Nalini Singh

That dire state of affairs was why the new CEO with his reputation as a ruthless negotiator with a razor-sharp mind had been brought on board. Rumor was the powers that be had been so desperate to secure his services they’d given him a chunk of the tightly held company as part of his pay package.

Of course, those shares would be worthless if he didn’t manage the herculean task of hauling Saxon & Archer out of its death spiral—and Charlotte couldn’t think about that, about the possibility of losing her job, without breaking into a cold sweat, so she shoved that line of thinking aside to focus on the here and now.

Screaming as she saw the shape of a very big, very muscular man move out from inside the records room, she threw the stapler.

He caught it in one big hand, stared at it with steel-gray eyes, then at her. A single raised eyebrow. “Perhaps you’d better answer that.”

Charlotte realized he was talking about her phone. Her fingers had a death grip on it, and she could hear Molly yelling her name even from this distance. Bringing it to her ear as her face flushed to a no doubt horrific shade of red, she said, “I’m fine” to her best friend.

“I’m glad to hear that.” With those words, the dark-haired and very familiar man across from Charlotte held out the stapler. “You might be needing this… Ms.?”

“Baird,” she said in a croak of a tone. Coughing, she managed to clear it to a rasp. “Charlotte Baird.” She held the phone against her chest and forced herself to meet the penetrating gaze of the six-feet-five, broad-shouldered, and dangerously gorgeous man she’d recognized a split second after she threw the stapler.

There were few people in the country who wouldn’t recognize Gabriel Bishop, former pro rugby player, decorated captain of the national team, and holder of on-field records unbroken in the seven years since he’d been forced to retire because of a severe Achilles tendon injury. “Thank you… sir.”

A nod, his hair glinting blue-black in the overhead light. He was gone a second later, a legal file held in his hand.

Walking back to her cubicle on shaky legs, Charlotte collapsed in her chair and buried her face in one hand, elbow braced on her desk. “I just met my new boss,” she groaned into the phone. “Or more specifically, I threw an industrial-strength stapler at his head.”

Molly laughed in open relief.

“Oh God, Molly, what if he fires me?”

“Right, that’s right. I—”

“Ms. Baird.”

Jerking around at the sound of that deep male voice, Charlotte said, “Yes.” It came out a squeak.

“Have you been here all day?” Gabriel Bishop’s eyes—cold, hard, incisive—pinned her to the spot, his big body blocking out the light.

She nodded, her voice having deserted her totally by this point. The man was a wall of pure muscle, like some Greek god carved by an adoring artist.

“In that case,” he said, “I’m sure you’re hungry. We’ll go to a bistro I know nearby for dinner.” It wasn’t an invitation but an order. “You can bring me up to speed on certain issues.” His eyes went to the phone in her hand. “Five minutes.”

Waiting until his footsteps disappeared, Charlotte repeated his order into the phone, her stomach in knots. Even condemned prisoners got a last meal. Maybe Gabriel Bishop did the same for employees he was about to fire?

“Go,” Molly said. “And order the most expensive thing on the menu.”

“I’ll probably throw it up.” Her nerves twisted, then twisted again and decided to tie themselves into knots for good measure. “I better go—he said five minutes.”

“Thank you,” she said and pulled out her own chair before Gabriel Bishop could do it, not sure she could handle him at her back. He was too big, too overwhelming—and she hated strangers at her back regardless.

He watched her fight to pull the heavy chair back in under her but didn’t comment.

Face hot, she tried to focus on the words handwritten on the thick, textured paper of the menu, but it might as well have been in Swahili.

“Have you made your choice?”

Because he was looking at her as if waiting for a decision, she pointed randomly at a line on the menu and hoped she wasn’t ordering brains in a lovely mint sauce or something else equally unappetizing. The menu was whisked away a second later, water brought to the table.

“Now, Ms. Baird.”

She looked up, hearing something in his voice that told her he expected attention. Those steely eyes were focused on her to the exclusion of all else. “Y…yes,” she said, the word barely audible.

“Tell me about the current situation with the Hamilton land negotiation. It’s obvious the potential buyers want the site of the old factory. It’s equally obvious Saxon & Archer needs the capital. What’s the holdup?”

