“Maybe I just don’t like you,”

she said, hoping he didn’t hear the quiver in her voice, or feel her hands trembling.

He shook his head. “Nah, that can’t be it. I mean, look at me. I’m handsome, and rich.”

“And modest.”

He grinned. “Exactly. What’s not to like.”

She had the feeling he wasn’t nearly as arrogant and shallow as he wanted her to believe, that maybe it was some sort of … defence mechanism. And boy did she know about those.

“Admit it,” he said. “You like me.”

“You’re my boss,” she said, but it came out all soft and breathy.

His eyes locked on hers. “Not after we walked out of the building.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the fourth and final Black Gold Billionaire! I can hardly believe it’s over already. In my eight years as a published author I’ve never had so much fun writing a set of books. These guys—and gals—have really challenged me, and I just loved telling their individual stories. And I must admit that, while I find Adam, Emilio and Nathan exceptional in their own ways, Jordan holds a special place in my heart. He’s a little arrogant, but he doesn’t take himself too seriously and he has a wicked sense of humor. He also manages to draw Plain Jane Monroe out of her shell. I think you’ll enjoy their love story, and also find a few interesting surprises along the way.

As I write this, I’m already plotting out my next series, which might take place in Chicago, and may involve babies. But you’ll just have to wait and see …

Best,

Michelle

About the Author

Bestselling author MICHELLE CELMER lives in southeastern Michigan with her husband, their three children, two dogs and two cats. When she’s not writing or busy being a mom, you can find her in the garden or curled up with a romance novel. And if you twist her arm really hard, you can usually persuade her into a day of power shopping.

Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.michellecelmer.com, or write her at PO Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017.

Much More
than a Mistress
Michelle Celmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my Pumpkin Cookies

One

You can do this.

Jane Monroe walked from the parking lot to the front entrance of Western Oil’s corporate headquarters, a legion of mutant butterflies doing the conga on her insides. She stopped just shy of the double glass doors and sucked in a breath of cool January air, flexing the jitters from her fingers.

In her first six months at Edwin Associates Investigation Services, she had logged hundreds of computer hours conducting background checks, tracking down deadbeat dads and finding assets hidden by cheating ex-husbands. When anyone needed legal advice, she was the woman to ask. And it had all been leading up to this very moment.

Her first undercover assignment.

Shivering from a combination of nerves and the brisk wind against her sheer nylons, she huddled down into her coat collar and wobbled into the lobby on four-inch heels. She passed through the metal detectors, flashing the ID badge that would allow her to move freely throughout the building, even in areas reserved for the highest ranking employees.

She passed a bustling coffee shop on her way to the elevator, joining the flow of bodies as she stepped on, pressing the button for the third floor where she would report to Human Resources.

Some people, her parents and siblings in particular, would have considered her position at Edwin Associates a waste of her law degree. Which was why she hadn’t exactly been honest about where she was working. They thought she was employed in the law department of a local corporation. It saved her a whole lot of headache that way. But when she cracked this case, and was made a full-fledged investigator, she could finally come clean.

How could they be anything but impressed to learn that she had been working undercover in the office of billionaire Jordan Everette, Chief Operations Officer of Western Oil, a man suspected of taking bribes and sabotage.

She won this case by default. The secretary she was replacing went into labor early, and the investigator who was supposed to be assigned to the case was stuck in another undercover position. It was her one and only chance to prove herself. She simply could not screw this up.

The agency was putting together a profile on Jane’s target, but it wouldn’t be messaged to her apartment until that evening. Until then, she would be flying blind. She’d never even seen a photo of her new “boss,” much less met the man, but considering his position in the company she had already formed a mental picture. Late forties to early fifties, probably balding and thick around the middle from many too rich foods and malt scotch. A golf playing, cigar smoking man’s man.

Jane tugged at the hem of the body-hugging, thigh-high skirt that was a complete departure from the conservative suits she normally wore. It had been assumed that a man like Mr. Everette, a confirmed bachelor who supposedly subscribed to the girl-of-the-month club, would be much more receptive to short skirts and spike heels than trousers and leather loafers. So she, the socially challenged geek who hadn’t gone on her first real date until her second year of college, would be playing the role of the sexy temp secretary.

Even she hadn’t been sure if she could pull it off, but after a weekend makeover that included a day in the stylist’s chair, a crash course with a makeup artist, trading her glasses for contact lenses, and a trip to Macy’s for a new work wardrobe, she was a little stunned to realize that she actually looked … sexy. When she’d stopped into work on her way to Western Oil to pick up her security badge, the girl at the front desk hadn’t even recognized her, and heads had literally turned as she’d walked through the building to her boss’s office.

She had driven to Western Oil feeling a confidence that was completely foreign to her. Right up until the second she stepped out of the car and let herself consider just how important this assignment could be.

Cracking this case would finally make her superiors take her seriously, and hopefully bring her that much closer to a corner office and an eventual partnership in what was a primarily male-dominated firm. Not only did she intend to be the first woman ever to make partner, but the youngest associate to climb the ranks as well.

More like claw her way up, she thought wryly, which would be so much easier now with her new, siren-red acrylic nails.

The elevator stopped at the third floor and Jane walked down the hall to the HR office. She checked in at the desk and was told to take a seat. She took off her coat and sat in one of the hard plastic chairs. Only a few minutes passed before a sharply dressed, stern-looking older woman stepped into the waiting room. “Miss Monroe?”

Jane shot to her feet. Though undercover work often meant using an assumed name, for this particular position it was decided that she would stick as closely as possible to the actual details of her life. Not that she anticipated having deep and meaningful conversations with her new boss. But the fewer fabrications, the fewer she had to remember.

