Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed, page 2
A long night in front of the computer had to be enough to dull the stress of the idea.
They would meet for no more than two hours, and then she could return home, that much closer to securing her position with the JCF and done with Mr. Silver.
The next day had arrived very quickly, though, and now, as the plane touched down, Miri wasn’t sure if her reassurances might have been a bit premature.
Staring in awe at the wintery world outside the comfortable private jet, she was reminded that, in truth, her time with Mr. Silver had not even begun.
CHAPTER TWO
“A CARDIGAN?” HE ASKED incredulously, adding, “You thought it was a good idea to wear a cardigan on a business trip to Colorado in November?”
Exasperation was just one of many emotions Benjamin Silver felt upon laying eyes on Ms. Miriam Howard. Among the surge, however, exasperation was the most straightforward and direct.
He preferred communication that was clear and to the point.
Therefore, he made it clear what he thought of the cardigan.
While the snow was just a light blanket over the ground this early in the year, it was, nonetheless, snow.
Closing his eyes, he exhaled through his nose, allowing himself a respite from the effort of not devouring her with his eyes.
Her appearance had somewhat stunned him.
When he focused on the cardigan, however, rather than the fact that her figure and face would have made the proud subjects of a sensual oil painting, he could handle himself.
She stood above average height, which appealed to him as a tall man, and had glowing skin that looked soft enough to touch.
And she wore a cardigan to Colorado in November, he reminded himself.
And in what should have been a more compelling fact, she was his subordinate.
Ms. Howard had been an emergency hire. This was their first meeting.
His reaction was inappropriate.
But she was nothing like what he had expected.
A cardigan, he repeated mentally.
Taking her in, he wondered if the foundation had simply added fuel to the fire that was this year’s gala in selecting her for the position of events director.
She looked incredibly young, her clear brown skin bright and dewy, even in the crisp dry mountain air of Colorado.
She certainly did not present the kind of mild-mannered mid-career executive image that would have reassured their supporters that the JCF had left its sexy and salacious days behind it.
She was the sexiest woman he had ever encountered.
Even in budget business attire, she gave the impression of lushness.
Shaking himself, he wrestled his mind back to the cardigan.
And, young though she might look, it wasn’t a naive newbie who answered him when she finally spoke. Her irritation obvious in the words that squeezed through her clenched teeth, she said, “I was under the impression that we would be meeting inside.”
She might be inexperienced, he acknowledged, but she has spine.
She revealed it now, as she had when they’d spoken on the phone the day before.
If anyone knew how far spine could take a person in this world, it was him.
He’d built an empire on spine.
If she possessed enough of it, she might even be able to deliver on the bold promises she had made to the hiring committee.
Her cardigan, however, did not convey spine.
It conveyed poor planning, and planning was her job.
“It’s November. In Aspen,” he said, giving her no quarter even as he allowed her stubborn streak to impress him.
In response, her stunning topaz eyes narrowed, flashing against the warm brown backdrop of her skin.
He had never seen eyes like hers before—warm whiskey, rimmed with deep obsidian.
“Forgive me for not packing my skis,” she retorted.
Flushed heat then came to the satiny apples of her cheeks, bringing a subtle duskiness to their warm expanse, and the pressure in Benjamin’s veins ticked up a notch not for the first time since he had been in her presence.
Perhaps that reaction was what was behind the pleasure he found in goading her.
A part of him recognized her as a woman worth romantic pursuit.
The remainder of him, however, was committed to the success of the annual gala.
And attraction to the new events director, after what had happened with the previous, was entirely inappropriate for that goal.
Even if she was nearly six feet tall in the heels she wore and had the curves to carry it.
Benjamin tore his mind away from her body and returned it to her clothing.
Clothing was innocuous and safe.
Her outfit consisted of a blouse buttoned low enough to give hints of what looked like a lace-edged beige satin camisole beneath, both of which were tucked neatly at the narrow waist of her black pencil skirt.
Her heels were skinny and also black. And to bring it all together, she wore her ridiculous, flimsy beige cardigan.
Everything she wore was thin.
And she was carrying a bright teal box.
A faint smile coming to his lips, Benjamin replied smoothly, “I’ve got plenty of skis, if it comes to it. What I haven’t got—” the edge returned to his words “—are spare women’s parkas.”
Though, of course, between the staff and his guest supplies, Benjamin would not have been surprised to learn that he did have spare parkas.
“I’m sure I’ll survive,” Ms. Howard replied smoothly, her voice as dry and cold as the air around them, and Benjamin nearly chuckled.
Her sartorial wisdom might be questionable, but she was funny.
And she had backbone.
The traits could only help her get her job done—as long as she knew how to create the kinds of events that schmoozed wealthy donors like himself into opening their wallets.
