Page 223 of Labor of Love

The problem was that she was eighty-seven. Feisty for an octogenarian, but definitely not my type. And even if I were to consider her offer, which I’d rather rip my fingernails out one at a time than accept, I’d be afraid I’d break her hip or something.

So, I’d dressed for success in my black leather, knowing it was the only set of clothing I owned that didn’t have holes in it, hopped on my bike, and drove to the temp agency.

Michael, the representative I reported to when I needed work, looked up at me with a sneer. “Back again, Wilson? Wasn’t the last time bad enough? Aren’t you tired of being fired yet? We said you weren’t a good fit for us, remember?”

“I know, I know, but I really need a job, Michael.” I wasn’t above begging, not if my only other choice was to shag my elderly landlady into an early grave, or at least into traction. “Come on, man. I’ll do anything. You must have something…”

Michael hemmed and hawed, then scrolled a bit on his computer. “I do have something that just came in. But you won’t last five minutes there. Coryi Industries. Assistant to the CFO.”

“I can do math. I’m really good at it. I can type, file, take dictation, arrange appointments, and I make a mean cappuccino with a little foam heart floating on it.” I leaned on his desk. “Please, Michael? I swear I won’t get fired this time.”

Michael snorted. “You’ll be back here in an hour. I guarantee it. None of the temps I’ve sent to this guy in the past have lasted more than a day, except for Mallory, who was as rigid a bitch as you could find, and was hired permanently. She lasted a year until she eloped to Tahiti this past weekend.” He sighed and printed out a card for me. “I’ll call ahead with your information for their HR Department. That and this card will get you through security. But I warn you — their CFO is not known for having patience or a sense of humor.”

I grinned. “Sounds delightful. Thanks, Michael.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m not doing you any favors sending you over there. We just don’t have anyone else available for the job.”

Ignoring his jab, I blew him a kiss and hurried off, glancing at the card he’d given me.

Coryi Industries. Mr. Char Coryi, CFO. Position: Temporary Executive Assistant.Below that was my name, and the name of the temp agency.

I liked the sound of it all. I’d never been an executive anything before. I smiled as I slipped it into my pocket. Mounting my bike, I headed off toward the gleaming glass skyscraper that housed Coryi Industries.

I parked in the first available space in the adjacent parking garage which was up six levels. Then I rode the elevator to the ground floor and the lobby.

Michael had been true to his word, having called ahead to let security know I was coming. They were waiting for me,ready with a temporary visitor badge. As soon as I provided the necessary identification, I was given the badge and escorted to the elevator that would take me to the executive suites.

“How will I know which office is, um, Mr. Coryi’s?” I asked.

The guard snorted. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Good tip. Thanks.” I rolled my eyes as the elevator door slid closed and my quick ride to the twentieth floor began. There was only one floor above that, the penthouse, which I assumed belonged to the CEOs, the Coryi parental units.

Must be nice having rich folks who could give me a cushy job. I was lucky mine didn’t kill me as a cub.

When I stepped out of the elevator, I was in an enormous room that took up the entirety of the floor. On one side was a very long conference table built of gleaming silver and glass, and surrounded by twenty matching chairs.

On the other side of the room was what appeared to be a waiting area with sleek couches and armchairs. Small, discreet tables were spaced between them, each bearing a vase of fresh cut flowers and a couple of neatly stacked magazines.

The walls were glass as well, and afforded the most spectacular view of the city I’d ever seen.

At the rear of the room was a beautiful, abstract-shaped desk of the same silver and glass as the conference table. On it was a computer, a stack of files, and what looked like a phone system.

Beyond the desk was a door leading to an office that spanned the entire back wall of the floor. The windows to the office were outfitted with slatted blinds, all of which were drawn closed.

Oh, yeah. That’d be it,I thought.The guard was right.I know Coryi’s office when I see it.

I took a quick peek in the reflective surface of the elevator doors, smoothed my hair, and tucked my helmet more firmly under my arm, then lifted my chin and marched to the door to the back office.

I knocked, then pushed the door open when a deep voice called out for me to come in.

What a voice! It rolled through my bones in a rumble, tickling my balls and putting my leopard on high alert.

As a shifter, my heat had come on me just the day before. Of course, it had picked the most inconvenient time. That was just how I rolled.

I fought to keep my leopard in check, but it was really hard to do when I saw the man sitting behind the desk.

He was a big man, muscular, his biceps straining the material of his suit coat. When he stood up, he topped my six-foot-four by at least a couple of inches. Icy blue eyes sparkling with intelligence glared at me from under an unruly mop of raven black hair in need of a trim.

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