The woman gave Jane a quick once-over, one brow slightly raised, then shook her hand. “Welcome to Western Oil. I’m Mrs. Brown. I’ll be showing you around. Would you follow me, please?”

Jane grabbed her coat and followed Mrs. Brown back down the hall to the elevator, her shoes pinching her toes to within an inch of their lives, making her long for a pair of her comfortable, low-heeled pumps.

“I’m assuming the temp agency gave you a copy of the office policies.”

“Of course.” In fact, she had memorized it. Other than Edwin Associates, Jane had never had a job outside of the family law practice. She’d worked there summers and after school since she was fourteen, and for five miserable years after getting her law degree before she’d had the guts to quit and follow her dream of being a P.I.

They stepped on the elevator and Mr. Brown hit the button for the top floor—the executive level—and Jane’s heart climbed up into her throat. She was so nervous she could barely breathe. Or maybe the lack of oxygen was due to the underwire push-up bra digging into her rib cage.

The elevator opened to another security station.

“This is Miss Monroe,” Mrs. Brown told the guard sitting there. “She’ll be temping for Mr. Everette.”

His badge said his name was Michael Weiss. He was twenty-something with military-short blond hair, built like a tank, and armed to the teeth.

“Welcome, Miss Monroe,” he said with a nod, glancing subtly at her legs, which in the spiked heels looked miles longer than they actually were. At five feet seven inches no one could accuse her of being short, but now she felt like an Amazon. “Can I see your badge, please?”

She unclipped it from her lapel and handed it to him. He inspected it, jotted something on his clipboard, then handed it back. “Keep this clearly displayed at all times. You won’t be allowed on the floor without it.”

Security sure was tight. Understandably so, considering the combined net worth of the men working on that floor.

“This way,” Mrs. Brown said, and as they walked through the double glass doors to the executive offices Jane could swear she felt the guard’s gaze settle on her behind. She wasn’t used to men looking at her butt, or any other part of her for that matter. Most men didn’t give her so much as a passing glance. It was as if she was invisible—so drab and boring she faded into the woodwork. In high school the other kids called her “Plain Jane.”

Not very original, but hurtful just the same. To finally be noticed was a little … exciting. Even if the woman people were noticing wasn’t really her. Out of this costume she was the same old uninteresting Jane Monroe.

They entered another lobby area and stopped at the reception desk.

“This is Miss Monroe, Mr. Everette’s temp,” Mrs. Brown told the woman sitting there, then she shot Jane a dismissive, borderline-hostile glance, and walked back out the door.

The woman behind the desk rolled her eyes and shook her head at Mrs. Brown’s retreating form and mumbled in a thick Texas drawl, “Thank you, Miss Congeniality.” She rose from her chair and smiled at Jane. She was short and cute, and on the plump side. “I’m Jen Walters. Welcome to the top floor, Miss Monroe.”

“Hi Jen.” Jane shook the hand she offered. “You can call me Jane.”

She looked Jane up and down, shook her head and said, “Oh honey, the other girls are going to hate you.”

Hate her? Her heart sank. “They hate all temps?”

“All temps who are as pretty as you are.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. She didn’t have a clue what to say. It was the first time in her life anyone accused her of being too pretty. And she had no idea why they would hate her for that.

Jen laughed and patted her arm. “I’m jokin’, hon! They won’t hate you. We’re a friendly bunch up here.”

That was a relief. She wasn’t here to make friends, but it wouldn’t be much fun working in a place where no one liked her.

“I’m really not that pretty,” she told Jen.

Jen laughed again. “Do you not own a mirror? You’re gorgeous. And I would kill for your figure. I’ll bet you’re one of those naturally skinny girls.”

“If by naturally skinny you mean no bust or hips.” And what breasts she did have hadn’t come in until her senior year of high school.

She lowered her voice and said, “Take it from me, big boobs are not all they’re cracked up to be.”

Jane smiled, and realized that although she had walked onto the floor trembling with nerves, Jen had put her completely at ease.

“Why don’t I show you around and get you settled. Mr. Everette is in a meeting, but he should be out soon.”

Jen showed her where the break room and restrooms were located, introduced her to the other secretaries on the floor—all of whom seemed very nice and did not seem to hate her—then showed her to her desk.

“Tiffany left you detailed instructions of your duties and how Mr. Everette likes things done,” Jen told her, gesturing to the typed pages on the blotter next to a top-of-the-line flat-panel computer monitor. “She was hoping to be here to break in the temp, but her water broke at work two days ago. She wasn’t due for another two weeks.”

Jane looked at the chair, then back up at Jen. “Her water broke here?’’

Jen laughed. “Not here in the office. She was walking from her car to the building.”

Well, that was good. “I guess babies can be unpredictable like that,” she said, not that she had any experience with them. Though both her brothers were married they hadn’t started families yet, and like Jane, her sister was too career-oriented to even think about marriage, much less a baby. And being the baby of the family, Jane had no younger siblings.

“Mr. Everette’s calls have been rerouted to my desk. I’ll give you a couple of hours to get settled then have them sent to you.”

“Thanks for showing me around,” she said.

“Sure thing, honey. Call me if you have any questions. My number is in the office directory.”

When she was gone, Jane peeked into her boss’s office. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined two of the four sides, and overlooked the skyline of El Paso.

A corner office. Nice.

