Made in America (4 page)

I nod, unfazed. “Do you have any idea what posting that picture online did? This entire week it’s all I’ve been hearing about. My PR department’s been working overtime just to squash the fire.”

She disbelievingly shakes her head. “Unreal. You come in to my workplace, leave me a nasty note instead of a tip, and ask for an apology from me? I should’ve sued your ass for sexual harassment, you know that?”

Whoa. I hold up my hands. “That wasn’t me, okay? I would never say anything about your…fun bags. And Alan’s been suspended for the time being.”

Raven rolls her eyes and folds her arms defensively across her chest, covering up her fun bags.

I sigh. This isn’t getting us anywhere, but seeing her all riled up like this has the blood rushing to my cock. If I didn’t want her out of here so fast I’d keep toying with her before allowing her to leave.

“Look,” I continue. “Can’t we just agree that we both did something we shouldn’t have done? I admit it, I shouldn’t have written what I did on that receipt, and I’ve said as much. Publicly. Can’t you just admit that you shouldn’t have posted it online for all the world to see? We’re both human beings, right?”

That raises her ire. “I’m not so sure about that. People like you are far removed from the human race. You just walk through life thinking you can do whatever you want to people and not suffer the consequences.”

“People like me?”

“Rich people,” she shouts. “You think your money can just buy you whatever you want, and you don’t care who you have to step on to get it. Well I’m not that person. I don’t care about your money, or your position in life. I care about being treated with the proper amount of respect any human being deserves, regardless of whether they have tattoos, or money, or whatever.”

Raven holds up her arms to emphasize the point, and I look at her ink.

“These don’t make me who I am, okay? It’s what’s in here that matters,” she points to her heart. “You can have all the money in the world—like
you
do—but still be just as shallow as a puddle, and I think you’ve proven that already, so yes, I would like a personal apology from you so I can get the fuck out of here and go about my day, because believe it or not I do have somewhere else to be.”

She stands there. Chest heaving, face flush. I stare deep into her eyes, soaking in her words. I’ve heard them all before, of course, from women with more power than she could possibly imagine, but for whatever reason when she says them they begin to resonate with me, and I take them to heart.

As much as my heart will allow me to take them in, anyway.

“Look,” I say softly, “I’m sorry, okay. I really am. Alan shouldn’t have said what he said, and I shouldn’t have written what I did. You’re right, okay? You’re a person, not a thing, and I’m sorry, Raven. I truly am.”

Her features soften for a moment as she drops her arms to her side. Relaxing. She blows up a puff of air from her inflated lungs that moves delicately over her bangs. Her eyes are moist, and—

Is she crying?

“Are you crying?”

She plops down into the seat I offered when she first arrived and shakes her head. “No, I’m not crying. It’s just, you’re not the only one who’s had a bad week, okay? I’ve had people calling me 24/7 wanting interviews and statements. I had to chase off a photographer on the way over here, for crying out loud. That’s not me. That’s not the kind of life I want to lead.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“Yeah, well, your world can sod off for all I care.”

“That’s what you get for posting that picture online,” I say, but I add a twinge of humor to it. A playful
I told you so
, followed by a genuine grin that manages to coax a smile out of her.

“I didn’t even want to post it, you know. Tito gave me my phone and before I knew what I was doing I—”

“Tito?” I question.

“My roommate. Well, ex-roommate. He got engaged to his boyfriend and now he’s moving out. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do without him. I have to find a new place to live. Probably a cubby hole somewhere under a set of stairs. That’s where I’m headed, to check out apartments.”

I furrow my brow. “So you mean to tell me that this whole thing wasn’t even your fault?”

“No,” she admits, “it was totally my fault. I’m the one who posted the picture, right? Tito just sort of egged me along, but I’m a big girl. I take responsibility for my own actions, so yes, I am sorry it happened, okay?”

“Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welcome,” she huffs.

The entire atmosphere in my office has shifted from confrontational to something a little more casual, and I take a moment to seat myself behind my desk across from her. She leans forward and snatches a tissue from the box I keep handy, and swipes at her eyes.

