- C'est une demande en mariage ? bredouilla Charlotte, la gorge sèche.
- Non, je t'annonce que tu te maries avec moi.
- Tu me manques aussi, confia Molly la gorge nouée, les yeux soudain humides. Dès que la tournée se termine, je passe te kidnapper en jet privé. Le tyrannosaure s'en remettra.
- Ne t'inquiètes pas pour ça, lança Charlotte en gloussant, je vais placer mes vacances en douce dans son agenda et les approuver moi-même en imitant sa signature.
" Si vous me dites que vous ne voulez pas de moi, Je vais devoir vous demander de me montrer votre culotte, pour vérifier qu'elle n'est pas mouillée." Les pommettes en feu, Charlotte tapa d'un pied délicat sur le sol : " C'est tout à fait déplacé !"
Grabbing a large stapler from the cubicle opposite where she’d been hiding, Charlotte slipped out of her low-heeled slides and padded down the beige of the carpet, trying to calm herself with rational thoughts. There was no reason for an intruder to break in to commit industrial espionage—everyone knew Saxon & Archer was in trouble; trouble so bad that even the sharks who usually circled dying companies had declared them of no interest.
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.
Right now it made no sense that someone would want to steal data on a floundering company. And there was nothing else here to steal. Unless this was one very aggressive recruiter who planned to poach Saxon & Archer personnel and was laying the groundwork. Yes, that was going to happen. Not.
It had likely just been files falling to the floor, or a door moving because of a draft generated by an air-conditioning vent, or—
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.”
Charlie-mouse Meets T-Rex… and Things Happen
He really was a T-Rex, stomping through the company, chewing up people and spitting them out left, right and center.
“What are you talking about?” he said as things went all melty and hot low in her body. “You wrangle T-Rexes, don’t you?”
Scrunching up her nose at him, she fought a smile. “Only one.”
“Good, because this T-Rex is possessive as hell and does not share well.”
"Come on, let's reheat this and eat and you can tell me what some of those words mean. I grew up on a rugby field, but Jesus, baby, I have no idea where you learned all that."
Gabriel Bishop was a gorgeous man. Charlotte could admit that in the privacy of her own mind. Too big and muscle and dangerous, but gorgeous. Like a tiger was gorgeous. Right before it ate you.
"Why don't you ask me?"
She felt her eyes widen. Had he realized that she was imagining him naked in bed while she fed him pastries and licked up the crumbs from his chest?
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