He seemed about to say something, but instead shrugged and turned back to his computer screen.
Chloe returned to her desk, fighting down the mix of gut-punching attraction and mild resentment Trainor evoked in her. She didn’t mind the resentment, but she needed to eliminate the attraction. He was the CEO of a giant, heartless corporation, just like the one that had sucked her father dry.
The report Trainor had sent her—an analysis of a recent marketing campaign written by someone named Richard Sinclair—needed more than just cleaning up. She debated a moment before she hit the intercom button. “Mr. Trainor, may I suggest some edits for this report? I’ll use tracking so you know what I’ve changed.”
“You want to edit the report?” His surprise came through her headset clearly.
“For clarity,” Chloe said. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ve worked in marketing before, so I know the jargon.”
She’d also worked in sales, accounting, and just about every other department a business could have. That was the joy and pain of working for start-ups; they were understaffed, so she filled in wherever she was needed. Unfortunately, she also brought the Russell jinx down on them. No fewer than three of the last four companies she’d worked for had failed. It had taken only three months from the day she was hired for the most recent one to close its doors. However, she refused to give up and work for a soulless corporation like Trainor Electronics except on a temporary basis. Her father’s experience had convinced her to avoid that career path. His employer had used his brilliant mind and given him a pittance in return.
A moment of silence. “Go ahead,” Trainor said and hung up.
She set alarms to remind herself to alert her boss about his meetings, and dug into the mess of charts and graphs and disorganized analyses. It got so bad that she created a whole new document with her changes. There were interruptions, of course, as the phone rang and a parade of visitors had to be vetted. However, the phone wasn’t as busy as she’d expected because Priscilla screened all the calls first and only put through those she thought Trainor might have an interest in taking.
“This job is cake,” Chloe muttered to herself as she attached the rewritten report to an e-mail and hit “Send.”
Trainor’s office door swung open, and the man himself emerged. Her gaze went straight to his sculpted forearms, then lifted as he ran one hand through the thick waves of his hair, making it look tousled, as though he’d just gotten out of bed. He frowned down at her from his considerable height. “Did you go to lunch?”
She glanced at the time on the computer screen: 2:03. She’d been so engrossed in the editing, she’d missed her one o’clock lunchtime. Her stomach growled. “Should I go now?”
“Could you order in sandwiches for both of us? I have a meeting in thirty minutes, and I’d like you to take notes.”
“I don’t know shorthand,” Chloe confessed. Almost no one did anymore, but maybe he was old-school.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re just window dressing.”
Maybe she should be insulted, but that reminded her that she was underdressed for her new position. She wasn’t going to add any luster to her boss’s reputation in this outfit.
But that wasn’t a problem she could fix. Lunch was. Not that she knew where she was going to get lunch in less than twenty minutes. “What would you like on your sandwich?”
He hesitated, the first time she’d seen him do that. “Keep it plain.”
“No food allergies? You’re not a vegetarian?” Better safe than sorry.
Trainor shook his head, making one hank of waving hair fall onto his forehead. Her fingers twitched with a longing to feel the texture as she brushed it back. He removed temptation by striding down the hall to enter another office door. She couldn’t help watching the way the fabric of his trousers shifted over the muscles of a very tight behind. Chloe shook her head. Not going there.
Chloe hoped Priscilla was at her desk and knew the drill. CEOs didn’t like to be bothered with mundane details like buying lunch. She’d had to pay for a few herself when she could ill afford it. Luckily, Judith always paid her back.
She pushed the intercom button. “Priscilla,” she said in a low, urgent tone, “how do I get sandwiches for the big boss pronto?”
“Executive dining room,” the other woman said in her musical voice. “I’ll e-mail you the menu and phone number. Just tell them who the food is for and they’ll get it here fast.”
“Do you have any idea what he likes to eat?”
“Wish I could help, but Janice always handles that. He has cold beverages in his office refrigerator, so you don’t have to worry about those, at least.”