Free A Corisi Christmas (Legacy Collection #7) by Ruth Cardello

home.
    I won’t.
    It didn’t help her confidence when she heard Mr. Barrington’s secretary admit he’d tried to get rid of her and failed.
    After weeks of trying to contact Mr. Barrington and being given the run around, Emily wasn’t going anywhere until she was given a chance to speak to him in person. I don’t care how long I have to sit here. I didn’t come this far to give up now.
    An office door opened. Emily stood quickly, dropping her small purse on the floor in front of her. Because the universe had a mischievous sense of humor, most of the contents spilled out onto the rug at her feet. She scrambled to pick everything up and groaned when she saw her wallet had bounced beneath the chair she’d been sitting on. She bent but couldn’t reach it, so she went down onto her knees and grabbed it, stuffing it back into her bag before standing.
    As she straightened she noted the polished pair of shoes standing less than a foot away. Her eyes scanned their way up a pair of charcoal trousers, a stark white shirt, and an expensive looking tie before landing on the face of the man the suit had obviously been tailored to fit. Her artistic eye missed nothing. Not the breadth of his chest, the strong lines of his jaw, nor the boldness of his hazel eyes. Mr. Barrington was not the soft suit she’d expected to meet after speaking to his mother. As much as the artist in her appreciated his symmetry, the woman in her was rocked back by the power emanating from him. Although they had yet to exchange a single word, Emily knew she was in the presence of a man who demanded instead of asked. She didn’t want to be, but for just a second or two she basked in the desire that kind of masculinity sent tingling through her. She knew she should say something, but the exact reason for her meeting with him temporarily eluded her. One of her curls sprang free and fell across her face. She swayed and continued to take in the perfection of the man before her.
    His smile was cold and that helped remind Emily why she was there. He held out a hand toward her as he gave her another head-to-toe evaluation. “Emily Harris. It’s always a pleasure to meet one of my mother’s friends.”
    Emily hesitated before placing her hand in his. Lying didn’t come easily to her. “I’m not actually—” Emily started to admit then stopped herself. She could only imagine what he’d say if she said the truth. I needed to talk to you, and you wouldn’t see me, so I asked my hair stylist if she could help. She knew someone who knew the nanny of a woman who plays bridge with your mother. A few phone calls. More than a little begging and explaining why I had to speak with you, and here I am. Right here. Holding on to your hand and wondering what the hell I can say to make you care about my plight. Emily pulled her hand free, squared her shoulders, and said, “Thank you for seeing me.”
    Emily spent a good deal of time studying the faces of strangers and honing her skill when it came to capturing their essence in the clay sculptures she created for a living. Although she was far from famous, her work brought her a steady income, and that was more than many artists could say. She searched the expression on the man before her. His face was carefully devoid of emotion. He was a man in control, even of himself.
    He glanced at the wall behind Emily, then down at her again. “You have ten minutes of my time. Follow me.” He walked back into his office without waiting to see if she would.
    She met the eyes of the male assistant briefly. If she was hoping for some encouragement, there was none there. He looked away and started typing. Emily raised her chin and hoped she looked confident as she walked into what represented her first foray into the world of big business.
    Mr. Barrington was sitting on the corner of his desk with his arms folded intimidatingly across his chest. “If you’re coming in, close the door behind you.”
    “Sorry, of course,” Emily