She hung her purse and coat in the closet then sat at her desk, setting her cell phone in the top drawer. She booted up the computer and unclipped the list Tiffany had typed up. It was pretty basic stuff—how Mr. Everette liked the phone answered, what he took in his coffee, who he took calls from on the spot and who was an auto callback—one being his mother, she noticed. Nothing she couldn’t handle easily. There was also a list of numbers that included his housecleaning service, his laundry service and reservation lines for a dozen of the finest restaurants in the greater El Paso area. Clearly she would be handling some of the personal aspects of his life as well as the professional, which could only work in her favor.

She considered going through the files on the computer, on the very rare possibility that there might be something there to incriminate him, but as she ran her tongue across her upper lip, she realized that in her nervousness, she’d chewed off all of her lipstick. It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to freshen up before her boss came in.

She grabbed her purse and headed down the hall to the ladies’ room. As she suspected, her lipstick was pretty much gone, so she drew on a fresh layer then gave her face a light dusting with the mineral powder the makeup artist swore by. It did give her skin a smooth, almost ethereal look. Although at twenty-eight—make that twenty-nine tomorrow—she wasn’t exactly covered in wrinkles. But it did cover the freckles that had been the bane of her existence since middle school. It had been hard enough being two years younger than her classmates, and even worse looking it. She never imagined makeup could make such a difference in the way she looked. She had tried it once before. She was an awkward and geeky twelve-year-old, and had gotten into the makeup case her sister had left in the bathroom that they shared. Thinking she had done a pretty good job, she showed her sister, who had dissolved into hysterics at how ridiculous she looked. Then she had dragged Jane in front of their brothers who also laughed at her. She ran sobbing to her mother, who, instead of offering comfort, told Jane she had to toughen up, and face the fact that some girls just didn’t look good wearing makeup. And as a former Miss Texas, her mother knew a thing or two about fashion and beauty.

It was the first and last time Jane ever tried that.

She didn’t doubt that she’d probably looked a bit like a clown, but instead of pulling her aside and trying to teach her the right way, her sister had felt the need to boost her own ego—which was as overinflated then as it was today—and ridicule Jane instead.

She finished her face, studied her reflection, and smiled. She did look really nice. But she wouldn’t get much work done if she spent the day gazing at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

She stopped in the break room to grab a cup of coffee, then headed back to her desk. When she walked through the door and realized someone was already sitting there, she stopped so abruptly she sloshed coffee onto her fingers.

Thinking she must have walked into the wrong office by mistake, she shot a quick glance to the the name on the door, but this was definitely the right place. So who was the man sitting at her desk?

He was lounging back in her chair, his designer shoe–clad feet propped on the desk surface, reading the list Tiffany had left. He wore typical office attire, sans the jacket, and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled to his elbows. His hair was dark blond and stylishly short, and he had the sort of boyish good looks that made a girl swoon. Which was exactly what she felt like doing.

The question was, who was he and why he was in her office?

“Can I help you?” she asked.

The man looked up at her with a pair of deep-set, soul-warming hazel eyes and a grin that could stop traffic, and her heart actually flipped over in her chest. Who was this guy and where could she get one?

“I certainly hope so,” he said, dropping his feet to the carpet and rising from the chair. She was at least 5’11” in her heels and she had to look up to meet his eyes. He was tall and lean and work-out-in-the-gym-every-morning fit.

“You must be the new temp,” he said, reaching across the desk to shake her hand, which was still gripping the cup of coffee and damp from the sloshing. She quickly switched the cup to the opposite hand, wiped the damp one on her skirt and took his hand. It was big and warm and surprisingly rough for such a polished-looking guy.

His grip was firm and confident and she could swear she felt the effects all the way to her knees. She also didn’t miss the way he gave her a quick once-over, one brow slightly raised.

“I’m Jane Monroe,” she said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jane Monroe.”

No, the pleasure was definitely hers, though she still didn’t have clue who he was.

“By the way,” he said. “Someone named Mary called.”

Her heart stalled. Her sister Mary? How could she possibly have known where Jane was working? Her family didn’t even know she was working for Edwin Associates. “She called here?’’

“Your cell,” he said, opening the top drawer and holding up her cell phone.

“You answered my phone?” Who the hell did this guy think he was? And how could she be so stupid as to leave it unattended in her desk with the ringer on?

“Actually, it went to voice mail before I found it in the drawer. But the display said it was Mary.”

Whoever this guy was, he had a lot of nerve. “Do you make it a habit of snooping through people’s private property?”

He shrugged. “Only if I think I’ll find something interesting.”

That was not the answer she expected. “Who are you?”

“You don’t know?”

“Should I?”

The smile went from curious to amused. “I’m Jordan Everette, Miss Monroe. Your new boss.”

Two

“M-Mr. Everette,” Miss Monroe stammered, the color draining from her flawlessly painted face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“Not quite what you expected, I guess,” Jordan said.

She shook her head, pulling her full bottom lip between her teeth.

Well, neither was she. In fact, he was surprised that anyone had shown up at all.

“So, the temp agency sent you?” he asked.

“That’s right.”

Funny, he had called the agency Friday afternoon to see what was taking so long—usually they had a temp to his office within hours of the request—but they had no record of a request ever being submitted. Yet here she was, bright and early Monday morning, standing in his office.

For a couple of weeks now there had been a strange vibe in the office. Something was just … off. He could only assume that the focus of the investigation into the explosion at the refinery had now moved from his employees to him.

After six years of loyal service, and three as Chief Operations Officer, he would have thought Adam Blair, Western Oil’s current CEO, would trust him by now. And if they had concerns, why not just ask him? Why this elaborate charade?

