Fortune's Legacy. Maureen ChildЧитать онлайн книгу.
his suit jacket and prepared to lie his ass off.
She stepped into the room, then closed the door behind her. Walking across his office, she moved with an innate sense of grace, hips swaying, a cautious smile on her face. She was tall—about five foot nine—with a slender build and platinum-blond hair a few shades lighter than his own. Her hair was short and sort of fringed, framing her face in feathery layers that made her look a lot softer than he knew her to be. Her blue-green eyes were wary as she stepped up to his desk and held out her hand.
“Mr. Wolff.”
He took her hand in his and disregarded the flash of something hot and disconcerting that swept through him. This kind of thing was always happening if Kyra got too near—the perfect reason for keeping her at a distance. Not only wasn’t she anywhere near his type, but an office affair could only get messy.
He saw a spurt of recognition pass across her eyes and disappear again just as quickly.
“Please, sit down.” He waved a hand at the chair closest to her.
She did, but perched on the edge of the black leather seat, hands folded on her knees. Before he could speak, she started.
“If this is about my idea for the expansion division—”
“It’s not.” He cut her off, not wanting to discuss her plan.
His temper spiked as he remembered all of the half-baked ideas she’d come up with over the last year. Granted, one or two of them weren’t bad. But she always had to push the envelope. Always had to go for just one more step.
And while a part of him admired her for the guts it took to rock the boat, a bigger part wanted to tell her that irritating people was not the fast track to success.
But then, he thought wryly, since the higher-ups had decided to promote her anyway…
She fidgeted in her chair, and Garrett brought his mind back to the task at hand. “According to your employee records, you’re not due for another review until October, is that right?”
“Yeeessss.” One word. At least five syllables.
He sensed her nervousness and did nothing to ease it. Her perfume, a subtle scent of flowers and citrus, drifted lazily to him and he frowned to himself as he tried to ignore it. Every time he saw her, that scent reached out for him, and he almost wondered if she used the stuff as some sort of feminine weapon. If so, it was a damn effective one.
Reaching for a manila file folder to his right, he opened it and laid it on his desk. Deliberately, he scanned the contents, though he’d already read the information it contained. She was nervous, and damned if some small part of him wasn’t enjoying it. So many of the people in this company either admired her or were intimidated by her that he relished the chance to put her on edge a little.
She inched closer to the desk and strained to read her employee file upside down.
“If this is about the meeting with the Hartsfield people, I can assure you that I have the situation in hand,” she said, shifting her gaze to him, and then back to the file, still open on his desk.
When he closed it, he saw the flash of irritation in her eyes, and enjoyed that, too.
“It’s not.”
“Then what?”
He leaned back in his chair, propped his elbows on the arms and steepled his fingertips together as he studied her. She was still nervous, but a flash of something mutinous darted through her eyes.
“I called you in here to let you know that you’re going to be reviewed early next week.”
Her blue-green eyes narrowed in suspicion. “My next review isn’t due until October. Why now?”
He sat up, folded his arms atop the closed file and watched her. “I don’t believe I’m required to give you a reason.”
Kyra nodded shortly and felt her temper spike. The man was so calm, so controlled, she wanted to tear out her hair. There was something going on here, and she didn’t have a clue what it was. Reviewed early meant one of two things: either she was going to be promoted—or fired.
Watching Garrett Wolff’s closed expression didn’t really give her any hints as to which way the wind was blowing on that score. But she had a pretty good idea where he would stand on the issue.
His pale blue eyes were steady on her and completely unreadable. It was as if that brief, electrical spark that had flashed between them hadn’t even happened. Cold, she thought. He was cold, right down to the bone.
Too bad he looked so darn good. Garrett Wolff had blond hair that looked both too long and too tempting. He wore elegantly cut suits with the air of a pirate, and the swagger in his step was always just enough to make a woman either want to drool or kick him.
He was a presence at Voltage.
The bigwigs liked him. Trusted him.
Listened to him.
And he hated her.
She’d known that for months. Ever since she’d spoken up during a marketing meeting and said what everyone else had been thinking: that Garrett’s ideas were outdated and too conservative.
Okay, she thought now, maybe not the best way to make a good impression on your boss. But she hadn’t been trying to piss him off. Just make him see that she had good things to offer. That if given a chance, she could make a difference at Voltage.
Now it looked as though all she’d done was earn the enmity of the one person who could make or break her career.
Swell.
Well then, if she was already sinking, she might as well go for broke.
“Look, I know you don’t like me—”
He cut her off. “This isn’t personal, Ms. Fortune.”
“The hell it isn’t,” she snapped, surging to her feet as the tidal wave of anger carried her along in its wake. She was in this too deep now to start hedging her words or watching her step. Might as well be hanged for a lion as a lamb.
“Every time I make a suggestion for this company or take a stand against doing things the traditional way, you shoot me down.”
He stood up, too, and towered over her. Not easy, since she was by no means a tiny little thing. It irritated her, having to tilt her head back to glare at him, but she managed.
“You don’t make ‘suggestions,’ Kyra,” he countered, through gritted teeth. “You torpedo other people’s ideas and then try to ram your own through, with all the tact and sensitivity of a rampaging army.”
“Is there something wrong with wanting to succeed?” She felt the temper bubbling inside her. Knew she should dial it down. Knew she should get a grip. But she just couldn’t.
“Not as long as you don’t eviscerate those who don’t agree with you,” he retorted, his eyes snapping now with a temper to match her own.
“You just don’t want anyone rocking the boat,” she challenged, planting her hands on the edge of his pristine desk and leaning toward him.
“And you,” he declared, doing a little leaning of his own, “don’t have the patience to let things develop naturally.”
“What good is patience?” Kyra lifted one hand and pushed back a fringe of hair that had drifted into her left eye. “While we’re being patient, Fortune TX, Ltd. will sweep in and hustle off our major clients.”
“They haven’t yet,” he reminded her.
“That’s not to say they won’t.” Kyra stared him straight in the eye, unwilling now to back down from the precipice where her temper had carried her. “At Fortune, they’re not afraid to take chances. To try something new. To foster their employees’ imaginations.”
“Then