Too Hard to Resist Read online

  “I will. Thanks.” I appreciate that her tone suggests I’m here for the long haul. Now to prove to my new boss I’m indispensable—because I like it here. It already feels way more comfortable than my previous temporary assignments.

  Auggie’s phone is ringing when we get back downstairs. “I need to grab that. You good?”

  I nod. “Oh, wait…” I’m too late. She’s picked up the call and settled in at her desk. I forgot to ask what the finance manager’s name is.

  Sitting down in my cubicle, I swivel my chair to check out his office. The door is shut, but gray curtains are drawn open, giving me an easy view through the glass. Which means he’ll have an easy view of me, too, unless I press myself against my workspace so I’m hidden behind the slight partition.

  There’s a large glass desk, two upholstered chairs, a side table, and several brown moving boxes stacked in the corner. A remote-control car is parked in the middle of the room. The toy seems out of character, given Auggie’s description of the man.

  Voices puncture the silence, startling me into action. I put my purse away (with the parking permit) and turn on the computer. A man in dark dress pants and a beige sweater walks past. “Auggie?” he says.

  I don’t hear her reply because I’m stuck on the backside of the man opening the finance manager’s door. I’ve got a couple of names for him, but “Boss” is not one of them. Until now. Which means I cannot freaking look at his ass ever again. I raise my eyes just as he must sense my presence because he turns around.

  “Madison?”

  Holy shit, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize Elliot Sax. He’s one of my oldest friends’ best friends, and our paths have crossed for years. I’ve always considered him extremely attractive, but I can think of several other guys I feel the same way about. So the fact that he’s my new boss at a company I really want to work for is no big deal.

  Right?

  Chapter Two

  Elliot

  “Hi,” Madison says like her presence in my office is not something so far out of left field I wonder if she’s got a doppelgänger. But then she slowly rises to her feet, wide blue eyes clueing me in to her shock as well. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. You’re here to…?”

  “Assist you?” Her voice wobbles, and I wonder what she’s heard about me while I was in our Monday morning meeting. I’m well aware I have a reputation as a hardnose.

  “Give me a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  It’s rude, stepping away from her like this, but I need to think, and I can’t do that while looking at her pretty face. I walk into my office and head straight to my chair, turning it so I look out the window, the view of Venice Beach in the distance. Madison Hastings is my new temporary assistant. Fuck! I have no idea if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, and I pride myself on knowing exactly what things are.

  When I started this job three months ago, it came with an assistant. Jaclyn aced everything I threw at her, then her husband got a transfer and they moved back east. For the past several weeks, temp after temp has shown up with expectations that far outweigh their intelligence and staying power. Male and female alike, they want a paycheck they don’t have to work for. Don’t even get me started on the idiocy that accompanies their entitlement.

  Along with producing financial reports and developing company strategy, I’ve been hired to raise money. A shit ton of it. From venture capitalists and others willing to invest in a company doing a hell of a lot of good in third world countries. The added pressure of showing profits larger than my boss’s last start-up (and now run by his hateful ex-wife) doubles my stress. If I don’t perform to expectations, I’m out. There’s a long line of guys willing to take my place, and more than anything, I want to stay right where I am. The financial potential is staggering. The feel-good factor worth the long hours and no social life. My five-year plan is well on its way to becoming a reality.

  I can’t have incompetent assistants fucking anything up. If a simple haircut appointment is too hard to handle, then no way in hell am I trusting them with anything finance related.

  With my patience wearing thin, I’ve fired the last few temps before they even lasted a week. I’d rather have no assistance than incompetency, but our CEO, James, insists I have help, so he continues to send temporary employees my way until I’ve got time for a proper interview process.

  Which brings me to Madison. We’re friends. Not close friends, by any means, but she’s like a sister to my best friend and roommate, Mateo, so over the years we’ve seen each other at social events. I’d say I don’t know much about her, but now that I’m thinking about it, I probably know a few things others don’t.

  I know she cried for hours on her wedding day. She left her asshole fiancé at the altar and Mateo brought her to our house to hide out. Her parents picked her up later that night.

  I know she’s a vegetarian, because at a barbecue last summer, she brought some extra tofu burgers for anyone who wanted to try them. (I didn’t.)

  And I know she’s a C-cup because I accidentally groped her the night a group of us went out to celebrate the job my other best friend and roommate, Levi, had just gotten in Australia. We’d all been drinking, and I had nowhere else to put my hand when asked to pose for a picture. As soon as I realized where my palm was I pulled it away, but two seconds is all it takes for my grip to decipher a woman’s breast size. I quickly apologized, only to find Madison smile sweetly and tell me she hadn’t even noticed my transgression. That was three-and-a-half months ago, and I haven’t seen her since.

  In theory, it doesn’t matter that I know these things. It also doesn’t matter that she’s a close friend to one of mine. One degree of separation makes this a friend-of-a-friend situation, but it sucks enough firing someone I don’t know.