Because if they mistrusted him enough to think he could do this sort of thing—put his workers’ lives in jeopardy—they probably didn’t think he would tell the truth if confronted. So instead they hired someone to do what? Seduce it out of him? He couldn’t imagine another reason they would send a woman who looked as though she moonlighted as a runway model.

Did they really think he was that shallow?

They obviously thought a lot less of him than he did of them. He would have at least hoped that his brother Nathan, the Chief Brand Officer, would come clean and tell him the truth. If he even knew, that is. Hell, for all Jordan knew Adam could be investigating him too. Maybe even Emilio Suarez, the CFO.

The weight of the betrayal sat like a stone in his gut, but his options were limited. He could confront Adam and put an end to the investigation, but that might only make him appear as if he had something to hide. He couldn’t let anything, not even his pride, interfere with his chance at the coveted CEO position Adam would be vacating soon. His only choice was to cooperate with their investigation.

Of course, that didn’t mean he was going to make it easy for his new “secretary.” Knowing who she was and why she was there, he could manipulate the situation, control the information she obtained. Let her see only what he wanted her to see. Not that they were going to find anything incriminating, because he hadn’t done anything wrong. But there were certain aspects of his life—financial ones in particular—that he preferred to keep private.

“Here,” Jordan said, backing away from her chair. “Have a seat.”

Smiling nervously, Miss Monroe rounded the desk. “Can I get you a cup of coff—” The toe of one spike-heeled “do-me” shoe caught on the desk leg and she lurched forward. She grabbed the corner of the desk in her attempt to catch her fall, but the foam cup she was holding in the opposite hand went airborne. And hit him square in the chest.

Miss Monroe gasped in horror, slapping a hand over her crimson-painted mouth as coffee soaked not only his shirt, but the carpet where he was standing. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I just did that.”

She looked frantically around for something to clean up the mess and spotted a box of tissues on the desk. She lunged for it, ripping out a handful and shoving them at him. “Mr. Everette, I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, wiping up the coffee dripping from his chin. Not the most graceful runway model, was she?

She gestured helplessly at his damp shirt. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I keep an extra shirt in the closet for emergencies. You could grab it for me while I clean up.”

“Of course,” she said, scrambling for the closet.

Jordan walked to the bathroom in his office, unbuttoning his shirt. Some of the coffee had hit his pants too, but as luck would have it, he’d worn his brown suit that morning.

He dropped his shirt on the bathroom floor, and peeled his coffee-soaked undershirt over his head. Maybe she wasn’t an agency operative after all. Or was this just all part of a clever disguise? A ruse to throw him off the trail?

“Mr. Everette?” she called from his office.

“In here.” He wet a washcloth in the sink and wiped the coffee from his face and chest.

“Here’s your …”

Jordan turned to see Miss Monroe in the bathroom doorway, eyes wide and fixed somewhere between his neck and his belt. She blinked and quickly looked away, a red hue creeping up from the neckline of her blouse. Why would an above-average-looking woman who practically oozed sexuality blush at the sight of a shirtless man?

Interesting.

Eyes averted, she held out the hanger with his clean shirt. “Here you go.”

He took it, brushing his fingers against hers as he did, and she jerked her hand away.

Very interesting.

“Are you going to fire me?” she asked.

Why bother? They would just send a new agency person in.

“Did you do it on purpose?” he asked.

She blinked in surprise and cut her eyes to him. “Of course not!”

He hooked the hanger on the towel rack, tugged the clean undershirt free and pulled it over his head. “Then why would I fire you?”

She pulled her lip between her teeth again, and it brought to mind nibbling on a plump red cherry. He wondered if she had the slightest clue how sexy she looked when she did that. The coy bit had to be an act.

He pulled on his shirt and buttoned it. “In answer to your question, yes.”

“My question?”

“I would love a cup of coffee. Although this time I’d rather not wear it.”

Her lips tilted into an embarrassed smile. “Of course.”

“My cup is on my desk.” He unfastened his belt and the button on his pants so he could tuck in his shirt, stifling a grin when she quickly looked away again.

“I—I’ll go get it now,” she said, tripping over her own foot in her haste to get away.

He had the feeling that, until she discovered that the evidence she was hoping to find didn’t exist and gave up, he could have an awful lot of fun at her expense.

The spike heels had been a really bad idea, Jane decided as she grabbed Mr. Everette’s World’s Best Boss cup from his desk and hurried to the break room, heart pounding from a combination of her own horrifying ineptitude and supreme lack of grace, and the sight of her new boss standing shamelessly bare-chested in her presence.

Not that he had anything to be ashamed of. His body—what she could see of it anyway—was a work of art. And she was betting that the bottom half was no less awe-inspiring. So much for her theory that he was middle-aged and fat. That’s what she got for drawing hasty conclusions.

Some vampy, sex goddess secretary she’d turned out to be. She couldn’t have made more of an ass out of herself if she’d dressed like a clown and donned a squeaky red nose. Proof that despite her physical transformation, deep down she was just as geeky and awkward as ever. Had she been completely fooling herself to believe that she could handle an undercover position?

She poured the coffee and added a teaspoon of creamer, mentally shaking away those negative thoughts. She could do this, damn it. She was good enough. She had been working up to this for months. Failure was not an option.

Squaring her shoulders, she carried the coffee back to Mr. Everette’s office. She rapped lightly on the door before stepping inside, grateful to see that he was fully clothed and sitting at his desk. He was also on the phone, meaning she didn’t have to talk to him. It was both a disappointment and a relief. If she was going to glean the information necessary for the investigation, she was going to have to talk to the man. Get to know him. Earn his trust.

He gestured her over, telling the caller, “I’m sure it was just an oversight.”

