Heating Up the Holidays 3-Story Bundle(7)

A few minutes later I slide into the rental car, and a sigh escapes from deep inside me. Mr. Ward might not be a gambler, but he chose me. And I’m choosing to look at my career in a new way because of him. We are the closest thing to a relationship I’ve had in a very long time.

*

I stop by the grocery store on the way to the hotel I checked in to upon arriving in Vegas last night. It’s nearly nine when I enter my small but functional room and unload my purchases in the fridge, heavy on the microwave dinners. Even if I wanted to win a man’s heart, which I don’t, I will never do it through his stomach. My mom was the gourmet, and as much as she tried to teach me, I enjoyed eating more than preparing meals. Well, right up until puberty, when I had to start watching just how much I sampled.

By nine-thirty I’ve already showered and changed into sweats, eaten a microwave dinner, and looked up the bus schedule. I was considering letting go of my rental and saving the cash I had set aside for a used car. Instead, I decide to hang on to the rental for a few more days and leave my belongings stored with the moving company. I’ll stay here, and if things go well, I’ll try to get into an apartment before the holiday.

It’s nearing eleven when I snuggle into bed with my laptop and a cup of instant hot cider. Like Mr. Ward’s cologne, the cider reminds me of the holidays and the good times they were with my mother. And while it makes the hotel room a little more like home, I cannot help but think about all that has happened since I lost her. If she were still here, things would be so different. I would be different.

Determined to prepare for tomorrow before sleep takes hold of me, I Google my new boss and discover that his first name is Damion. Even the man’s name is sexy. So is his success. At the extremely young age of thirty-two, he has been in the position of CEO for nearly two years. What isn’t sexy is the scandal around how he got the job. Apparently he’d been consulting for the board of directors and personally recommended the termination of the ex-CEO; he even took part in its execution. Some said it was self-serving, as he’d then taken the position in the interim before transitioning to full-time.

My cell beeps on the nightstand and I grab it, hoping it might be Kelly, my ex-roommate, who has grown more and more distant since she moved to Hawaii with her boyfriend three months ago. I frown at the caller ID. It reads DW, and the message says, Are you awake?

DW. DW. And it hits me. Hello, Kali. It’s obvious. DW is Damion Ward, and why is my heart fluttering? It’s just a text. Just my boss. Yes, I reply. Are you in New York?

I got to my hotel about 15 minutes ago.

I wait, expecting more, like a reason for the contact, but he says nothing else. As when we were in the elevator, I feel that I’m supposed to fill the empty space. Do you have to travel like this often?

His reply is instant. Wishful thinking?

I grimace at the phone. It rings. I don’t even check the caller ID. I know it’s him. “I do not wish you out of town all the time.”

“You keep having to say that for a reason.”

“Because you keep assuming incorrectly,” I reply, irritated at myself for noticing the rough, sexy quality of his voice. “I want this job. I’m going to do it well.”

“Terrance said you were eager to get out of there tonight. I thought maybe you might have changed your mind about the job. Maybe I intimidated you after all.”

“I—what?” I sit up. “I didn’t say I was eager to leave. Or I did, but to be rested and ready for tomorrow. I just got into town last night. It was a bad day, and—”

A low rumble of laughter fills the line, sending a shiver down my spine and heating my skin. If Vegas is sin, this man is its poster child. “I guess you really aren’t intimidated by me,” he comments. “And I know what you said to Terrance. I only wanted to see how you would respond.”

“Playing with me?” I ask. “That’s not very nice, especially since what I’m intimidated by is the idea of being unemployed.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Surprised—especially after what I read about him—I ask, “You’re intimidated at the idea of being unemployed?”

“It’s more about fearing failure, and losing my job would be failure. It would mean I’ve let down customers, employees, and the board of directors. Those are big demands, and I feel the pressure like everyone else.”

I’m blown away by his confession, especially his use of the word “fear.” I’ve known men I would have thought were like him, but none of them would share vulnerability with someone they knew well, let alone just met. “Do you enjoy that kind of pressure?”

“I’m sure it’s similar to you getting a big story as a journalist. We are both chasing success. Sometimes—often—that means getting past a problem. The positive outcome is the high. I need someone who isn’t afraid of the pressure or of me. And, as you have already guessed, some people are afraid of me.”

“Do they have a reason?”

“Why don’t you judge for yourself? And I do mean yourself, Ms. Miller.”

“I have a mind of my own.”

“You’ll have to if you want to stay in this position.”

That part of me craving security demands I confirm what he has just inferred. “Can I? I mean, is there a chance I can become more than a temp?”