  Jesus. I’m already thinking about letting her go. I drag my fingers across my mouth. I have no idea what Madison is capable of, but she can’t be any worse than the girl last week. If it doesn’t work out and we see each other with our mutual friends, it might be awkward, but this is a “temp job.” So in reality, I’m not firing bad personnel. I’m simply telling them their services are no longer required.

  I spin my chair around. Madison is talking on the telephone. With her free hand, she’s twisting a strand of blond hair around her finger. Her back is straight. Her expression is serious. I watch as a smile gradually blooms across her face while her shoulders relax. She slowly unravels her hair, her fingertips slipping delicately down the front of her sweater until her arm drops fully. Gone is the nervous woman whose voice wavered at “hello.” In her place is a beautiful, poised woman I’ve never seen before.

  Our eyes meet through the glass. Even from this far away, I’m hit with vibrant blue and, I quickly realize, more intelligence than I’ve given her credit for. She says something to the person on the other line, her generous, pale-pink lips moving swiftly.

  She breaks our connection first, turning toward her desk. A split second later my phone rings. Glancing at the display, I see it’s her extension. I pick up the receiver. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Sax, Mr. Young is calling for you.”

  Point to Miss Hastings. It took my last assistant five dropped calls before she figured out how to transfer them. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Right before I say hello to “Mr. Young,” she meets my steady gaze again. I’ve looked into many girls’ eyes, and something tells me Madison is different. I blink away the foolish thought. “Hey, Drake.”

  “Morning. Please tell me Madison is hot.”

  Our CFO, the man I report directly to, can say that, since he’s six hundred miles away in our San Francisco office. The guy is a few years older than my twenty-four, smart as hell, and has a reputation as a womanizer. Hooking up at work in this office, however—even flirting with someone in a blatant way—is grounds for immediate dismissal. This isn’t my rule, but our CEO’s, for a very good reason.

  �
��Depends on if you think Kate Hudson is hot.” Drake is messing with me, so I’ll mess back. Although, a quick glance in my new assistant’s direction confirms the description isn’t too far off the mark.

  He doesn’t hesitate to tell me how he feels about that before we talk about work. When through, I press the numbers to Madison’s extension. She studies the phone for a moment before picking it up.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me. Can you please come into my office?”

  “Sure.”

  She carries herself with a feminine grace I’ve never noticed before—most likely because I’ve never watched her move without the distraction of our friends. “Please close the door.”

  Before she fully sits in the seat across from me, she says, “If this is a problem, I can get the temp agency to send someone else.”

  “Why would this be a problem?”

  “Because we’re friend…ly.”

  “Would you prefer to work for someone you don’t know?”

  She takes a moment to consider my question. “Maybe?”

  I rest my elbows on the desk. “I get it. That’s why I needed a minute. But if you’re game to give it a try, I am, too. It’s not like we see each other that often, and people who work together can be friends outside the office.”

  “True.”

  “It’s also nice to know you’re a normal person. I’ve had a couple of assistants who were borderline psychopaths.”

  “I’m super normal,” she says cheerily. “Mostly.” Her face glows with amusement I’m not sure is directed at herself or me. Either way, it’s intriguing.

  We stare at one another longer than necessary. I’m unable to help myself. I’m alone with her after years of passing by each other and I want to see what’s there. I find a freckle on her cheek—the only blemish on her otherwise smooth, flawless skin. Her nose is straight and a little pointy at the bottom. Long, dark eyelashes make her eyes pop.

  “All right. So, let’s get started,” I say, breaking our silent connection. Fuck, I hope I’m not making a mistake. I live and breathe this job, and nothing matters more to me right now.

  She lets out a breath, relieved, I think, that we’ve come to this agreement. “I’d like that.”

  “I typically start each morning with an agenda for what I want to accomplish by the end of the day…”

  The time passes quickly. Madison takes instruction well and isn’t afraid to ask questions or speak up. She’s organized, proficient at handling documents on the shared computer drive, and most importantly, understands time zones. A major plus, given I spend a lot of my time on the phone with investors across the globe.

  Around one o’clock, I’m behind on drafting a presentation for a meeting later this week, so Madison offers to pick up lunch for us. “I had no idea you didn’t have a job,” I say before taking a bite of my turkey on whole wheat.

  “What did you think I did?” Her Caesar salad with shrimp and enough croutons for three more salads is perched on the other side of my desk. I can see through the glass desktop that her legs are crossed at the ankles. Her black heels are tied with a thick bow. They’re girlish, but hot as hell.

  “I don’t know. Teacher maybe?” Why I thought that is a mystery. She does have a gentle way about her, so maybe that’s it.

  She picks up a piece of shrimp with her fork. “I graduated with a major in accounting and a minor in management science.”

  “Really?”

  “That shocks you?”

  I lean back in my chair. “Kind of. You don’t seem like a numbers girl.”

  “What do I seem like?”

  “A teacher.”

  She laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Good. I meant it as one.”

  Spots of pink dot her cheeks. Her attention darts to the floor. “My favorite teacher in high school taught accounting. She made a point of telling the girls in class it was important to understand finances and to not be intimidated by math. She made it fun, too, so in college I decided to stick with it.”