Getting started toward that end was why he had driven out to the runway to pick her up himself, rather than send someone.
He had not braved the elements in order to criticize her choice in clothing, but in order to get working.
But with her teeth chattering as they got in the car, he instead turned the heat up and yet again adjusted his expectations.
Ms. Howard was necessitating quite the number of adjustments.
She was nothing like what he had pictured when he’d spoken to her on the phone yesterday.
Her Southern California accent was so reminiscent of the women he’d gone to school with as a suburban kid in Los Angeles that he’d assigned her a figure and persona to match.
Instead, stealing a glance at her through the corner of his eye as he drove them to his home, Benjamin could not remember ever meeting a single woman who looked like the one currently riding in his passenger seat.
Certainly not the entire package she presented—the remarkable eyes, the height, the willingness to push back at him.
Currently, she thrummed with a swirling blend of righteous indignation and professional poise he found mildly impressive.
Pulling into the circular driveway at the front entrance of the closest thing he had to a home anymore, he smiled when she let out a little gasp.
He was proud of his getaway in the trees, though no one had ever visited it.
The compound was a testament to all of the hard work he had done in his life to get there.
Going around the car, he opened her door and offered her his hand.
She took it, stepping outside to take the structure in.
Her palm slid into his, cool and smooth with a whisper of something that had him leaning in to hear before he had the presence of mind to pull back.
Ms. Howard did not appear to notice his proximity, however, her attention instead focused on his home.
The front entrance had been designed to inspire wonder, and it appeared to have done the job with Ms. Howard.
Her heavily lashed almond eyes widened as she stared.
The enormous building boasted beams that seemed to have to have come from trees from another epoch, their incredible girths anchored into equally massive rounded river stone bases. The real estate listing had described it as “an elegant log and stone cabin on a large private forested property outside of Aspen,” highlighting its classic exposed-beam design, vaulted ceilings and rich natural materials.
He’d purchased it on sight, feeling instant ease with its immensity and lack of facade.
Growing up in a city that grew illusions, he had longed for authenticity.
It pleased him that Ms. Howard was impressed.
Closing her car door behind her, he then led her through the front door and into the vast foyer with its wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that stared out into miles and miles of forest.
To offset some of the heavy, closed-in feeling that log cabins—even enormous ones—could sometimes have, he’d had his designers incorporate white accent walls of smooth adobe throughout the home, their rough natural surfaces blending well with the thick rounded beams of the mountain estate.
He had also added more than two dozen new windows and skylights to the existing impressive number, brightening the interior and bringing even more of the vast forest into the many hallways, dining rooms and sitting rooms that he now led her through.
He did not give her a tour, though.
As much as he was enjoying her little noises of astonishment and awe, she was not here to look at his house.
She was here to work.
To that end, passing several sitting and specialty rooms and hallways without comment, he brought her to his office.
Located in the deep interior of the sprawling chalet, Benjamin’s office was connected to his personal suite via thick French doors that were currently closed.
He had had the private wing of the cabin remodeled to meet his exact specifications, including the office.
The desk was his preferred height, built into a bay of windows that overlooked the forest.
Built-in bookshelves lined the walls, fabricated to the exact size required to house his favorite works.
A fireplace and seating area were set up in the corner for his comfort.
His office space was more closed in and cozier than much of the home, which he preferred.
Closed-in and cozy reminded him of where he had come from. It connected him to the drives of a younger, poorer version of himself.
His office reminded him that he had achieved what he had because it had been his parents’ dream that the world know his name—not because he was trying to be someone he was not.
Whether he was one of the most powerful men in the world or, as he had been when they were alive to bear witness, one of the most anonymous—he knew who he was and he was comfortable with it.
Ms. Howard, however, appeared to be less moved by his most revealing space than she had been by the rest of the house.
She likely saw only that it was less awe-inspiring than the other areas, not realizing that it represented the essence of him.
To her, in all likelihood, it was merely the room that housed a desk and computer.
She wouldn’t necessarily see that the computer and what he did with it were worth more than the entire compound—as well as the reason he could afford it all in the first place.
“This is where we’ll be working,” he said, observing her as he spoke. “You can sit there.”
He pointed to a chair at his left.
Ms. Howard nodded and went to the seat, placing her teal box on the desk to the side of her shoulder bag.
The bag had seen better days.
Unlike the foundation’s previous events director, a woman who had owned a seemingly endless supply of immaculate designer briefcases and handbags, Ms. Howard’s accessory had cracks in the leather of its handles and fraying seams.
In fact, like the rest of her attire, it appeared rather threadbare.
“What’s in the box?” he asked, unable to keep a taut note from entering his voice as he took a seat at her side.
“Oh,” she said, taking a quick glance at the box as if she had momentarily forgotten about it. “Doughnuts from Grease Monkey. It’s the new it spot in LA.”
