[Taken by the Millionaire 01] Hired for the Boss's Bed.pdf

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TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
To my editor Kimberley Young for persisting, my
agent Karen Solem for believing, and Rachel,
Gail, Lisa and Mika for making the difference.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
DON’T be such a baby. Feel the fear and, for God’s sake, do it anyway.
Resolved, Serena Stevens gulped down a breath, raised a trembling fist and almost, almost,
knocked on her boss’s imposing double doors. But why the early summons before she’d even
had time to hang her bag? Was it coincidence that today marked the end of her probation period?
Three months ago, David Miles, President of Miles Advertising Australia, had given Serena her
first real break. At twenty-four, with a marketing degree but no experience, she’d been thrilled.
But was Mr Miles unhappy with her performance as Junior Account Executive? Would he roll
back those impressive shoulders, furrow the steep slashes of his dark brows and level her with a
stern, disapproving look? Did he want to discuss a demotion?
Her stomach back-flipped and her hand dropped like a weight.
Not a dismissal!
Beyond anything, Serena wanted to prove herself. Growing up with the nickname Miss Least-
Likely-to-Succeed had not been pleasant. Chubby, self-conscious, a delayed dyslexia
diagnosis…school days were more forgettable than memorable. Thank God for her sense of
humour. Corrective tutoring, self-improvement books, grooming courses and perseverance had
eventually paid off. Now the sky was her limit!
Sydney, with its big-city verve, café-culture and holiday climate, would always be her true home.
But as a teen she’d felt so caged by her excess baggage and learning disability—add to that a
father who questioned her every decision—she’d vowed to some day break free and reach every
inch of her potential.
London, Paris, NewYork. Nothing and no one would hold her back. Who knew when or even if
she would ever return?
Serena pressed her lips together and kicked up her chin.
But first things first. She more than liked this job, she needed it. ‘Junior Account Exec’ not only
paid the bills, it was an important step in her climb to the top.
After ironing damp palms down the sides of her white jersey skirt, she crossed two fingers
behind her back and rapped on the timber. Before she could swallow the jet of nerves clogging
her throat, the right-side door swung open. She smiled too hard and said the first stupid thing that
popped into her head.
‘You rang?’
Mr Miles’ deep blue eyes sharpened and one eyebrow quirked before he gestured her in. ‘Ms
Stevens. Thanks for coming so quickly.’
Tugging each onyx cufflink in turn, he accompanied her to the guest chair adjacent his desk.
Cheeks burning, Serena slowly folded down as David Miles—top gun, millionaire, hunk—
sauntered around the bend of a long curved teak desk.
He ran a finger and thumb down an already perfectly aligned crimson tie, which complemented a
crisp white shirt. ‘You must be wondering why I asked to see you?’
Did she see thunderclouds brewing behind those sooty lashes? Serena smothered a sigh. No use
beating around the bush. If Mr Miles wanted to sack her, she might as well know now.
Heartbeat thudding in her ears, she watched him sit and draw in a high-backed chair. ‘Is it bad?’
A muscle leapt in the square line of his jaw as he collected a pen and tipped it like a see-saw
between middle finger and thumb. ‘The news, Serena, is partly bad. But partly very good.’
She eased out a breath. Not fatal then. Her hand loosened its vice-like grip on the chair’s armrest.
‘As long as I’m not queuing for a new job next week, that’s good enough for me.’
She couldn’t be sure, but that twitch of his lip might have been a smile.
He sat back, his coal-black hair a little spiky, as if he’d shovelled a hand through it just before
she’d arrived. ‘You’ve heard we’ve won the Hits account?’
She perked up. ‘The new music video programme? Sure. Everyone’s saying it’ll be the biggest
thing to grace the tube since Idol.’
‘You’d also know I hired Jezz McQade to plan and run the campaign.’
Yes, she knew, and had consequently read some industry pieces about this lady’s vast
achievements. ‘Jezz McQade is the best. Any woman who can go from lead singer in an eighties
rock band to a brilliant track record in advertising qualifies as a legend in my book. This year
she’s been working in the States, supervising top-name music-clips.’
Apparently pleased with her reply, he nodded, then laid both palms flat on the leather-bound day
pad to push to his feet. ‘As I said, there’s some bad news. Jezz flew into the country from LA last
night. This morning she slipped on some wet bathroom tiles.’
Serena cringed. Oh, God. ‘Is she all right?’
‘Broke her leg, the tibia, quite badly, I’m afraid. I received a call from Emergency. She hopes to
be back on board—not without the help of painkillers and crutches—in seven, possibly eight
weeks.’
How awful. But why tell her? Did Jezz McQade need a gofer?
