His eyes slowly, ever so slowly, roamed over her high heels, short skirt, and riotous head of hair.
She stomped a foot at his lack of appropriate response. “This is a power outfit.” She looked down and tugged at her uniform top. “Not this. But it’s coming off.” When his eyes widened, her ire rose. “Not for you. And that’s not what I meant. I have a beautiful red shirt that goes with this skirt. A nice conservative shirt. And this skirt is a perfectly appropriate length for a business meeting, according to Entrepreneur Today.” She took a deep calming breath. “Why am I justifying my outfit to a possible criminal? I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you need to leave.”
“Or what? What would you do?” He stepped closer.
Good question. Julia looked behind her, then back at him. See, this is why I should have taken the salesperson job at the mall. But I thought, Night security—that will give me more time to read and network during the day. Where are you, Paul, when I need you? That’s it. Paul. “I won’t have to do anything, because my partner is already on his way up. In fact, the next time that elevator opens, it’ll be him, and he is twice your size and has taken just enough steroids to have a little rage, if you know what I mean. I’ll do what I can to hold him off, but if he catches you, that gorgeous face of yours will never look the same.”
A predatory smile stretched his lips. He closed the short distance between them, effectively pinning her against the wall between his arm and the door. “I don’t believe you,” he said, his voice deep and husky. He studied her as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. “Are you going to tell me what you’re really doing here?”
Her voice tight in her throat, she said, “I told you. I’m security.”
He opened his mouth to say something, and Julia lost control. Attraction peaked and collided with panic. Her frantically searching hand closed on a lamp on the table beside them. With one swift move she cracked him in the temple with it. He stumbled back and raised a hand to the assaulted area. “What the hell . . . ?”
They both froze. His eyes lit with a fire that set her heart racing.
In the doorway, a male voice broke in. “Mr. Andrade. Are you okay? What happened?”
Julia put the lamp down quickly and swayed a bit beneath the realization of what she had just done. “Mr. Andrade. As in, George Andrade?”
Still looming angrily over her, he said, “Gio. No one calls me George.” He addressed Paul curtly. “She works here?”
“Yes, sir. For over a month.”
Glittering black eyes bored into Julia as she smiled awkwardly back at him. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“Evidently.” He rubbed the red mark on his left temple.
Paul stepped forward with concern. “I’m so sorry, sir. This is my fault. I ran next door to get medicine—”
Gio held up one hand to silence Paul, and the gesture proved impressively effective. In this jungle, money trumps muscle, Julia thought sarcastically. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Right now—”
Tomorrow. Tonight. Time. Crap. Julia glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. Shit. She turned apologetically to Paul. “Oh, my God, Paul. I am so sorry. I’ll take the heat for this. I promise. This was all my fault. Write it up however you need to. I would, but I can’t stay. I’m already late.”
She made the mistake of meeting the eyes of the man who still looked dazed from his encounter with the lamp. She instinctively reached toward his temple in sympathy, then dropped her hand. “I’m sorry. I should have studied the photo book Paul gave me better. It’s just that you were dressed like . . . and then you were all . . .” She frowned. “You could have just told me who you were and none of this would have happened, but we don’t have time to go into that now. Don’t be mad at Paul, okay? He has a stomach bug. But normally, he’d die to protect you. Who else can you say that about?” She glanced quickly at the clock again and said, “I totally understand if you need to fire me, but can you do it tomorrow?”
She turned and fled.
After her whirlwind departure, Gio looked across at Paul. “Just tell me you didn’t issue her a gun.”
Chapter Two
Julia stepped out of the taxi and onto the busy sidewalk in midtown Manhattan. She hesitated for a moment, reread the address she held in her hand, then squared her shoulders, shifted her jewelry-laden messenger bag higher on her shoulder, and strode toward the entrance of what appeared to be a bar.
A bar? And if the crowd in the windows was any indication, a popular one at that. Julia stepped inside and tried to remain optimistic. With a live band? New Yorkers play by their own rules. Who needs to discuss business in an office when you can do it and watch live entertainment at the same time? This doesn’t have to change anything. So, there won’t be room for me to use the mini display case I made. I’ll just show him individual pieces. The band began to play a fast song with a heavy bass line that virtually shook the photos hung on the wall. People stood shoulder to shoulder, and Julia squeezed between gyrating couples as she searched for a familiar face.
The scene was worlds away from the small ocean-town bars Julia was used to, but she didn’t let her determination waver. I’ll go to an office, to a bar . . . hell, I’ll meet someone in a back alley . . . I don’t care. I will sell my jewelry in New York. This crowd, that band—they won’t stop me.
A roving hand caressed her derriere as she squeezed between a cluster of inebriated men. She spun on the offender and grabbed him by the collar of his neck, pulling him down so she could speak directly into his ear. “I grew up in a neighborhood of all boys. I will seriously fuck you up if you touch me again.”
It wasn’t true, but it didn’t have to be. Not according to The Power of Believing, a book she had purchased to cheer herself up back in Rhode Island—a book that had changed her life. Want to succeed? Believe that you can. Want to intimidate someone? Believe that you are someone they should fear.
The drunken man took a step back and raised both of his hands in a move that showed he was backing away. That small triumph bolstered Julia’s confidence. I can do this.
As she turned away from Mr. Wandering Hands, she saw Bill Pritt waving her over to a corner booth. She slid into the booth next to him with relief.