Lifting a brow, he remained silent, staring at her for a moment before smirking at the direction of his thoughts.
She would have no idea bringing doughnuts would touch a nerve.
She was probably just eager to impress.
“Do you usually go through a box of doughnuts in a two-hour meeting?”
A frown swept across her brow at his question. “Absolutely not.”
He chuckled. “So they’re for me, then?”
Shaking her head in another quick negative, Ms. Howard denied quickly once again, “No.”
“Then who were you hoping to impress with doughnuts from LA’s latest hot spot?”
Frown deepening, Ms. Howard looked around as if she expected someone to appear in the deep inner sanctum of his house. “They’re for your family. With the holidays kicking off tonight, I thought...”
Benjamin stilled.
She had brought doughnuts for the loved ones that she assumed he would be around for the holidays.
It was a sweet gesture.
There was just no one left in the world that he loved.
He had been blessed with two sets of adoring parents in his life—and he had lost them both.
Neither set had left him with any grandparents, cousins, aunts or uncles, and being twice orphaned had left him leery of going for a third shot and making a family of his own.
And if all of that meant an isolated existence for him, it also meant there was no family to compete with his work for his time.
There was no one to make demands of him, no one to disappoint.
He could disappear into the woods and no one would come looking for him.
He could lose himself in work and no one would find him.
But, of course, she wouldn’t know any of that.
And he intended to keep it that way.
Mystery was more powerful than pity.
For anyone to pity him was absurd.
He had been blessed with more love, happiness and success in a single lifetime than the vast majority of humans on the planet.
What did it matter if all that remained now was success?
Concealing his thoughts behind a polite smile, Benjamin did not answer the unspoken question about his family. Instead, he commented, “Thoughtful of you. Obvious, but thoughtful.”
Ms. Howard whipped around to face him, her eyes widening at him in offense in the process.
He wanted her offended. Offended was better than curious about his life.
She opened her mouth, but he spoke before she could. “I’ve buzzed my assistant to retrieve them. I’m sure they’ll be appreciated.”
He did not mention by whom.
She need not know they would simply be set out for his staff to enjoy at a later time.
“Shall we get started, Ms. Howard?” he asked.
She gave a decisive nod, then reached into her bag to pull out a dinosaur of a laptop. Setting up in front of her, she opened the ancient device and began a slow process of starting it up and loading programs. “What’s the Wi-Fi password?” she asked without looking at him, and Benjamin was amused.
He appreciated these brief moments in which she seemed to forget just who he was and treated him like a colleague, as opposed to her wealthy supervisor.
He answered her question as he continued to observe her.
She opened impressive, color-coded spreadsheets, electronic brochures and a number of emails.
Her fingers flew across her keyboard at an administrative clip, her well-shaped nails just long enough to click against the keys.
Her hands were softly padded and elegant, her simple manicure tasteful if not of the highest end, fingers moving with confidence and assuredness.
She continued to prepare, focused on the work in front of her, until his assistant arrived to remove the doughnuts.
At the interruption, Ms. Howard looked up with a smile and a warm, “Thank you.”
As she spoke, her cheeks lifted, her entire countenance brightening with the expression, and Benjamin found himself momentarily surprised, right alongside his assistant.
That Ms. Howard’s smile was enough to stop even his hatchet assistant in her tracks, an aging mountain woman who utterly lacked a sense of romance, spoke to its power.
Turning to Benjamin, Ms. Howard’s expression transitioned to one of focused seriousness, her eyebrows drawn slightly together as she asked, “Where would you like to begin, Mr. Silver?”
But though he had recovered from her arresting smile, Benjamin nonetheless did not answer her immediately.
Before that, he slid out the chair beside her and took it, reaching forward to press the subtle round button in the desk’s surface. Soundlessly, a panel in the center of the desk opened and his large, thin monitor rose from its compartment within the desk.
“Let’s begin with the venue,” he said before booting up his own system with the voice command, “Load!”
The system, and the wealth of very proprietary coding contained within it, was programmed to respond only to his voice. For additional security, his keypad, which rose from its own panel within the desk at his word, responded to his fingerprints alone.
He was a man who appreciated his privacy, his security and his world programmed exclusively to himself.
Fortunately, he had enough money to ensure all three.
With his system up and running, he turned back to Ms. Howard, covering the strange jolt he had felt each time he laid eyes on her with a frown.
“Where are we with that? Concept? Progress? All of it in two minutes,” he commanded.
Frown flashing across her own face, Ms. Howard turned her gaze to the many tabs, images and pdfs open on the screen in front of her. With a faint shake of her head her eyes flashed from detail to detail, the wheels of her mind obviously turning as she bent herself to the unexpected task of trying to so succinctly summarize the bulk of her work for the foundation thus far.