Mr Miles crossed his arms over his broad deep chest and paced to where a run of silver award
plaques, mounted on the far wall, shimmered in the artificial light. ‘I have several senior people
who might fill Jezz’s shoes till she’s back on her feet again. One in particular would climb over
dead bodies to head this account.’
A name sprang to mind. ‘Rachel Bragg.’
In large organizations, personality clashes and petty jealousies were bound to occur. A human
relations manager on the ninth floor was employed to sort differences out. But Rachel…
Serena shuddered.
Suffice to say, she was a first-class witch. And Serena wasn’t the only one who thought so.
Legs braced apart, David Miles concentrated on his words. ‘Rachel is zealous about her position
here. However, I’m more than aware of her shortfalls. She’s an excellent account executive, but
not the easiest person to handle.’
Excellent account executive? Oh, yeah. She’d heard that before. From Rachel.
David cocked his head and actually smiled. The expression touched his eyes and made them
shine like prisms of blue light reflecting over water. ‘You know, you really do have expressive
features, Ms Stevens. Hope you don’t play poker.’
She smiled. ‘“Expressive features.” My high-school drama teacher used to say that. Can’t count
the number of times I had to demonstrate to my classmates elation, resentment, and, my absolute
favourite, silly-buggers.’ She pulled a face that included hooking her fingers in the sides of her
mouth. When he laughed, she threw up her hands. ‘Hey, at least I was good at something.’
An icy shaft fell through her middle.
Blabbermouth! Why stop there? Why not show him your junior-year photo, bottle-lense glasses
and all?
But David Miles didn’t bat an eye at her gaffe. Rather, he slid both hands into the pockets of his
dark trousers, which had been tailored by a genius, and strolled over to the window. Eyes
narrowed on the view, he picked up the thread of their previous conversation.
‘After discussing it this morning, Jezz and I agreed the person we need should not only have
knowledge of how things run around here, but also be able to bring a fresh look and natural
enthusiasm to this product. Someone who has an affinity with pop culture, is in tune with
demographics and has novel ideas on how to promote the show and its celebrities.’ The ledge of
his shoulders rotated back and he pinned her with a look. ‘Someone like you.’
Serena’s jaw unbolted and her mouth dropped wide open. She blinked several times at the shock,
as well as a spike of doubtful excitement. ‘You want…me?’
Soft lines branched from his eyes and the sweep of his mouth relaxed as he moved forward to
congratulate her. ‘Yes, Serena. I want you.’
He cupped her hands to help her up. Trembling on rubber-band legs, she sucked down a
disbelieving breath.
‘I don’t know what to say. Except…’ Emotion stung the back of her nose as her shoulders thrust
back. ‘You won’t regret this, Mr Miles. I promise.’
Sandalwood, soap and masculine heat all registered as those incredible eyes smiled down at her.
‘David,’ he said. ‘It’s time you called me David.’
Okay. Sure. She could do that. Just as soon as she got her mind around this wild feeling. Nothing
compared. Not even accepting first place for her senior essay, ‘Why and How I Want to
Succeed’, in front of both her parents and the entire school. That paper had been an effort to
write. But this! This was an unexpected gift from heaven.
Although five-foot-four could never compete with well-over-six-foot, she drew up to her tallest.
‘When would you like me to start?’ Now? Yesterday? ‘And you don’t have to worry about my
commitment, Mr Miles. I’m totally yours, one hundred and ten per cent. Weekends. Late nights.
No sacrifice is too big.’
A pulse ticked in his shadowed jaw before he dropped her hands and moved away. She gazed
down and wiggled her French-tips. Whoa. Her fingers were tingling.
‘Serena, come over here. I’d like to show you something.’
She blinked up. Above a polished timber credenza desk, which sat flush against the wall, that
galaxy of industry awards glittered out. David stood with his back to her, arms folded,
immaculate white oxford pulled tight between his widely spaced shoulder blades.
Warmth seeped through her body.
Never mind those awards. He was impressive. His determination. That decadent chocolate-over-
gravel voice. Best of all, his belief in her. That meant more than anything. Heck, if she were on
the lookout for Mr Right, David Miles might well be the one.
She shook herself and moved to join him.
Good thing she wasn’t. Looking, that was. Not now, not this year, not even this decade, or maybe
the next. Career. Travel. Breaking free. Reaching the stars. Nothing and no one would hold her
back. And this promotion meant she was truly on her way.
He nodded at a space on the wall. ‘See that?’
By his side now—sandalwood, soap, heat—she tipped forward. Her contact lenses were in,
however, ‘I don’t see a thing.’
‘Exactly.’ He dropped onto his haunches and yanked open one of four credenza doors.
As he rustled around inside, she enjoyed a bird’s-eye view of those tailor-made trousers being
tested over his squatting thighs—all rock-solid sinew was her guess, just like his arms.
After retrieving a gigantic spiralled notepad, he pushed up and thumbed through the pages.

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