Natalie Anderson - Seduced By The Boss

With that thought in mind, she nodded and said, “Fine, then. If you must have the murals, why not put them in the great hall? You’ve said it’s the place where your role players will gather. Wouldn’t they be the ones to appreciate this kind of...art?”

His lips twitched again, and once more, she felt that quick jolt of something hot and...exciting zip through her like a lightning strike. Ridiculous , she told herself, ordering her hormones to go dormant.

She couldn’t keep having these delicious little fantasy moments about her boss . Especially a boss who had made it abundantly clear that she was expendable. But it seemed that knowing she shouldn’t had nothing to do with reality. Because just being in the same room with Brady Finn made her feel as if every inch of her skin was tingling.

Rather than answer her question immediately he said, “You have to admit that Jenny’s sketches are good.”

“They are,” she said quickly, hoping to take her own mind off the path it continually wanted to wander. “For a game, they’re wonderful. But as decoration in a hotel?”

“In our kind of hotel, they’re perfect,” Brady said firmly. “Though you have a point about the reception area. All right,” he said, tapping a finger against the drawing of a howling banshee, “murals in the great hall.”

“As easily as that?”

“I can compromise when the situation calls for it,” he told her.

Nodding, she ticked off one win for herself on her imaginary tote board. Naturally, Brady had more scores in this competition than she, but gaining this one compromise gave her hope for more. He wasn’t implacable and that was good to know. Brady Finn would be difficult to deal with but not impossible.

“But,” he added before complacency could settle in, “I will do things my way, Aine.”

A warning and a challenge all in one, she told herself. No wonder the man fascinated her so.

The door opened after a soft perfunctory knock and a young woman stuck her head inside. “I’m sorry, Brady. But Peter’s on the phone and he’s insisting on speaking with you.”

“That’s fine, Sandy. Put him through.” When the woman darted out again, Brady looked at Aine and said, “I have to take this call.”

“Should I go?”

“No.” He waved her down into her seat. “This won’t take long and we’re not finished.”

Aine watched as he snatched up the receiver. The look on his face was hard, unforgiving, and she could have sworn ice chips swam in the blue of his eyes. She spared a moment of sympathy for Peter, whoever he was, as it looked as though he would regret interrupting Brady Finn.

“Peter?” Brady’s voice was clipped, cool. “I’m not interested in more excuses.”

A pause while the mysterious Peter babbled loudly enough for Aine to catch snatches of words. Time—art—patience.

“I’ve been more than patient, Peter. We all have been,” Brady reminded the man, cutting his stream of excuses short. “That time is past. I told you what to expect if I didn’t have those renderings by this afternoon.”

More hurried, frantic talking from Peter in a voice that lifted into an outraged shout.

Brady frowned. “I’ll have Sandy send you a check for the remainder of what we owe you.”

Stunned silence filled the pause that followed that statement, and Aine could almost feel the unknown man’s panic.

“Do yourself a favor and remember the confidentiality contract you signed with us, Peter. All drawings you’ve completed are our property, and if they leak to the competition...”

He smiled tightly and Aine noted the glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Good. Glad to hear it. You’re talented, Peter. If you can become focused, you’ll have a solid career at some point. Just not here with us.”

Aine felt a cold chill race along her spine and just managed to stifle the corresponding shudder. He had dismissed the unlamented Peter without a moment’s hesitation. Would it be that easy for him to rid himself of her ? That thought gave her pause and made her even more determined to watch her mouth and her temper.

When he hung up, Brady glanced at her and said, “Sorry about the interruption, but it couldn’t be helped.”

“Who’s Peter?”

“An artist with more excuses than work,” he said shortly. Maybe he caught the worry no doubt shining in her eyes because he added, “He was given more than one chance to come through. He failed.”

“And so he’s gone.”

“Yeah,” Brady said, gaze locked with hers. “Patience only stretches so far. When it’s business, you have to be able to make the hard choices.”

But the thing was, Aine thought, firing Peter hadn’t looked as if it was difficult for Brady at all. He’d ended the man’s employment in a blink and now had moved on already to more pressing business. Aine felt the shaky bridge she stood upon tremble beneath her feet.

Four

Brady hadn’t missed the wariness in her gaze as she’d listened to his conversation with Peter. Maybe he should have taken the call privately, but then again, it was probably best that she’d overheard him fire the man. She had to know that Brady was more than willing to dismiss any employee who couldn’t do the work expected of them. He didn’t enjoy that part of his job, but he wasn’t reluctant to do what was necessary, either. He had nothing but respect for a hard worker and nothing but contempt for anyone who tried to slide out of their responsibilities by producing half-baked excuses.

Jenny Marshall would get her shot at being the lead artist on this project, and if she failed, he’d get rid of her, too. Brady and his partners worked hard, put everything they were into the job at hand, and damned if he’d accept anything less from the people around them.

“My brother, Robbie, would love this,” she said as Brady steered her into the graphic-art division on the third floor of the old mansion.

There were desks, easels and plotting boards scattered around the big space. Computer terminals sat at every desk alongside jars holding pencils, pens, colored markers and reams of paper. Rock music pumped through the air, setting a beat that had a couple of the artists’ chairs dancing, bobbing their heads and mouthing the words to the song. Every time Brady went into that room, he felt like the only earthling on Mars.

Someone had made popcorn in the bright red microwave, and the smell flavored every breath as he walked with Aine around the room.

“Some of our artists prefer doing all of the work on the computer, but most also enjoy the sensation of putting pen to paper, as well.” He watched Aine sneaking peeks at works in progress. “It doesn’t matter to me how they get the job done,” Brady added, “as long as they do it well. And on schedule.”

She slanted him a look. “Yes, I remember what happened to Peter.”

Brady shrugged. “He had his chances and blew them all.”

“You’re not an easy man, are you?”

“ Nothing’s easy,” he said, staring into the cool forest green eyes that had haunted him from the first moment he’d seen them. Then he took her arm and guided her around the room. As they walked, the buzz of conversations quieted. Brady knew that having the boss in the place would slow things down, but he wanted Aine to see all of Celtic Knot so she could appreciate exactly who it was she was working for.

He gave a meaningful glance to the people watching them and they all quickly got back to their work. Aine pulled away from him to take a closer look at a sketch one of the women was perfecting. When she came back to his side, Aine was smiling. “Oh, yes, Robbie would love all of this.”

“Your brother?” he asked.