Chapter 21

"Chase, I'm just doing my job; I’m ambitious," she told him heatedly, "and there’s nothing wrong with that. I work hard because I hope that my hard work will pay off and that I’ll be promoted. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and I’ve had to fight for every single thing I’ve got." She muttered and thought that no matter how sexy Chase was, he still gave her the vibe of someone who’d been around the block, and this was Rome, so there were plenty of dubious blocks to choose from.

It was more than she should have said, although not a word of it was untrue. It just felt weird—wrong—to be confiding in him. And why was she there anyway? She wasn’t there for an interview, and he hadn’t demanded that she explain herself. What was she doing?

Surely, he had her nerves.

Usually so reticent, she had been propelled into speaking her mind.

Amaya licked her lips nervously, realised that she was sitting forward, fists clenched on the table, and deliberately made herself relax and smile.

"Miss Patterson, you’re implying that your colleagues come from a more privileged background than you?"

"I’m not implying anything. I was just stating a fact, Chase."

Chase noted the pink in her cheeks. Up close and personal with her—which he had never been before—he sensed that her reactions were honest. She blushed when he wouldn’t have expected her to, because the impression she gave was one of complete self-control. He could remember asking her questions about certain technicalities in the jobs she had worked on, and she had been cool, calm, and knowledgeable, barely displaying any kind of personality at all.

But then she was on edge.

Chase glanced briefly around him. This wasn’t a cold, clinical office, was it? The neat little folder she had pointedly stuck on the table next to her was the only evidence that this was a work meeting. And without the backup of an office, he had a tantalising glimpse of the person behind the beautiful but bland exterior.

Did he want to bring the conversation back to work? Not yet.

"Maybe you think that I do," he murmured in a lazy drawl.

"I haven’t given that any thought at all," Amaya lied. "I’m here to do a job, not to pry into other people’s lives."

"Your days must be very dull, in that case."

"Why? Why do you say that?" she frowned.

"Because it’s commendable to work hard and to do a good job, but doesn’t everyone get a little titillation from office politics? The salacious gossip? The speculation...?"

"Not me."

She sighed. Her voice was firm, but her nerves were all over the place. She picked up the menu and stared at it, but she could still feel his eyes on her.

"I think I might have the seafood."

Chase didn’t bother to glance at the menu. He responded by keeping his eyes firmly fixed on her face while he beckoned with a slight raising of his hand, and he was rewarded when someone sprang to attention and hustled over.

How did he do that? Was there some poor sap hovering in the corner somewhere, waiting until the Mighty One beckoned him across?

Of course there would be. Money talked, and Chase Johnson had a lot of it. Vast amounts.

People changed when they were around money. Common sense flew out the window. Subservience, slavishness, and an awestruck inability to just act normally set in.

So she might feel something—a little, insignificant twinge of awareness about the man—but that was natural. He was drop-dead gorgeous, especially when she was receiving the full, undiluted blast of his forceful personality. But she wasn’t and never would be one of those simpering airheads who turned to mush around him. And actually, not just airheads. Lots of clever women—definitely two in the legal department—giggled at the mention of his name and projected crazy fantasies about him over lunch in the office restaurant. Several times, Amaya had to stop her eyes from rolling skyward.

Was she jealous?

Of course not.

But then it irritated her. And despite the fact that her body might be a little rebellious, thankfully, she had her head firmly screwed on.

She politely waited as Chase ordered, said no to a top-up of wine, and then relented because at least it made her relax.

"So, about Gary..." She flicked open the file and felt the weight of his hand over hers. Her anger was climbing up her throat and balling into a scream.

"In good time."

"Sorry. I thought you might have finished relaxing." Her heart was thumping so hard that she wondered if she might be having a mild panic attack. Or, worse, turning into one of those simpering airheads. Or even worse than that, one of those clever women whose brains went missing in action the second he came too close.

"Only just beginning." A toxic grin spread over his face. Chase dealt her a slashing smile that did nothing to steady her disobedient body, and she pursed her lips in response.

What the hell was he into now? Was he trying to lower her guard? Or what?

Finally, he looked up. Amaya swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth. His crisp white dress shirt rolled up his elbows; his tan and muscular forearms with the veins snaking down to his big hands; and the carved, severe expression on his face—so sharp it could nick and make her bleed to death with a glare alone.

Chase smiled and said, "Perhaps I should have taken more of an interest in your career before, considering you’re new, and to be in the Specialist Department requires experience and hard work."

"I know that, Chase; that's why I'm doing my job well." She rolled her eyes. Boss/employee, she reminded herself. The boss got to ask all the questions, and the employee got to ask none whatsoever.

But how could she not stop thinking about what almost happened earlier—those hands,those sinful lips?

"Why do I have the feeling that your mind is somewhere else?" Chase asked before smirking at her.

"You're not a mind reader, Mr. Johnson, so stop guessing."

"Hmm. Perhaps, thinking about what happened earlier in the—"

"Nothing happened." Her cold eyes found him, like that’s what they’d been trained to do.

Chase smirked. "I see, but I swear I—"

"Cut it out!" Amaya tried to wrap her head around this. The man was seriously a pain in the ass, acting like he was God.

But of course he did. He had his butler monitor his dry cleaners. The guy was obviously more bananas than a tropical island.

Chase grinned and said, "Okay, okay. I'm just making conversation here." He purred and took his wine.

For a few seconds, Amaya nearly told him just how much deep thought that ‘simple question’ required. More than he could ever imagine because—like it or not—this man who saw his vast empire as a family affair was a man who came from money. How could he ever understand the drive inside her to fill all the gaps her upbringing had left?

"Can we talk about work now? About why we’re here? About Gary?"

Chase smirked. "I never thought you'd be interested enough to talk about the job rather than what happened in the past."

Oh God, here we go again.