Callan Carmichael is the worst kind of WOMANIZER!!
“He’s the last man standing of the three, Livvy. Really, you don’t want to go there.”
My mouth was hanging open. I was so affronted I even dug out my lipstick and crossed it out.
“Fucking skanks,” I cursed as I buried his name under my lipstick.
“Are you siding with him?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Shit.” She groans. “Callan is a bad boy through and through; he’s holding court now as the hottest, richest bachelor in the city.”
“I won’t go there. I can’t help being attracted but I’m not some animal ruled by lust and stuff. I can control it,” I assured. “Still. He’s my . . . friend. He bailed your ass the other day, Wynn; you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s worth it.”
“He’s totally worth it. I’m just saying there’s no way that man can be tamed.”
“Don’t worry, this girl isn’t in the market,” I assured her with false confidence.
The next week, I keep my head down, dive with gusto into everything that Mr. Lincoln needs, and stop going to the terrace. But it’s such a hard feat to pretend Callan’s not on Earth when he owns the company where I work.
I’m heading home well after 6 p.m. when the elevator down to the lobby opens and a tall man in a black shirt and jeans stands in the middle of two executives.
I feel my stomach clutch uncomfortably even before I really realize it’s him. Eyes that change in shades from honey to amber to gold spot me the second I spot him.
His eyes linger a little too long on mine.
I look away, past his shoulders, and board.
The elevator stops on the seventeenth floor, and two more people join us. A protective hand presses me closer to him. Jolting at the touch, I open my mouth to protest but he looks down at me and my voice sort of goes.
“Mr. Carmichael,” I say, all professional, once we reach the lobby.
“Livvy,” is his only response, half professional and half amused.
I step outside and hurry home.
I bump into him two times more.
Once in the cafeteria. Eating with one of his board members, Malcolm Saint, occasionally lifting his eyes to glance in my direction. I know that he and Malcolm and my brother are good friends, and I wonder if he’s the sort of guy who would talk to his friends about me.
Considering I’m Tahoe’s sister—not likely.
The second time, I’m exiting the revolving doors of the building. I stop and glance up the length of the building as if I could see him on the terrace.
He steps outside the very same instant and catches me staring up, and he smiles a little and just says, “Livvy.”
“Mr. Carmichael.”
God, would the floor open up and eat me now already?
That Friday, when he enters the cafeteria it feels like there’s a shift in energy in the room.
“Carmichael gets my heart pounding when he walks in,” Janine says, giggling over her lunch as we sit together in the west wing of the cafeteria.
Carrie, another intern, glances his way. “He’s all you see, isn’t he? It’s impossible not to notice him.”
I shuffle through the notes in my current research project folder.
“Except Livvy, she’s too busy.” Carrie grins and plays with her straw.
I smile, because I’m not sure what else to do.
But I won’t look at him.
Hurrying to finish my lunch, I head back up to continue assisting Mr. Lincoln organize his next proposal.
We stay late for an extra hour as he reviews some notes he brought back from the executive floor. He’s been studying iBots, an app company based in Los Angeles that’s in Callan’s razor eye for his next takeover.
I’m engrossed with all the details as I type up Lincoln’s corrections when the phone rings. I absently lift the receiver and recite the usual greeting. “Carma Inc. Henry Lincoln’s office.”
“Miss Olivia Roth? This is Ivonne Miller, Mr. Carmichael’s assistant. Mr. Carmichael would like to see you in his office right away.”
I almost choke on my own saliva.
I gulp out a “yes” and then try to plead for the floor to swallow me whole before I need to go upstairs.
It doesn’t.
I tap on Mr. Lincoln’s door. “Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Carmichael asked to see me, but if there’s anything you need, anything at all, I’d be happy to let his assistant know—”
“Callan?” His head jerks away from his computer screen. “Absolutely, go. Nothing here worth declining this . . . unexpected interest. Go right on, missy! Shoo.” He waves me off, laughing when I start to flush because obviously I don’t want to go.
“Livvy.” He stops me at the door. “He’s not as bad as they say he is.”
I gulp. “That doesn’t give me any relief, sir.” I nod, but turn around and head to the elevators.
My knees feel wobbly as I step inside the elevator and look at my reflection.
Is it wrong that I worry about how I look?
I’m wearing the black-and-white uniform. Black skirt, a short white jacket. Black pumps. My hair in a braid down my back. I look as if I fit here, even though every hour of the day—hell, since I got here—I wonder if I do.
Everyone here has a big ego. As if working for Carmichael makes them superior to the rest of humanity. Except I don’t get to feel that way because I’m only here thanks to . . . well, Tahoe. I can’t kid myself about that.
The doors open on the top floor, right below the building terrace. A desk greets me, and a beautiful middle-aged woman with a dark bun stands and calls my name. “Miss Roth?”
She has a small pregnant belly and manages to make it look as if carrying a child and working full time is as natural as breathing.
I nod and smile at her.
“Go right in.” She clicks a button on the desk and a beeping sound comes from the shiny silver doors as they roll open.
I walk inside.