The thought of her having to find a new place to live concerns me more than it has any right to. I shouldn’t care what happens to this girl once she leaves my office, but I do, and that concerns me, too. It concerns me a lot, because Raven and I, we don’t mix. Her and I, we’re from two different worlds, but I can’t get the naughty images I’ve had all week of her out of my head. I want to fuck her so badly, but I also find myself wanting to protect her in a way I haven’t felt with anyone in a long, long time, which is insanity. I’ve just met this girl. I don’t know a thing about her.

“How much do you make?” I ask, and as soon as the question leaves my lips I realize I should’ve phrased that better.

“What?” she balks. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“It’s not, but I’m curious. Humor me, okay?”

She sighs. “$7.75 an hour…plus tips.”

Raven emphasizes that last part,
plus tips.

“Touché,” I reply.

“How much do you make?” she asks.

“A lot,” I say.

“No way,” she leans forward with renewed enthusiasm and puts an elbow on my desk. Rests her chin in the palm of her hand and crinkles up her nose matter-of-factly. “I want numbers.”

“It’s hard to break it down to an hourly wage. Last year with everything combined we grossed a profit of just under five hundred million dollars before taking everything else into consideration.”

Her eyes bulge out of their sockets as she gasps at the obscene amount, because really, it is obscene. Five hundred million? That’s more money than any one person could spend in a lifetime, probably. But it’s not all mine. I have employees and contractors and overhead. Things that cost a lot of money to keep up with.

She snatches my laptop from in front of me and cracks it open.

“Hey,” I chide.

Raven holds up a finger as if telling me to wait, so I stare at her with an amused look on my face. Who is this girl? For a while she says nothing, but rather focuses intently on typing something before her eyes go wide once more. She turns the laptop around and shows me.

It’s a web calculator.

“What’s that say?” she asks.

“$240,384.62.”

“That’s how much money you made an hour last year. Two hundred and forty thousand dollars. A fucking hour.”

“Does that shock you?”

“No, it doesn’t shock me. It pisses me off because here I am scraping by on just barely minimum wage, trying to find a new shit hole to live in, and there you are making…that!”

My brow creases. “So you…what? Want me to apologize for my success now, too? I’m not going to do that, Raven.”

“No, I don’t want you to apologize for your success. I’m just—”

“Jealous?”

She stares daggers through me. Thins out her lips while gazing fiercely into my eyes. God, she’s so fucking hot when she’s angry.

But she nods. Whispers, “Yeah,” like she’s ashamed for feeling the way she does.

I lean back, lace my fingers behind my head, and look upon her for a while. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat as I watch her. Regarding her with an air of curiosity like she’s some specimen in a zoo, but she’s not. Raven is far from anyone’s captive, but I wouldn’t mind if she was mine.

“What?” she asks self-consciously.

I smile at the bright idea running through my head. I have a lot of ideas. Tons of them every single day. This one, though, this one could get me in a lot of hot water, but I can’t help loving it.

“What?” she asks again. “Do I have something on my face?”

I lean forward and ask, “How’d you like a job?”

- 4 -

Raven

Grant’s question shocks me, and for the first time since meeting him, I flinch, and sit upright in a leather seat that’s probably worth more than I make in six months.

A job?

I stare into his eyes. Gorgeous, haunting, serious eyes that have a bit of danger to them. I’ve been hard-pressed not to stare into them from the moment I walked into his office, but now I think his question warrants a little serious gazing.

This isn’t how I expected things to go.

When I got here I thought I’d be all high and mighty, show him I don’t care about who he is, or how much money he has, but I quickly found out that being in the presence of Grant Huffman is a tad deflating for the ego. Despite my little outburst earlier demanding respect, I’m actually terrified to be sitting here, albeit excited at the fact that he hasn’t given me the boot yet.

And all this time my body’s been buzzing with an undercurrent of arousal that I’m trying so hard to ignore, however there’s no denying that Grant Huffman is by far the sexiest man I’ve ever met, despite being a complete ass.

