him, Zoe Bravo answered earnestly, “Yes, of course. Please do.” She did want this job. She wanted it bad. She had things to prove—to herself and to her family.

      He arched a straight dark eyebrow. “You’re really pretty.”

      Oh, please. Was he going to hit on her? Right here, during the interview? Euuu.

      He wasn’t finished. “And if I were to meet you under other circumstances, I would be only too happy to have sex with you. But I need good staff, above all. So I have a house rule. You work for me, that’s all you do with me.”

      Zoe stifled a burst of inappropriate laugher and sat up straighter in the chair. Somehow, she managed to reply with a straight face, “Seriously, it’s not a problem. I’ve known you for what, two minutes?”

      Had that sounded sarcastic? Maybe a little.

      But he had just told her he wouldn’t sleep with her—when she hadn’t even asked him to. He deserved a dose of attitude.

      If he noticed the edge to her tone, he let it pass. “I think your mother is a wonderful woman.”

      “She certainly is.” Zoe’s mom, Aleta Randall Bravo, was from an old San Antonio family. Aleta knew everyone, including the great adventurer and magazine publisher Dax Girard. It was her mom who had recommended her to Dax for this job, which meant Dax would most likely want to give Zoe a chance. People generally tried to please her mom. And not only because of the social connection thing either. There was something about Aleta that made you like her—and want her to like you.

      He said, “And you seem … bright. I have a good feeling about you. I want to make this work.”

      “Great,” Zoe answered, trying to sound positive and upbeat. “I do, too.”

      “But I just need to have this clear with you, straight from the gate. Sex is absolutely off the table.”

      She didn’t groan—but she really, really wanted to. Enough about sex already. How many times did she have to promise not to put a move on him?

      Okay, yeah. He was hot—in that rich-guy, lean, preppy way. He looked like he played a lot of tennis. He probably jogged with his shirt off and gave all the women he wasn’t going to have sex with a thrill.

      And she’d heard the stories about him, about how women found him irresistible. But not Zoe. She wanted a job, not a hot date. “I promise you, Dax. I’ll manage to control myself. Somehow.”

      A long pause ensued. Zoe tried to look calm and competent and unconcerned while he stared at her steadily, his sexy, deep brown eyes narrowed. Probing. Apparently, he found it impossible to believe that she wouldn’t try and jump his bones at the earliest opportunity.

      But then, at last, he dipped his handsome head of thick, wavy sable hair to study her résumé again. “Let’s see here. You were on the campus papers at two colleges. You type ninety words a minute, you know Microsoft Office.”

      “Backward and forward, yes.”

      “You’ve been to UT, Stanford and Brandeis, I see, majoring in Journalism and English.”

      “So I know how magazine publishing works. Also, my spelling and punctuation skills are solid. I know my grammar.” What else could she say? Not too much about college. Yes, she’d attended the best schools. Too bad she’d never actually graduated from any of them. She was bright and she learned fast. But she’d always been … easily distracted, eager for the next life experience. And impatient with mundane activities like regularly attending classes and plodding through her assignments. She threw in, “I thrive in a fast-paced environment and I’m very much at home with multitasking.”

      “All good.” He glanced up at her. “I understand you’re also an excellent amateur photographer, right?” His gaze was probing again. Was this a trick question?

      She met his eyes levelly. “I enjoy photography, yes. It’s a hobby of mine.”

      “I believe I saw some of your work at the Texas State Endowment Ball and Auction last month, didn’t I?”

      “I suppose you did. I shot the pictures and the short film presentation for the chopper you won.” He’d bid six figures on the custom motorcycle, which had made the Texas State Endowment people, including Zoe’s mother, who chaired the event, very happy.

      Dax smiled then. It was a stunningly gorgeous smile that created manly crinkles at the corners of his fine, dark eyes. “I love that bike. Your brother is a genius.”

      “Yes, he is.” Jericho, sixth-born of the nine children in her family, designed and built custom motorcycles. He’d donated the chopper for the auction.

      Dax was looking severe again. “Great Escapes is a travel magazine. And we do hire photographers. It’s even possible that eventually some of your work might be used in a story….” He let the sentence trail off.

      She gave him a cool smile. “I thought we were discussing a job as your assistant.”

      “You’re right. We are. And that’s why it’s important that we understand each other.”

      So then they had a problem. A big one. She didn’t understand this guy at all.

      He was still talking. “You would have your hands full fielding my calls, dealing with catering for meetings, handling my correspondence and any other of a thousand and one tasks I’ll be assigning to you. It’s doubtful you’d be getting your big break as a photographer.”

      Zoe had to be honest with herself. This was not looking very promising. In spite of how much he admired her mother, he’d decided not to hire her. And by now, she was less than sure she wanted this job anyway. She crossed her legs, smoothed her slim skirt over her knees and said drily, “No sex, no pictures. Got it.”

      He slanted her a look of purely male appreciation—and wasn’t there a hint of humor in that dark glance, as well? “Sorry.” All at once he looked kind of boyish and awkward. That surprised her. Until then, she’d never thought of Dax Girard as anything but all grown-up, a little too sophisticated—and way too concerned about not having sex with her. “I’m trying to cover all the bases here,” he said. “The truth is I haven’t had such great luck choosing my assistants in the past.”

      Judging by the way he’d managed this interview, she wasn’t surprised.

      He added, “Twice, I tried just letting HR handle it.” His mouth formed a grim line. “That didn’t work out either.”

      It was none of her business, but she asked anyway. “Why not?”

      He looked slightly pained. “I want someone efficient and professional. But not scary. Not … intimidating. I like a little personality in my assistant. Someone easy on the eyes. And a sense of humor is a must. HR couldn’t seem to strike the right balance on that.”

      She

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