  “Are you a CPA?”

  “No. I got engaged right after graduation and wedding planning took precedence over anything job related. Plus…”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  She doesn’t answer right away so I fill in the silence. “Your douchebag ex didn’t want you to work.” I met the guy briefly and got the impression he liked to be in total control, including keeping Madison on a very short leash.

  “Right. And looking back, I’m really mad at myself for letting him get his way on everything.”

  “Not everything.”

  She looks at me in confusion.

  “He didn’t get to marry you.”

  Her face softens, pinning me to my chair with appreciation. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt gratitude from a girl over something other than a screaming orgasm.

  “What about you?” she asks.

  “What about me?”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  This is why hiring a friend is a bad idea. Madison’s been here all of five hours and we’re already getting personal. I do realize it goes both ways. I started it, after all, but I make a mental note to keep quiet about our private lives moving forward. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so,” she says, like there’s something wrong with me. If I wanted a girlfriend, I’d have one.

  “Why didn’t you think so?”

  She shrugs. “You don’t seem the type.”

  “Really?” I ignore the uncomfortable stab to my gut. I’ve never been the right “type.” My parent-pleasing, perfect older brother is the Stanford grad with PhD after his name and a smart, loving wife. My can-do-no-wrong younger sister is the recent Yale grad with a medical research job and brand-new fiancé. I’m the UCLA grad who left his consulting job to work for a start-up, and according to his parents has always dated the wrong kind of girl.

  “Why am I not the type?” I add.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  The apology in her tone pisses me off. I didn’t think I’d given away my unease. “You didn’t. I’m just curious.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yeah, you do. Come on, tell me.”

  She runs her fork through her salad. “You seem like you have a short attention span.”

  I nearly choke on my sandwich. She can’t be serious. I’m so focused, I can recall everything discussed in this morning’s meeting down to the last word. “Now I’m offended.”

  Her jaw drops. “You…” She uncrosses her legs, sits up taller. “You pressed me for why.”

  “I also just spent the past five hours trying to impress you with my business skills.”

  Lines crease her forehead. “You wanted to impress me?”

  I’m more surprised than she is. Trust me. What the hell, Elliot? I always say what’s on my mind, though, so I guess I did. “Yes.”

  “You did.”

  Awareness sparks between us, deeper than the compliment, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I can be attracted to Madison and not act on it. Hell, I was attracted to the woman in the café this morning and didn’t act on it. This weird chemistry is just two acquaintances learning more about each other and appreciating it.

  “And I didn’t mean at work. I can see how you’ve gotten so far so fast. I meant outside the office.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks.”

  At the sound of the phone ringing on her desk, she jumps to her feet. “I should get that.” She grabs her lunch to take with her.

  I watch her retreat. The black pencil skirt does nice things to her ass. Her hair falls in soft waves past her shoulders. Before she sits, she glances over her shoulder. Catching my eyes on her chases her gaze away.

  As the day progresses, it seems I’m not the only one happy with Madison’s presence. James stops to talk with her more than once. Auggie likes to perch herself atop her desk to whisper things back and forth. My new assistant is friendly, smart, dynamic even.

>   When five o’clock rolls around and she says goodbye, one thing is glaringly clear. Madison is by far the best assistant I’ve had, which means no more noticing anything about her that isn’t business related.

  Chapter Three

  Madison

  Dating sucks.

  I can’t believe I rushed home after work to fix my hair in a sexy up-do and change into jeans and a cute off-the-shoulder top for this.

  “…I’m not gonna lie. Women think it’s hot that I’ve won so many competitions. After the Tough Mudder, one chick wanted to do it in the mud.” My date’s eyes dip to my chest. “If she had a rack like yours, I might have been tempted. Most athletic girls have small tits.”

  Meaning I’m not athletic?

  I’m not. But it isn’t because of my breast size.

  And yes, his crass remark about my boobs is bothersome, but it’s the third time he’s mentioned them. I’m over it.

  “The 10K I ran last weekend, I took first in my age group without even trying. In college I…”

  I tune him out. Is it illegal to stab someone with a fork if he’s so full of himself he needs to be deflated? He’s talked nonstop about his “impressive successes,” pausing only long enough to take bites of his fillet. At least the food is good in the trendy Beverly Hills restaurant he chose to meet at. I finish off my delicious panko-crusted salmon and sautéed spinach. I’ve had plenty of time to enjoy it since Sir Brags-A-Lot is monopolizing the conversation.

  “Has anyone ever told you, you have the most beautiful blue eyes?”

  I’m about to say thanks, when I realize he’s not speaking to me.

  Our waitress bats her eyelashes. “No one as handsome as you.” She flirts back.

  Hello? Am I invisible? Does no one but me know this is a date? And news flash: he already knows he’s handsome, no need to fuel his overinflated ego any further. He won baby beauty pageants. I know this because he’s told me about every single one of his trophies. He didn’t say so, but I’m guessing his mom has turned his bedroom into a shrine.