The file opened in Charlotte’s mind, her visual memory acute. She could hear her mental voice laying out the facts in a clean, crisp manner, but nothing came through her vocal chords; instead, her fingernails dug into her palms. Panic fluttered in her chest, a trapped bird with a sharp beak that pecked and pecked at her.

“Let’s table that question for now,” Gabriel said when it appeared Ms. Baird was about to hyperventilate. “It’s Saturday night, and you’ve already pulled a full day.”

She gave a jerky nod and gulped down some water, her eyes anywhere but on him.

Gabriel’s first instinct was to offer to drive her to the suburb. It was what he’d have done with any other woman in this situation. However Ms. Baird’s bones might well chatter themselves out of her skin if he suggested she get into a confined space with him for longer than a few seconds.

Peeking out and seeing he was still looking through the contract, his scowl even heavier, Charlotte said

Except Charlotte Baird, whose personnel file he’d looked up after meeting her, seemed to strongly disagree with the latter. Petite and pretty, she’d been sitting so petrified through dinner that anyone would think he’d attacked her rather than the other way around. Her fear roused his temper, which only made her fingers clench tighter on her cutlery, until the fine lines of her bones were outlined against creamy skin dusted with gold—which further exacerbated his temper.

Realizing she’d starve if he didn’t allow her to leave, he motioned the waiter to their table. “Box Ms. Baird’s meal to go. Add the blackberry cheesecake.”

Her eyes flicked up, hazel and clear behind her glasses, her lips parting. “No, it’s okay,” she said in a rasp of a voice even as the waiter cleared away her meal.

“I’m paying for the damn meal, Ms. Baird. You might as well enjoy it.” He didn’t care about the cost; what he cared about was that the woman across from him had eaten exactly two tiny bites in fifteen minutes. It wasn’t as if she had flesh to spare—though she wasn’t skin and bones. No, she was just small, her weight in perfect proportion to her bone structure. So she ate. Just not with him.

Having shut up at his snarl, skin paling, she didn’t say another word until they’d left the restaurant.

“Where’s your car parked?” he asked, not wanting her on the streets alone given the high number of sports fans who’d poured into the city while they were in the restaurant. Most were fine, in a cheerful mood, but it was obvious a few had started drinking early.

“I catch the bus,” she said, shoulders hunched under that hideous brown coat that swallowed her up.

Anya kept Charlotte busy until Charlotte barely had five spare minutes to gulp down lunch at her desk. Charlotte wasn’t naïve or stupid; she knew full well the other woman was taking advantage of her. Charlotte’s job was in Records, not as Anya’s assistant—but as long as Anya was too lazy to do her job, Charlotte’s would be secure. The fact was, with Records now so well computerized thanks to Charlotte’s own work, she’d worried she’d be seen as redundant, her head on the chopping block.

Especially with Gabriel Bishop on a mission to clean house.

He really was a T-Rex, stomping through the company, chewing up people and spitting them out left, right, and center. But the T-Rex wasn’t looking Charlotte’s way, and that was fine with her. She’d just be a quiet, industrious little mouse in the corner, not worth bothering with but too useful to fire.

Then the carnivorous creature decided to notice her.

Tuck was handing her a stack of mail that afternoon when the dreaded call came. “Boss wants to see you,” Anya said, a smirk in her tone. “Now. And bring your laptop.”

Her pulse in her mouth and her cheeks hot,

The idea of those hard gray eyes on her, that icy focus… Goose bumps broke out over her skin as she picked up her laptop and slid it into a bag. She wasn’t sure she could carry it in her hands without it slipping out of her grasp; the fine tremor in her bones had her barely able to sling the strap of the bag over her shoulder.

“If he fires you,” Tuck said, his brown eyes stark with distress, “he’s an idiot.”

Charlotte wondered if Tuck would still say that if he knew she’d thrown a stapler at the boss’s head. As far as first impressions went, it couldn’t get much worse. Unless, of course, said stapler-throwing employee then lost the ability to speak while out at dinner with the same boss, instead doing an excellent impression of a statue.

Stomach knotting at the reminder of how badly she’d screwed up, she stepped out of her cubicle. Her skin prickled. It was obvious from the number of sympathetic eyes on her that people had guessed where she was headed and why. Not surprising. Three others from this floor had made the trek. None had returned, their belongings packed up by assistants assigned the task.

Some of her colleagues called out soft words of encouragement, but she could tell that despite their sympathy, they all thought she was a goner.