Dalton, Tymber - Doggy Tales [Doggy Tales] (Siren Publishing Classic) (7 page)

“You can come say good-bye to him.”

She nodded and mutely followed. She honestly couldn’t label her tears as sorrow, but at least she looked right. She felt lighter despite the trouble ahead. She could handle being broke. She’d spent most of her life that way.

She could practically taste the freedom awaiting her.

Living without fear. Not day-to-day fear of Lester, per se, because he’d treated her fairly well. Never threatened to beat her or hurt her. It was the implications behind their lifestyle and his veiled, and not-so-veiled, comments about what would happen if she tried to leave before he was ready to end things that kept her in a constant state of fear.

The unending vigilance to make sure she never overheard anything.

The ability to only pay attention when Lester wanted her attention.

Playing dumb, literally, so no one would ever suspect she knew anything.

Lester kissed her cheek. He was already shackled, and two large guards glowered nearby, ready to take him.

“Someone will call you in the next couple of days,” Lester said. “I promise, you’ll be fine. We’ll get it overturned on appeal.” He sounded a thousand times more confident than his attorney looked.

Genna nodded. “Okay. But I’m going to need to get a job, I think. Won’t I?” Another lesson learned, don’t think for herself. Always put it out there and let Lester think it was his idea. Playing dumb…again.

Lester started to protest then agreed. “Probably for the best.” He smiled. “It’ll keep you busy and out of trouble. You’ll wait for me, and we’ll have a blast when this is over, right, sugar?”

She forced a smile she prayed looked authentic. “Yeah. You’ll be out in no time, I know it.”

“I love you, Genna.”

“I love you, too, Lester.” Then, more for effect than genuine emotion, she added, “What am I going to do without you?” She hoped she wasn’t smiling through her tears.

“Aw, you’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” The guards led him away and she took a deep breath. Alone with the attorney, he opened his briefcase and handed her a bulging manila envelope.

“I’m to give this to you now. The Feds will most likely seize his assets when they file the RICO charges, so I suggest moving sooner rather than later. This should help you get started again.”

She wanted to open it, but thought better of it and tucked it in her purse. “Thank you.”

The attorney eyed her. “I never said this, but if you can find a new apartment and job somewhere else—anywhere else—it might not be a bad thing for you.”

She met the attorney’s steely gaze. “I never said this, but I already had the same idea.”

He smiled. “I knew you were smarter than Lester thought you were.”

* * * *

Halfway to her car, a male voice called her name. “Ms. Pangborn? Genna Pangborn?”

Christ!
She was sick of reporters and knew from experience if she ignored them it was almost worse than turning and giving them a
no comment
.

She turned to find the golden-eyed man from the courtroom striding toward her. Damn, he was big! Well over six feet, broad shoulders. He looked like his tailored suit was sprayed on his hard body.

“Yes?”

He stopped a respectable distance away. “May I talk with you for a moment?”

“I’m sorry, but I have no comment.”

“I’m not a reporter.” His calm, deep voice screamed confidence.

She looked around. The area was well populated, and hopefully someone would call 911 if she yelled for help.

As if reading her thoughts, he dropped his voice. “I just need a moment of your time.”

Genna eyed him. “Who are you, and how did you know my name?”

He slowly reached into his jacket and withdrew a business card, extending his arm across the void to her, forcing her to move a step closer to accept it.

“My name is Jeremy Bruin.”

She glanced at his card.
Bruin and Associates, Consultants
. With a local Tampa address.

“What do you want, Mr. Bruin?”

A half smile caressed his face, turning his strong jaw into a soul-melting, mouth-watering, heart-tripping sight. “I need an administrative assistant.”

* * * *

He made no reference to being an “associate” of Lester’s. In fact, she got the distinct impression Bruin didn’t think much of her unofficially ex-boyfriend.

Lester hopefully wouldn’t figure that factoid out—that he was
ex
—for fifteen to life. She wouldn’t know for sure until after the sentencing hearing though.

Bruin’s cell phone rang. He hesitated after answering and said to Genna, “Can you come to my office at ten Monday morning for an interview?”

She nodded, still captivated by his eyes. In the sunlight they shifted from butterscotch to amber to gold and back.

“Thank you. I’m sorry to be so rude, but this is an important call. See you Monday at ten, Ms. Pangborn.”

He strode away talking, his powerful legs disappearing into a firm ass that…

She shook her head. Sleeping with the boss was what got her in this fucking mess in the first place.

Never again.

Ten minutes later, Genna sat in her car, waiting for the AC to cool it down in the scorching Florida heat. She stared at Bruin’s card.

Couldn’t hurt to talk to him. Right?

* * * *

Genna easily located the large, four-story building near Raymond James Stadium. Well-maintained and tasteful landscaping highlighted the grounds. Apparently the entire building belonged to Bruin and Associates.

