“So, you talking shit about me to your cousins back home for hours every night was nice?” He closed the gap between us. “And you purposely one-starring every restaurant and business I own in this city is nice as well?”
“I…” My cheeks were on fire. I had no idea he knew about any of that.
“Your work is definitely ‘nice,’ Miss Dawson,” he said, his forehead nearly brushing against mine, “but it’s obvious that you hate me. So I don’t think it would be fair to put you anywhere else except the naughty list. Don’t you think?”
“I didn’t talkthatmuch shit about you…”
“I don’t talk shit about youat all.” He tipped my chin up with his fingertips, and I leaned closer, and for a moment, I thought he would kiss me.
And I would totally let him.
“Can you please stick to the fucking tasks I tell you to do for the rest of the day?” he said, shattering any notion of romance. “I can’t afford missteps from now through the next twelve months, and if anyone should know that, it’s you.”
He immediately tore away from me, leaving me bereft, and headed toward the closest exit door.
“Oh, and Miss Dawson?” He looked over his shoulder.
“Yes?”
“I forgot to give you a thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making it clear that I made the right decision to put you on the naughty list.” He smirked. “You’re welcome.”
—
ONE YEAR LATER
2
NICHOLAS
How Nicholas Saint Ruined Christmas (Candy)
The worst mistake I ever made as CEO of this sweets company was not the hateful headline that was currently staring at me from this morning’s issue ofBusiness, Inc. Magazine. Nor was it the overhiring of employees or shutting down half of our confection centers last holiday season.
It was hiring Jenna Marie Dawson.
Full stop.
I’d been looking for ways to fire her since the day she started—since the day she started distracting me with her fitted dresses and smart-ass mouth—but she was too damn good at her job.
Way too damn good…
Thanks to her, I’d broken the world record for blue balls, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that my upcoming inheritance payout loomed over me never having a single scandal in years, I would’ve bent her over my desk ages ago.
One week left, Nicholas. One more week.
“Mr. Saint?” My receptionist stepped into my office.
“Yes?”
“Miss Dawson is finally done with her morning meeting.”
“Tell her to get in here the moment she gets off the elevator.”
“There’s also a chocolate delivery for her,” she said. “Would you like me to put that on her desk or just have it in here waiting?”