She crossed the room, the cup cradled gingerly in both palms, and set it on his desk. She started to turn, but he held up a hand, signaling her to wait. “Yes, Mother, I promise I’ll talk to him today.” He paused, looking exasperated, then said, “Well, in all fairness, you ditched us on Christmas. Can you blame Nathan if he’s feeling bitter?”

She could only assume he was talking about his brother Nathan, who was the CBO of Western Oil. Having worked closely with her own siblings for years, she knew how complicated the family dynamic could be. Especially when one broke tradition and made the decision to leave the fold to pursue their own aspirations. Not that she had a clue how the Everette family got along. Although most men in a decent relationship with their mother wouldn’t have them on an auto callback list.

“The fact that he was a baron doesn’t make it okay,” he said, holding up a finger to indicate that it would be just one more minute. “I have to go, Mother, I—” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I will talk to him. I promise.” Another short pause then, “Okay, Mother. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone, blew out an exasperated breath and looked up at Jane. “Do you get along with your mother, Miss Monroe?”

The question threw her, and it took her a second to regroup. It wasn’t that she didn’t get along with her parents. They just refused to accept that they didn’t know what was better for her than she did. And she couldn’t help wondering why he cared about her relationship with her mother. “It’s … complicated.”

“Well, mine is a gigantic pain in the ass. She’s a master manipulator and will browbeat you to within an inch of your life to get what she wants. You have to be firm and direct or she will walk all over you.”

“I understand,” she said, although firm and direct were never two of her strong suits. Her own family had been walking all over her for years. But she had broken the cycle, hadn’t she? Well, for the most part anyway. She tended to just avoid them now. And, yes, bent the truth when it made her life easier.

“Would you mind pouring that coffee into a travel mug?” he asked. “There should be one in the cabinet over by the wet bar.”

“Of course.” She carried his cup to the bar across the room, asking casually, “Are you leaving?”

“I have a meeting at the refinery.”

That would give her time to snoop in his office. Her heart surged with nervous energy. She found the cup where he’d indicated and as she poured the coffee in, her hands were shaking.

Relax, she told herself, taking a deep breath.

She could just imagine how impressed her superiors would be if she were able to bring them valuable information on her very first day. Then they would have to take her seriously.

It took a couple of tries but she secured the top on the cup and turned, jerking with surprise when she almost ran face-first into Mr. Everette. He was so close, she could smell the soapy-fresh scent of his skin. If the cup hadn’t had a lid, they would probably both be wearing coffee this time.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, but the grin he wore said otherwise. Was he teasing her? Were the makeup and the clothes actually working?

He took the cup from her, the tips of his fingers brushing against hers as he did and she tried not to flinch. He set it on the counter beside the sink. “I think we’d all be safer if you didn’t carry that around.”

She felt herself blushing. “Sorry.”

With a grin that was nothing short of adorable, he stepped past her to the closet next to the bathroom and pulled out his coat.

“Is there anything you need me to do while you’re gone?” she asked as he shrugged into it.

“Just man the phones and take the day to get settled in. Familiarize yourself with the computer. I have a lunch meeting at twelve-thirty so I should be back sometime before two.”

Which would give her lots of time to snoop. No, not snoop … investigate. She had to start thinking like a pro, using the appropriate lingo. She had to play the part, even in her own mind. If she didn’t take herself seriously, no one would.

“I should take you out sometime,” he said.

She blinked. Did he seriously just ask her on a date? And how was she supposed to respond to that? What would a sophisticated woman of the world say?

All she could manage was a befuddled, “Um …”

“I’m assuming you’ve never been to a refinery.”

Oh, he wanted to take her to the refinery. That made a lot more sense. “No, never.”

“It’s an impressive operation,” he said, and she must have looked wary, because he added, “and contrary to what you’ve probably seen on the news, it’s completely safe.”

She had heard negative press about the incident at the refinery, but the agency had several employees working undercover directly on the line, and as far as she was aware, none of them had ever reported being in any danger. Sure, this was a high-profile case, but the other agents would never be sent into a situation that could cause them physical harm.

“I’d love to see it,” she said.

“I’m there several days a week, so maybe the next time I go.” He glanced at the platinum Rolex on his left wrist. “I’m late. If there’s anything pressing while I’m gone, or something you aren’t sure about, feel free to call my cell.”

“I will.” She handed him his cup, careful to avoid his fingers this time because frankly, she was nervous enough without all the intimate contact.

Cup in hand, he headed for the door. She followed him, stopping at her desk.

“By the way,” he said, stopping in the doorway and gesturing the coffee stain on the carpet. “Call janitorial to take care of that.”

“I will.” Later.

He flashed her one last knee-melting smile, then left.

Here we go.

She stood there and counted to sixty, gauging the amount of time it would take him to get to the elevator and get inside, then she walked down the hall. The elevator doors were just closing as she stepped into the reception area.

“Did Mr. Everette leave yet?” she asked Jen.

“You just missed him, hon.”

“Well, darn,” she said, pretending to be discouraged.

“Did he forget something?” She put her hand on the phone. “Should I call down to the guard post in the lobby?”

“That’s okay. It’s nothing urgent. I just had a question, but it can wait until he gets back.” It was a lie, of course. She just needed to be sure that he was really gone.

Jen smiled. “How’s the first day going so far?”

With the exception of dumping hot coffee on her new boss and making a complete ass out of herself? “Pretty good.”

“If you’re interested, the secretaries are all going out for lunch today. You’re welcome to join us.”

She was inclined to say no, since she wanted to take as much time as possible in Mr. Everette’s office, but she didn’t want the other secretaries to think she was a snob either. She might learn something valuable from any one of them. Things that they may not even realize were important to the investigation.