Inside the cool and tastefully decorated lobby, Genna started toward the reception desk when a massively large black and silver dog padded around the counter and stopped in front of her. His shoulders had to be as high as her waist, and she was a respectable five eight. His large grey eyes terrified her. Did she think he was a dog? He looked like a wolf.

The receptionist laughed. “Don’t worry. He’s friendly.”

When Genna was four, a stray dog attacked her. At the time it looked to be as big as this one, but she knew that was due to her relative size. Thirty stitches and years of nightmares later, she was definitely not a dog person. Although this…dog?...simply stared at her, testing the air with his nose. He didn’t growl or advance any closer than five feet from her.

This was still a Huge. Fucking. Dog.

Genna nearly turned around and walked out, but terror rooted her feet to the tasteful Italian-marble tile floor. She tightly clutched her purse, forcing the words out through taut lips. “I’m here for a ten o’clock appointment with Mr. Bruin,” she whispered. “Can you please call your dog off?”

The receptionist’s face paled. “You’re his ten? I’ll let him know you’re here.” She grabbed the phone, and even though the dog hadn’t been called, it backed up several slow, cautious steps.

As if it feared scaring her.

Genna didn’t breathe until he was hidden behind the desk. Even then she stood where she was, afraid to get too close to the monster dog.

The receptionist hung up and pointed to the elevators. “Fourth floor. He’ll be waiting for you.”

“Thank you.” Genna bolted, struggling against her tears. Once the door slid shut behind her, she took several ragged, gasping breaths. If she had to work anywhere near that…dog…she’d have to refuse the job. She couldn’t do it. It terrified her.

Over the years, she’d progressed to nothing more than slight jitters around small, friendly dogs. She could sometimes tolerate, for short periods of time, larger dogs like Labs or golden retrievers, if they were calm.

But she’d never overcome her lifelong fear of massive dogs, especially ones as large as that, practically big enough to saddle and ride. She’d seen compact cars smaller than that beast.

Mostly composed by the time the doors opened at the fourth floor, she stepped out and her heart skipped. This time at the site of Jeremy Bruin casually leaning against the far wall. His snug, short-sleeved golf shirt and khaki slacks emphasized his great body.

Her mouth dried.
Okay, having a hunky boss isn’t a bad thing. Just can’t sleep with him, that’s all.

He stepped forward, extending his hand. “Ms. Pangborn, thank you for coming. You’re early.”

She was only ten minutes early, but thankfully didn’t wet her pants at the site of Dogzilla in the lobby, which would have forced a return trip home to change.

His grip was firm and warm and dry, his enormous hand dwarfing hers. He had to be at least six five, maybe taller.

“I hope I’m not wasting your time today, Mr. Bruin. I have some administrative skills, but I don’t know what I’d be doing.”

He motioned her to follow him through a maze of hallways, past closed offices. Then into a private reception area where an empty desk stood silent sentinel outside his office door.

“If you can competently perform basic office tasks, you’ll do fine.” He ushered her into his office and closed the door behind them, waving her to a chair in front of his desk.

Bruin waited for her to sit before he did. She couldn’t guess his age. He had very little grey in his dark-brown hair, but while his face didn’t look old, he possessed an aged air about him, like he was careworn or had a lot of living under his belt. He appeared to be in his late thirties, but she could easily be wrong.

Genna handed him a one-page résumé. “I’m sorry it’s not more, Mr. Bruin. I am good with computers. I can answer a phone and take messages. Filing, of course. I don’t have any accounting or technical training, though. I have an English degree. I can write and proofread letters and things like that. I’m a pretty fast typist.”

Her eyes glanced around the office. Tastefully decorated, not over the top, on the stark side. Mahogany paneling and Scandinavian furnishings. One wall of books.

No sign of a dog anywhere.

“How old are you?” he asked. “Not that it matters, just out of curiosity.”

“Twenty-eight.”

Her eyes returned to Bruin as he scanned the paper, nodding. “Your last job ended three years ago?”

She’d hoped he wouldn’t ask about it, but that was too much to hope. “Yes.”

“And why was that?” He focused those eyes on her again, melting her. She’d never felt like this about Lester, ever. Today, Bruin’s eyes looked like caramel pools in his face, burning holes through her core, making her clit throb and sending a hot flood of juices straight to her pussy.

“Well, as you witnessed Friday, I’m not the best judge of character.”

A slight teasing smile curled his lip. “So I was right that you were Lester Corcoran’s girlfriend?”

Genna froze, sensing a trap. “Yes.”

Bruin leaned back, dropping her résumé to his desk. “No, I’m not one of his ‘associates.’ It’s just a happy coincidence I was in the courtroom. When I saw the attorney escort you out, I made the leap in logic.”

She swallowed to form spit. “Why did you want to hire me?”

He shrugged, a heavy, rolling motion that made her want to leap across the desk and rip his shirt off his chiseled chest. “I told you, I need an administrative assistant. I’m guessing with him going to prison for several decades that you needed a job. Saves me from having to put an ad in the paper if it works out for both of us.”