He’s already on his feet, like all the times I found him on the terrace, as if he’s waiting for me.
Our eyes meet, and that name echoes through my body like a little earthquake starting in the center of my chest and amplifying outward like a ripple.
Callan.
“Livvy.” His voice sounds gravelly as he shoves his hand in his pocket and watches me walk forward.
I feel awkward.
I miss my mailman. He looks so intimidating right now. I tug on my skirt and jacket and go drop down on one of the two chairs in front of a huge modern desk.
His office is eternal, never-ending, three walls of floor-to-ceiling windows. The wall next to the doors has the biggest screen I’ve ever seen, composed of dozens and dozens of small screens, ticking with stock numbers and Bloomberg news.
He doesn’t take the seat behind his desk. Instead, he leans his arms against the chair and stands behind it, looking at me with a devilish grin. “I assumed you’d appear in a red dress to test me.”
“Somebody should. You wear what you like, but every employee here can’t. It’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair.” He walks around the chair and finally drops down, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head. “I’ve learned the value in discipline to get me right where I am, on the top floor and a few steps ahead of the pack.”
He’s so hot.
And very unscrupulous, Olivia!
And your boss.
I don’t want to think of how much I miss the twinkle in his eye or the way he used to smile in amusement at me.
Or the way he felt when he moved inside me.
We both stare from opposite sides of the desk and I wonder if he’s thinking about it too. Even the way he sleepy-fucked me.
“Lincoln tells me the Alcore proposal was your idea.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting him to send it over. I just e-mailed it Sunday.”
“Well, he did. And I’m impressed.”
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Despite myself, my heart does a little leap of joy.
“He’s pleased with your work,” Callan says.
“Thank you.”
“So I’ve been putting some thought into this.” His chair creaks as he shifts and strokes his chin with his thumb. “Tahoe asked me to take you under my wing at Carma, said that you wanted to learn. And I think the best way for you to do that is to finish your internship as my assistant.”
I’m shocked into silence. Confused at first, then scared, then a little flattered.
He explains, “Ivonne is taking her maternity leave early, and I’d really like you to step up and step in.”
A thousand nervous little pricks run inside my body. I shift restlessly in my chair. “Well I don’t know that I want to leave Mr. Lincoln.”
“You don’t want to leave Mr. Lincoln,” he repeats.
“It’s just that he’s very disorganized on his own. He needs someone to help him organize his thoughts,” I explain.
He looks vaguely amused for a second then deeply frustrated the next. Finally he seems amused again, and he adds, “I will be sure that Mr. Lincoln has someone very capable of helping him organize his thoughts.”
His eyebrows rise as he waits for me to say more.
Obviously he expects me to say yes. Maybe even do a happy dance right here in my chair. But the mere thought of being close to him makes me uneasy. Something tells me Callan is going to push me to my limits.
I know down to my bones it won’t be easy with Callan Carmichael at all.
Because he’s so goal-oriented and so cold in his business dealings.
And also because deep beneath that hot designer suit, there’s still that very real human guy I had sex with, and that might be the most disadvantageous thing of all. I have a freaking soft spot for that guy, my mail guy. I opened up to him, I . . . wanted him. And he’s not the guy I thought he was.
This second, as I look at the guy across the desk from me in a white shirt and gray slacks, his handsome face reserved, I feel only confusion because I want to open up to him again, and at the same time, I want to run as fast and far away from him as my legs and these slick corporate heels will take me.
“Why do you do this?” I ask him, pointing at the stock tickers on the screen.
“Why do you?” he counters.
“Tahoe is the one who made me so interested in business. My family wasn’t always rich. My parents were struggling, and Tahoe was always working at the oil rigs, until he met a guy with a struggling oil lease, and he invested the little he had, bought his first lease and rig, and helped the man out. Three years later he’d struck a gold mine, made his partner rich, and became independent on his own.
“I saw what he did for my parents, giving them a sense of financial security they’d never had. It intrigued me and made me want to do the same, not for me or my family, since we’re taken care of, but for others. Finding ways to bring their businesses back to a full working state.”
“And I do this because I’m good at it. I’m the best at it. FYI.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so cocky it’s almost sexy.”
His eyes glint playfully. “Almost?”
I frown. “Almost.”
He grins back at me. “Do I get a yes now, as I am almost sexy when I’m cocky? I can be very persuasive too,” he says.
I wait.
He leans forward on his desk. “You’re so blunt it’s almost insanely attractive.”
“Almost?”
He nods. “Almost.”
His eyes darken as soon as he says that, and we both stop smiling when we realize we were flirting.
His office could’ve just fallen away, and we could’ve been up on that terrace again, nothing but a guy and a girl and that’s it.
He grins sardonically. “I expected you’d say yes, Livvy.” He raises a challenging brow and looks at me with the same eyes my Hot Smoker Guy used to look at me.
And because of the guy I met on the terrace, because I want to be honest with that guy, I tell him the truth.
“I . . . thank you, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” I hesitate before saying the rest, but he seems to read my mind. We were just flirting after all. Oh god. This is not good! “After what happened—”
He cuts me off. “I told your brother I’d help, and I want to come through. I told him you’d learn here, and I think the best way for you to do that is to be my assistant.”
