Sandra Marton - The Sexiest Man Alive

“Claire?”

Susannah spoke without looking away from Romano. Her heart was banging in her chest, but her voice was clipped. Claire’s, on the other hand, was a paper-thin whisper.

“Y-yes?”

“Call security.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Call security. Tell them we have an intruder.”

“Susannah.” Claire moved quickly to her friend’s side. “Suze, listen—”

“If you won’t do it,” Susannah said, her eyes never leaving Romano’s face, “I will. Hand me the phone.”

“Oh, Suze. Suze, you’ve got to lis—”

Susannah snatched up the telephone “Last chance, Mr. Romano. Either you explain your unwanted, uninvited presence in these offices, or I’ll have you thrown out. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.”

“Well?”

He smiled, stepped from behind the table and leaned a hip against the wall. She’d been right, she thought, dazed You could probably use his shoes for mirrors.

“I own them.”

Susannah blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“These offices. This room” He lifted his hand and waved it nonchalantly through the air. “I own it all, Miss Clinton.”

“My name is—Own it how? Mr. Elerbee sold out to Update Publications.”

“Yes, that’s right. And I am Update.” He grinned, and she could see he was enjoying this. “What’s the matter, Miss Clinton? Don’t you like surprises?”

Susannah felt as if the air were being sucked from her lungs.

Matthew Romano had bought CHIC. He, not some faceless group of stockholders, was Update Publications.

This was it, then.

So much for all the time she’d spent worrying about how to resurrect CHIC magazine. For all the sleepless nights and late meetings. So much for her job, for her chance to prove herself. So much for all their jobs, every last one of them.

CHIC was finished. The news was written all over Romano’s face, etched in his arrogant, I-am-God smile. He’d come here to plunge a dagger into the magazine’s barely beating heart, though why he’d wanted to do it himself was anybody’s guess.

I didn’t expect you’d ever find yourself at a loss for words, particularly where I’m concerned.

The words he’d spoken a few minutes ago seemed to ring in her ears. Susannah stared at him. He’d come to do the job himself as a way of getting even with her. This was personal. A vendetta involving Romano and her. But he was going to take his revenge on everybody who worked here.

“No comment, Miss Clinton? That’s too bad. I was sure you’d have something interesting to say.”

Behind her, someone tittered nervously. Romano didn’t so much as smile.

“I’m pleased to see you recognize me. I was concerned that you wouldn’t be able to do so without me having a blonde on my arm. I thought about renting one for the occasion, but it seems blondes—even dumb ones—aren’t available so early in the day.”

Another giggle rose in the crowd. Matthew’s eyes flashed. He jerked his head toward the door.

“You’re free to leave,” he said. “All of you.”

It was a command, not an offer, and nobody was foolish enough to ignore it. People scuttled for the exit. Even Claire, Susannah noted with horror. Not that she could blame her. Claire wanted to hang onto her job. They all did. But Romano had no intention of leaving them with jobs to hang onto. Soon enough, they’d all know that.

He waited until the room was empty. Then he strolled past Susannah and shut the door with a gentleness that made her flinch.

“Now,” he said pleasantly, “let’s get down to business”

Susannah turned and looked at him. Business? What kind of business? Romano lounged against the closed door, hands tucked casually into his pockets, but the pose, she knew, was deceptive. Anger emanated from him like some hot, primal male hormone.

Her mouth went dry.

Close up, Matthew Romano was intimidating. It wasn’t just his height, though he towered over her. It wasn’t just his build, though not even the quietly expensive suit could hide all the muscle. It was the way he held himself, the look in his eyes, the cool little smile that curled his lips. It was everything that made him what he was, who he was.

“Does the mention of business always make you go pale, Miss Clinton?”

Apparently, he’d read her mail. Weren’t there privacy laws against that kind of thing?

“Spying is what makes me go pale, Mr. Romano.” Her voice was cool and steady. There was, she told herself, no way he could know that a psychotic drummer seemed to have taken up residence behind her ribs.

“Spying, Miss Clinton?”

“Spying. Prying. Poking into someone’s private correspondence. Don’t look so surprised, Mr. Romano. It’s quite obvious that’s what you’ve done. You’ve read my mail, and you had no right to do that.”

“I’m sorry to disillusion you, Miss Clinton, but what you write on company memos, on company stationery, on the company’s E-mail account, is not yours. It’s mine.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Tell that to the courts. They decided the issue years ago.” Romano’s eyes flashed. “Your tasteless mental meanderings have had quite a large readership.”

Oh, God. Was he right? Her brain whirled. What, exactly, had she written? Nothing complimentary. But how bad could it have been?

Very bad, she thought, as bits and pieces came back to her. Very, very bad.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” His smile was bright, almost cheery. “You know so much about me. And you didn’t hesitate to comment on what you knew. My taste in women. My unfortunate lack of intellect. My conviction that I’m sexy.” He smiled. “Even what I’d look like as a centerfold.”

Please, Susannah thought, Oh, please, please let the floor open up beneath me.

His smile still glittered, but there was a sudden darkness in his eyes that made her breath hitch.

“And my—how did you put it? Ah, yes. My ‘studliness.’ ”

Susannah’s cheeks flamed.

“I don’t supposed you’d care to define that word.”

“I didn’t mean... I never meant to imply...”

He took a step forward. She took a quick step back. Her foot slipped out of the laceless sneaker, but there was no time to stop and recover it, there was only time to step back again, because he was still coming.

“Oh, but you did,” he said softly. “You meant every word of it, and that’s really remarkable, considering that we’ve never met until this morning. I’m right, aren’t I, Miss Clinton?”

She shook her head. She nodded. Speech was out of the question.

“What was that?” His smile grew even brighter. “That shake of the head. A denial that you meant what you wrote? An admittance that we never met before?”

“No,” Susannah whispered miserably. “I mean, we’ve never—”

“Ah.” He nodded. “But you determined my studliness nonetheless, is that right?”

“Mr. Romano.” She licked her lips. “I may have been a little out of line, but—”

“A little?” He closed the distance remaining between them and looked coldly at her as her shoulders hit the wall. “Fascinating, Miss Clinton, how cautious your use of the language has suddenly become. For a woman given to such interesting hyperbole, I mean.” His eyes, dark and deep, fastened on hers “Once again, I’m asking you to tell me what you mean by that word.”

Susannah swallowed hard. He was close. Too close. She could smell the faint scent of soap on his skin, see the shadow of stubble on his jaw and chin. His lashes were dark and thick. His nose was perfectly straight except for a barely perceptible tilt midway down its length.

He looked cold and hard and angry.

And studly.

He was studly, indeed, she thought dizzily. Her heart did what felt like a somersault in her chest. If you liked the type.