Free Tempting the Billionaire by Jessica Lemmon Page B

to comment.
    Silence greeted her.
    “If you keep me on at August Industries, the next time I promise…” She trailed off as Shane’s lips tilted into a smile.
    “You through?” he asked.
    “I guess so.” Crickitt clasped her hands and awaited the blow. “Am I fired?”
    Shane barked a laugh. “Fired?” He shook his head, looking more bemused than frustrated. “I underestimated you,” he said. “You know how to handle people.” He leaned against the armrest, propping his head in his hand. “You’re an asset, Crickitt. You saved my ass in there.”
    She blinked at him. “Really?”
    “Hell, yes, really! Townsend is one tough customer. He didn’t appreciate my ‘kid gloves’ approach. He asked for your opinion and you gave it to him. He liked your honesty.”
    “But he said ‘We’re through here,’ and then he left the room.”
    “Did you notice I stopped to talk with him on the way out?”
    She didn’t. Reeling from embarrassment, she’d made a mad dash for the elevators in her sensible shoes.
    “Henry told me to get my best people on an entirely new concept for the company,” Shane said. “He also said that the team had better include you. He gave us one week.”
    “He did?”
    “I should probably give you a raise.”
    “You should?”
    His smile widened, crinkling his eyes at the corners. “Yes, Crickitt. You were amazing in there.”
    He pointed to her as she opened her mouth, cutting her off. “And don’t you dare say otherwise.”

Chapter 11
    T he calm didn’t last.
    Shane’s easy demeanor had slipped during the drive back to Osborn. And since it was because of Crickitt’s assessment that Townsend had requested a new marketing plan, she’d felt mostly responsible for Shane’s mood swing.
    Which was probably why she’d offered up her rudimentary art skills. Well, that and the fact that Shane had mentioned he’d be working late in his home office tonight. What did Shane August’s lair look like? She’d admit, curiosity had gotten the best of her.
    Shane’s house was more like the Bat Cave than Bruce Wayne’s mansion. There were no expensive paintings, no ornately carved wooden furniture, no butler. A wide blank wall stood behind a black fireplace and cream-colored chaise longue in the open foyer. Beyond, a massive black wraparound couch dominated the sunken living room, which connected to a monochrome kitchen.
    “Not much for color, are you?” she asked, toeing off her shoes.
    “Oh, well, I don’t give it much thought.” He dropped his jacket on the chaise and she followed suit, laying down her bag.
    Crickitt took the three stairs that led to the kitchen and scanned the floor plan, which was beautiful, open, and inviting. But the color scheme—if it could be called that—didn’t fit its owner. She glanced over at Shane who unbuttoned his cuffs and shoved his sleeves over his forearms, his warmth in contrast with the cold backdrop.
    “Hungry?” he asked, bracing his arms on the counter.
    Yes. But not for food. Crickitt swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. She shook her head.
    “Yeah, me, neither,” Shane said.
    A chime sounded, pulling her attention back to the living room. Next to a television mounted above another fireplace was an aging wall clock, its gold pendulum swinging. The wood was worn, the glass scratched. The brown-stained wood was definitely outside of the monochrome palette, but it didn’t look antique or expensive. Just old, and out of place.
    “How about wine?”
    Crickitt flexed her tired feet on the cool ceramic tile. “Oh, wine sounds great.”
    “Normally, I force myself to work out before indulging,” he said, placing two balloon-shaped goblets on the breakfast bar between them. “But we’re in for a late night as it is.”
    “Rules are made to be broken.” Especially the one about how a PA shouldn’t be standing barefoot in her boss’s kitchen, eyeing him from across the room.
    Shane knelt in front of a narrow cooler on the far