He leans back and studies me.
Of course he doesn’t miss the fact that I still haven’t said yes.
There’s an intimacy in the room—something warm in his eyes. Something warm inside me that I’m struggling to cool down.
“I was hoping you weren’t asking me for my brother.”
“I’m not.” Calmly, he says, “When I started working at my father’s firm, my father put me through the wringer to get me where I am today. I worked twelve-hour days, doing anything I could—anything,” he emphasizes. “I couldn’t have built Carma without the experience. Someone needs to do the dirty work. I quickly learned none of my employees are willing to do it as effusively as when they know you’re willing to do it yourself.”
“I want the work,” I agree, “but I want to help people too. I don’t know that I’ll feel comfortable working so closely with you when you specialize in ripping companies apart. I joined the firm thinking I could learn here, but I wanted to remain distant from that aspect of it.”
Shadows cross his eyes, and his voice drops a decibel as he leans forward on his desk again. “Is that what you think I do? Just take a bite, chew them up and spit out the pieces, Olivia?” He seems both puzzled and slightly amused. “You clearly don’t understand what I do here. You have a lot to learn.”
“I know that,” I say softly.
“I’m not the devil, Livvy. I just choose to allow some to believe that I am.”
He gives me the smile that makes my pulse skip.
“Callan—Mr. Carmichael, you’ve got the wrong girl. Radisson in Austin didn’t even offer an internship. I’m really so green still . . .”
He eyes me with a hint of anger and shifts forward just a bit more. “I trust my own judgment better than anyone else’s. Olivia, everyone starts at the bottom. Hell, it’s better to start at the bottom. Sooner or later we all get acquainted with the ground. Starting from the ground up is what gives you a solid foundation.”
Well he’s kind of badass, and not in a bad way.
I think my nana would like him.
But she’d call him a scoundrel for sure.
He’s so young, it’s incredible to think of all the things I know I could learn from this guy. He could teach me. I could learn. At the price of what, though?
I can’t even look at him without feeling a big, warm T I N G L E! Urgh!
“I’m just not sure you’ve got the right girl,” I finally say.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says as he stands and eases his arms into his jacket.
I nod and stand too, following him outside on automatic.
“We’re off,” he tells his assistant, tapping his knuckles on her desk as we pass. “Go rest.”
We ride the elevator, and I eye him, full of regret.
If only he had been seventy-year-old Daniel Radisson. Safe Daniel Radisson who helps businesses like I want to do someday, is supposedly kind and my father’s friend instead of my brother’s. I would’ve instantly, immediately said yes from the get-go.
“I’m hungry,” he says casually. “You hungry?”
“I . . . yes.”
He smiles.
I do anything but look at that hot, sexy smile.
We head down a couple of blocks to a hot dog stand and I regret blurting out that I was hungry.
“Tell me about Radisson.”
“I wanted Radisson Investments because they don’t make the big kills, it’s a company with heart so . . . they invest in struggling companies and sort of salvage some. It’s a very pres
tigious firm in Austin. Not as prestigious as yours but . . . but there’s a reason he didn’t want me,” I insist.
“This Radisson. Does he know you’re interning with me?”
“Of course.”
We stop to buy hot dogs and I take a bite and savor mine, without ketchup like the Chicagoans had instructed me, then add, “I went to Radisson’s office and rubbed it in his face that I got an internship with you.” I laugh. “And it felt good!”
I see him reach out as if to touch my face, but I jerk my head nervously and he lowers his hand. “I could eat that business up without blinking and spit out their bones.” He smiles and winks at me. His gaze changes when he looks at my lips. “There’s something else that needs to be rubbed off.”
I lick the mustard off the corner of my lips, but he still reaches out with his thumb to pick up the rest. The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen a man do could possibly be Callan lifting his thumb and sucking the mustard off it. My lungs feel a little broken in my chest and I feel like grabbing a bottle of mustard and bathing in it so he licks it off me.
This man drives me insane.
My hormones insane.
My mind insane.
We’re halfway through our hot dogs when I hear a female voice to my left. “Callan!” a woman calls breathlessly.
I wipe my mouth with my napkin as she comes over and Callan sort of boredly watches her. “Olivia,” he says, introducing me.
“Oh, hi.” The woman looks crestfallen all of a sudden, quickly glancing back at him and pasting a smile on her face. “My favorite person in the world! We were going to see you at your polo match in two weeks.”
“I’ll see you there, then.”
The girl is so beautiful, with long black hair and eyes. She waits to see if he says something else then, but he doesn’t.
I run my hands over my uniform, suddenly self-conscious.
“Well . . . bye.” She heads back over to her friend.
I stay quiet and we finish our hot dogs.
I know that if he wanted her, he could have her. Like, right here and now. And it gives me a little pang of jealousy and an urge to erase our night of sex from my memory.
“Do you always get everything you want?” I ask him.
“Everything.” He tosses his napkin into the trash, and then does the same with mine. I expect him to say goodbye, but soon we’re just walking.