She smiled and said, “I’d love to go. What time?”

“Noon. There’s a café across the street. Just a few minutes’ walk. The temperature is supposed to climb to forty, so it shouldn’t be too cold.”

“Sounds great,” she said, cringing inwardly. It wasn’t the cold she was worried about, but her aching feet. She should have brought a pair of flat shoes as a backup.

Jen smiled. “Great, see you at noon.”

Jane walked back to the desk and kicked off her shoes. She wanted to be able to move quickly, in case someone happened to come by. If someone did, and they asked what she was doing in Mr. Everette’s office, she would simply say that she’d spilled coffee on her jacket and was using the fabric stain remover she had seen on his bathroom shelf.

She opened the closet and rifled through her purse for the jump drive that Kenneth in Tech had given her at her briefing that morning. She was just hoping Mr. Everette’s computer wasn’t password protected. She doubted he would have any personal financial files at work, but she could at least get a look at his email. People sent personal emails from work all the time.

She slipped the jump drive in her pocket, heart pounding with both fear and excitement, and turned toward Mr. Everette’s office, but before she could take a step, the phone started to ring.

Damn it!

She picked it up. “Good morning, Mr. Everette’s office.”

“Miss Monroe, this is Bren, in Mr. Blair’s office. He’d like a word with you.”

Her heart jumped. Why would the CEO want to see her? Had she done something wrong?

Of course she hadn’t. Other than the coffee fiasco, that is, and unless they had a surveillance camera in her office, there was no way he could have found out about that. Maybe he just wanted to talk to her about the case. “I’ll be right down.”

She took the jump drive from her pocket and slipped it in the top drawer of her desk, crammed her feet back into her shoes and walked down to Mr Blair’s office at the opposite end of the hall.

“Go on in,” Mr. Blair’s secretary said. “They’re waiting for you.”

Jane stopped so abruptly she wobbled on her heels. “They?”

“Mr. Blair, Mr. Suarez and Mr. Everette.” She paused and said, “The other Mr. Everette.”

Suddenly Jane was having a tough time pulling in a full breath.

She thought she was just meeting with the CEO, which was intimidating enough. But to be in the same room with the CEO, CFO and CBO all at the same time? No wonder she felt faint. Meeting clients as a lawyer had never been a big deal, but then, she knew the law so well she could practice it in her sleep. The investigation business … not so much. She was still learning, and there was nothing she hated more than looking as though she didn’t know what she was talking about.

Bren must have sensed that she was on the verge of a panic attack because she flashed Jane a reassuring smile and said, “Don’t worry, they don’t bite.”

Jane tried to smile, when what she wanted to do was turn and run in the opposite direction.

“I’m sure they just want to ask you about the investigation.”

Jane blinked. “The what?”

“It’s okay, Miss Monroe. What Mr. Blair knows, I know.”

Mr. Blair obviously trusted his secretary implicitly, which could definitely work in Jane’s favor.

“You know,” Bren said, lowering her voice, “we all like and respect Mr. Everette, and no one wants to believe he could have anything to with the sabotage. The sooner this investigation is over with, the better. If there’s anything I can do to help, just say the word.”

“Thanks. And we’ll get to the bottom of this,” she told Bren, hoping to convey a competence she was nowhere close to feeling.

Jane turned to the door, pulled back her shoulders, and took a deep breath. “Well, I guess I’d better get in there.”

Bren smiled and said, “Good luck.”

Considering that her knees were actually knocking, she had the feeling she was probably going to need it.

Three

Like Mr. Everette, Mr. Blair had a corner office, but it was nearly twice the size and much more luxurious. Mr. Blair, whom she recognized from the television news stories that had run after the refinery explosion, sat behind his desk. He was dark-haired, conservatively handsome, and the touch of gray at his temples said he was probably in his early forties.

“Miss Monroe,” he said, rising from his chair, as did the man seated across from his desk. A third man stood by the window. “Come in. Close the door behind you.”

She did as he asked and crossed the room, hands trembling, palms sweaty, praying she didn’t trip and make a total fool of herself. Her toes were pinched so tight in her shoes that each step was torture.

Good lord, she was a wreck. She could only hope she didn’t look half as terrified as she felt.

“Miss Monroe, I’m Adam Blair, and this is Nathan Everette, our Chief Brand Officer.” Mr. Blair indicated the man by his desk, then he turned to the one by the window and said, “And this is Emilio Suarez, our Chief Financial Officer.”

She nodded to both men, who each gave her a very subtle once-over. Nathan Everette was darker than his brother, and a little larger in stature, but there was a strong family resemblance. Mr. Suarez was the utter epitome of tall, dark and handsome and of Hispanic descent. All three men were above-average in the looks department and she nearly felt faint from the ridiculously high level of testosterone in the room. She wondered if looking like a GQ cover model was prerequisite to their positions.

“Please, have a seat,” Mr. Blair said, indicating the chair next to Mr. Everette.

She sat primly on the edge. Mr. Blair and Mr. Everette both took their seats while Mr. Suarez remained standing, arms crossed, his expression dark. As an attorney, she had gotten pretty good at reading people and situations, and there was a definite negative vibe in the room.

“First off, I’d like to make it clear that none of us are happy about the need to investigate our colleague,” Mr. Blair said. “Your boss has assured me that this will be handled with the utmost care.”

“Absolutely,” she said, hoping they didn’t hear the quiver in her voice.

Mr. Blair leaned forward in his seat, folding his hands atop his desk. “He told me that the plan is for you to get to know Mr. Everette on a more … personal level. To be honest, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

Okay. Well, that was very … direct. She had barely begun the investigation and already they were unhappy.