But a job? I don’t understand.

“What do you mean, a job?”

“A job,” he says. “You know. Working, making money. That sort of job.”

“No, I know what a job is, but what would I be doing for you?”

“You’d be my assistant.”

I glance back over my shoulder to the closed office door. Somewhere behind it he already has an assistant. A delicate redhead that’s as beautiful as any super model, and who he probably fucks on the daily.

Turning back to Grant, I say, “You already have one of those.”

His eyes flick to the door and he stands up, crossing the room with confidence and purpose, taking long strides in his custom fitted suit that does wonders for his ass.

Grant opens the office door and steps out into the hall. He leaves it open but I can’t hear the conversation taking place. All I can make out are whispers and murmurs until I hear a loud, feminine voice shout, “Fuck you, asshole!”

I cringe and raise my eyebrows as he makes his way back into the office, shutting the door behind him.

“You’re in luck,” he tells me without a shred of remorse. “I have an opening for an assistant. The job’s yours if you want it.”

Confused and a little horrified, I ask, “Did you just fire that girl?”

He nods. “Yes. It…wasn’t working out.”

I blink, and stare dumbfounded past him to the painting hanging on the wall behind his desk. It’s a picture of fruit. Judging by the style, I’d say it’s from the renaissance era. Not something I expected to see in an office like this, which leans toward the sleek and modern more than anything else.

This guy is just full of surprises.

“How much does it pay?”

“Depends. Do you have any experience working in an office?”

“Don’t you think you should have asked me that before you fired your assistant?” I laugh.

He shrugs.

“Zero,” I say. “I have zero experience working in an office. I’m a waitress, and before that I was in school, and before that I was in England, in school while flipping burgers part-time on the weekends, and before that, I—.”

“$75,000 to start,” he interrupts, not missing a beat.

My breath catches in my throat at his words. Seventy-five thousand dollars? I couldn’t have heard that right. Being around him and his money has got me hearing things, it’s the only explanation.

“Excuse me?”

He leans forward and laces his fingers together on his laptop. “Seventy five thousand dollars a year to start.”

“Ummm…” It’s the only thing I can think to say. I did hear him correctly, and judging by the look in his eyes, he’s not joking. He really wants me to come and work for him, after everything that happened?

This guy is either completely insane, or he feels really bad for writing what he did on that receipt.

My guess is it’s a little from column A and a little from column B, and that makes me wonder what his true motivations are for wanting to hire me.

“I’m not going to shag you,” I blurt out, and immediately I sink my forehead into my hand.

Nice, Raven. Real nice.

Grant doesn’t flinch, though. Guys like him, they never flinch.

“Did I say anything about fucking?” he questions slowly.

“No,” I answer as confidently as I can, even though I can feel every last nerve ending in my body beginning to tremble. “I’m just letting you know that if you’re hiring me just so you can get into my pants, it’s not going to happen.”

“What makes you think I want into your pants?” he asks.

“Please,” I scoff, recrossing my legs.

“You really think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“No, I just know men. When you work around them as much I do you get a sense for what guys really want.”

“Is that so?”

I nod. “Sure.”

“Maybe I’m different.”

That coaxes a laugh from me. “Oh really? Tell me, when you saw me working, what was going through your mind?”

He eyes divert from mine as he looks at his desk. A true tell if I’ve ever seen one. The question is, does he answer me truthfully, or does he try and spin some lie and tell me he wasn’t thinking what he was
really
thinking.

For a moment I gather he’s not going to say anything. Maybe I’ve crossed the line of tolerance, and instead of continuing to offer me a job, he’s going to give me that boot I expected ten minutes ago. Maybe he’s—

“I was thinking how much I’d like to fuck your tits,” he says.

“Ah-ha!” I shout, pointing at him. “I knew it!” I’m trying to sound playful, perhaps even a little annoyed that he thinks just like every other man I’ve ever met, but it’s a distraction. I’m trying to distract him from the fact that his words didn’t have an effect on me, when in reality hearing them come out of his mouth shot a current of excitement between my legs.