She was so completely screwed.

She squared her shoulders and tried to sound as if she knew what she was talking about. “If Mr. Everette is involved in a conspiracy, chances are slim he would be foolish enough to keep any incriminating evidence at work. More than likely I’ll need access to his home.”

“And you’ll do that how?” Mr. Suarez asked. He didn’t outwardly suggest impropriety, but the implication was there. She tried not to take it personally. Actually, she felt sort of sorry for them. They were clearly distressed by what they had to do.

“It’s against agency policy to engage in activity that is illegal or unethical,” she told him.

Mr. Everette rubbed his forehead, looking pained. “I don’t like it.”

“Two weeks ago you and Jordan weren’t on speaking terms,” Mr. Suarez said.

Mr. Everette shot him a look. “It just seems so … underhanded. That doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me. And if it were one of my brothers being investigated I would probably be just as hesitant. But, Nathan, we don’t have a choice. We need to know, and we agreed this was the best way to handle the situation.”

“You all seem to respect Mr. Everette,” she said. “Why is it that you think he could have been the saboteur?”

“As you probably already know, a week before the explosion someone wired two hundred thousand dollars into Jordan’s account, and a few days later he wired thirty thousand dollars out. But we don’t know where the money came from, or who it went to.”

“So you think that someone paid him, and he paid someone else to tamper with the equipment.”

“That’s one possibility,” Adam said.

“Why? I’ve seen his financials. He’s not hurting for money.”

“Jordan is ambitious,” Adam said. “This happened before everyone learned the CEO position was opening up. Maybe he felt he’d hit a ceiling. Maybe someone made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, but expected something in return first.”

“And you believe he would put people’s lives in danger to further his career?” she asked.

“Maybe no one was meant to get hurt, but something went wrong,” Emilio suggested.

“If you’re right, and he got a better offer, why is he still here?”

“To avoid suspicion? Or maybe now that the CEO position is opening up, he has a reason to stay.”

“Or maybe,” Emilio offered, “since there were injuries, it killed the deal.”

All plausible scenarios. Especially if he was as ambitious as they all seemed to believe.

“That’s what we need you to find out,” Mr. Blair said, looking to Mr Everette. “And either we’re all in, or this stops today.”

Jane held her breath. Would her first undercover assignment be over before it started? If she blew this on the very first day, would her boss blame her? They might never give her another chance to work undercover. She needed to take the bull by the horns.

“Mr. Everette,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm, hoping he couldn’t sense her desperation. “I have three siblings myself, so I understand how difficult this must be for you. I’ll take whatever steps necessary to ensure that no one is hurt. You have my word.”

Mr. Everette glanced from her to his partners, looking conflicted. For a second she thought for sure he would refuse to cooperate, but he finally sighed and said, “Okay, lets do it.”

Jane breathed a silent sigh of relief. That was a close one.

Mr. Blair stood, which she took to mean that the meeting was over. She rose from her seat, her achy feet screaming in protest.

“If you need anything from us, don’t hesitate to ask,” he said. “We would like this resolved as soon as possible.”

Nodding to each man, she said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen,” then she turned and walked to the door, praying she didn’t trip on anything, and let herself out of the office, limp with relief. That had gone way better than she expected.

“Well?” Bren asked as Jane snapped the door shut behind her. She held up her thumb in an “okay” gesture, startled when the door opened behind her and Mr. Everette stepped out.

“My office, now,” he told Jane, and her heart immediately sank. Oh hell. Maybe the worst of it wasn’t over after all.

She followed him across the hall, knees knocking again. At this rate she was going to need a straightjacket before the day was over.

“Lynn, hold my calls,” he told his secretary, who looked surprised to see him with his brother’s secretary. Jane wondered if he realized that a move like this could very well blow her cover.

He gestured her into his office and stepped in behind her, closing the door. She actually flinched as it snapped shut. Was it possible that despite what he’d told his partners, he still wasn’t okay with the investigation? Did he intend on giving her a hard time?

He crossed the room to his desk and sat down. “Have a seat, Miss Monroe.”

She did as he asked, sitting on the edge of the chair across from his desk.

“In the interest of getting this investigation resolved as quickly as possible, there are a few things I should tell you about my brother.”

He wanted to help her? “Yes, please. Anything you think would be helpful.”

“I can only assume the agency is aware of my brother’s reputation as a womanizer, and that’s why they sent you.”

“That was the idea.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve caught his attention. You’re a very beautiful woman Miss Monroe, and please don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s going to take more than a pretty face and a tight skirt to keep him interested.”

Take it the wrong way? A gorgeous billionaire just called her beautiful and he thought she would be offended? If her feet weren’t so darned sore she might be turning cartwheels across his office.

“Do you have any advice as to what will keep him interested?”

“My brother loves a challenge, so don’t make it too easy for him. If you’re too aggressive, he’ll lose interest. Make him work for it. Play hard to get.”

Considering her pathetic lack of experience chasing the opposite sex, she liked the idea of letting Mr. Everette come to her.

“Also, he’ll find you measurably more appealing if you make it clear that you have no interest in any sort of commitment.”

She could definitely do that.

“But probably the most important thing to keep in mind is that my brother has a short attention span when it comes to the opposite sex. He’ll have expectations, and if they aren’t met, he’ll get bored pretty fast.”

Then she would have to work quickly. Because if he was talking about what she thought he was talking about, meeting those expectations was not even an option. She wanted to crack this case, but even she had limits. And even if she was that desperate, if her boss learned that she had slept with the subject of an investigation to get information, her career would be over.

“I’ll be honest, Miss Monroe. My brother and I don’t exactly see eye to eye on most things. The truth is, he can be an arrogant ass, but he’s not a bad person.”

“You protect him.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “For the life of me I don’t know why.”

“Because that’s what big brothers do. I know, I have two of them.” Although in her case, they didn’t just protect. They domineered.

Mr. Everette smiled. He wasn’t nearly as intimidating as she’d first thought. At first glance he seemed so dark and intense, but he definitely had a softer side. “With a sister as pretty as you, I’m sure it was a full-time job.”

Wow, she really liked this guy.

“Well,” he said, rising from his chair. “I’m glad we had this talk. But I should let you get back to work.”

She stood and smoothed her skirt back into place. “Thank you for the advice.”

He reached across the desk to shake her hand. His grip was firm and confident. “Good luck, Miss Monroe.”

She left Nathan Everette’s office feeling a lot less unsure of herself than when she’d walked into work that morning. The first day of her first undercover assignment may have had a bit of a bumpy start, but things were definitely looking up.

She hobbled back to her desk on her poor tortured feet, yet she felt a renewed confidence. If she could maintain her cool in a meeting with the CEO, CBO and CFO of a multibillion dollar corporation, she could handle just about anything.

When she got there she kicked off her shoes and opened her top drawer, fishing out the flash drive. It was time to go get some information.

“Is it my imagination or were you a lot taller the last time I saw you?”

At the sound of Mr. Everette’s voice she gasped in surprise and dropped the flash drive back in the drawer. She whipped around, slamming it shut with her backside. He stood in his office doorway, arms folded, leaning against the jamb. And he must have been back for some time because not only was his coat off, he’d removed his suit jacket as well. “You’re back early.”

“I made it as far as the lobby and got a call that the meeting was cancelled.”

If she hadn’t been called away, he would have without a doubt walked in on her “investigating.” The thought made her knees go weak. Next time she would have to make sure that he’d actually left the building before she set foot in his office.

“Imagine my surprise when I returned to find that my new secretary was already playing hooky.”

“N-no … I wasn’t …” She stopped and took a deep breath. What was the point of making excuses. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“Where were you?”

Okay, she could handle this. It was all about thinking on her feet, and being prepared. So of course her mind went instantly blank. “The, um … HR office.”

“Human resources?”

“Yes.”

“For …?”

“Paperwork. There was a form they forgot to have me sign.”

“And they stole your shoes while you were there?” he said, nodding to her stocking feet.

“No, of course not. They’re under my desk. They’re new and they were pinching my toes.” At least that much was the truth. “I can put them back on—”

“Oh no. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for your sore feet. Although maybe they would hurt less if you sat down.”

She lowered herself into her chair.

“I need to go talk to my brother,” he said, and before she could stop herself she sucked in a breath. Did he know she’d just been there?

No, of course he didn’t. How could he?

He gave her an odd look. “Problem?”

She gestured to her feet. “Sorry, sore toes.”

“As I was saying, I have to talk to my brother before my mother blows a gasket. But if anyone calls, I’m in a meeting.”

“Of course.”

With one last curious look her way, he walked out.

The man must have thought she was a loon.

Her cell phone started to ring and she pulled it out of the desk drawer, where she had left it again.

And it was her sister, Mary. Again. She pressed the talk button. “Hey Mary, what’s up?”

“You sure are tough to get ahold of,” Mary snapped in lieu of a hello.

Jane sighed. She had half a mind to just hang up on her. She wished she had the guts to do it, but things had been so strained lately already, she didn’t want to make it worse. Mary was just pissy because Jane was no longer around the office to do her grunt work. Despite having graduated with higher honors than every one of her siblings, and passing the bar with flying colors, up until the day Jane had left, they had continued to treat her like an intern.

“I’m at work. I haven’t had a chance to call you back.”

“Whatever,” she said, sounding like a spoiled adolescent. Though she was the older sister, she didn’t always act like it. “I’m just calling to remind you about this Friday.”

“What about it?”

She sighed dramatically. “Monthly dinner with the family, stupid.”

Jane ignored the “stupid” remark, because although Mary may have been prettier, and more outgoing and popular, they both knew Jane was smarter. Though sometimes that was more of a liability than a asset. Being the “smart and practical” sibling didn’t leave a lot of room for error.

“But we usually do that the last Friday of the month,” she told her sister. “That’s not until next week.”

“Don’t you remember, we decided to do it a week early because Will has a business trip the following week.”

“That’s news to me,” she said.

“I could swear we talked about it.”

“Nope.” But then, since she’d left the practice, there were a lot of things she didn’t hear about until the last minute because no one bothered to call her. She figured it was probably her punishment for deviating from their master plan.

“I’m sure I told you, but whatever. Mom booked our regular table at Via Penna. Seven o’clock.”

“I’ll try to be there.”

“You’ll try? What is your problem? You can’t even make time for your family anymore?”

“Jeez, Mary, don’t have a cow. I’ll definitely be there, okay?”

“I’ll see you Friday,” she said, then hung up without saying goodbye.

Jane grumbled to herself and tossed her phone back into the drawer, then pulled it back out, walked to the closet and dropped it into her purse. It didn’t occur to her until several minutes later that since her birthday was the following day, they were probably planning a party. That was probably the reason they were doing it a week early. No wonder Mary had been so insistent on her being there.

It didn’t excuse the curt conversation, or Mary’s bitchy attitude, but it made Jane feel a little better. And a little less like punching her sister in the nose the next time she saw her.

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