Scandal: A BAD BOY Romance Novel (2 page)

I just barely held in the stunned anger that was desperate to slip out of my mouth in the form of a high-pitched gasp.
The nerve!
I fumed, and the cheerfulness I felt a minute ago vanished without a trace. Glancing down at my watch, I knew I didn't have more time to waste on worrying about this. Another quick look around the parking lot proved that there was nowhere to park here other than my spot.

Without a second thought, I headed back for the exit to park on the street. My first day of work officially started in less than ten minutes.
Be punctual. Be cheerful. Look professional.
I tried to not think about how I was close to failing almost all three of those crucial great-first-impression tips, and it wasn't even lunch yet.
Don't give up yet,
the rapidly deflating part of my cheery rationale reasoned
.
If my parents taught me anything, it was that attempting to improve crappy situations was better than giving up altogether.

After parking on the side of the street, it only took me a few seconds to discretely pull my arms out of my blouse and spin it around. Fortunately, I was wearing a blazer over my dress shirt. With the stain now on my back, all I had to do was make sure I kept my blazer on in order to hide the travesty.

I felt like I was on one of those competitive shows where the contestants raced each other as I slammed and locked my car door in one fell swoop. Maybe five-inch heels
shouldn't
have been part of Appropriate Day 1 Attire, but I'd already spent so much on the blouse that I had to make do with the business formal shoes I
did
have. My five-inch prom heels. They were the only things I had that were pure black and matched my pencil skirt, but now I was deeply regretting my decision because I never expected to be able to run with them.

I did my best to hold my balance as I rushed into the glass-walled building of Harding & Co and was blasted with the cold AC air with a touch of lemon-scented cleaning supplies. Evidence of the janitorial staff doing their part. An electronic display on the wall indicated that almost all of the elevators were already on the 20-something-th floor or higher. All but one.

"Hold the elevator, please!" I called out as I did my best to rush to the closing elevator doors. I had almost reached it when I realized they weren't going to hold it for me and that I'd have to stick my hand in the closing doors. As much as I want to be punctual, I'd prefer to keep my hands.

The doors were almost closed now, and I knew I had no hope.

"Asshole," I muttered under my breath as I frantically stabbed the 'UP' button with my thumb.

This has got to be the worst first day in Harding & Co history,
I thought. A sense of dread was overcoming me and I could already hear how the conversation would go when I headed back to my parents' house for Easter.
"Oh, yeah, I did land a pretty awesome job at Harding & Co after I graduated. I know, it's pretty crazy! They don't usually hire fresh out of the gate. How it's going, you say? Oh, um, I was transferred... Into a whole different company. Yeah. No. I don't work there anymore."
And then the chatter would magically transform into an awkward silence. I shook my head at myself and half-chuckled, because I was getting embarrassed over an imaginary situation that hadn't happened yet.
That wouldn't happen
, I thought to myself, wanting to sound positive.

My brows shot up in surprised delight as the elevator reopened its doors. The same elevator doors I'd just sworn at.
They held it for me after all
, I thought, stunned. I almost didn't want to step into it now. What if they'd heard?
It doesn't matter now, Nat. You're going to be late.

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I stepped into the elevator and prickles immediately covered the flesh under my blazer. It was the asshole with the red Harley.

"You needed a ride?" he asked, a smirk hinting at his perfectly full lips. The rest of his face was impassive, though, and I could feel my irritation flare up.
He did that on purpose.
I didn't even know this man, but I could tell.

His leather jacket was off and slung lazily over his shoulder, held in place by his index finger. The rest of his attire was casual: blue jeans and a black t-shirt, showing off his biceps. His muscular, tattooed biceps.

Remembering who I was talking to, I ripped my eyes away from his arms and moved my frown to face him. "Not like you've got one to offer," I shot back, then immediately bit my cheek.
Damn it, Natalie. What if he ends up being one of your clients.

Hearing this, his smirk turned into a full-on grin. "Feisty," he commented, and from his tone, I could tell it was a compliment.

Ignoring him, I fished through my purse for the email I'd printed out with information on the floor I'd be going to as well as the key card for the door. After discovering that I was headed for the 37th floor, I moved towards the panel of buttons, which put me closer to the inked man and also froze me in place. We were already headed for the 37th floor.

Oh god,
I groaned inwardly, immediately wanting to hide.
I bet he's one of my clients. At the very least I'll probably have to talk to him again. And what if he tells Mr. Harding that I was rude to him?
Not that I
was
really rude, but I wasn't exactly polite and professional, either. I couldn't help it, he was being absolutely insufferable. Something told me that wouldn't hold up as an excuse at a place like Harding & Co, however.

And now he's staring. I could feel his eyes on the side of my face and realized I was still standing pretty close to him, so I took a step away back to 'my' side of the elevator.

"You might want to let your hair down once in a while. It's looking pretty tight."

I swung my head to look at him, and I wish I knew what I looked like because it must have been amusing enough to get him to bark out a short laugh. Something between bewildered and furious, I imagined.

I bit my cheek harder.
Don't feed the trolls,
I told myself, trying to calm my frayed nerves.

"It might loosen the stick up-"

The elevator doors opened and I suddenly felt like I could breathe. I gulped in as much air as I could while half-stumbling out of the elevator. I could hear Tattooed Ass chuckle from behind me as he strode confidently into the office, as if he'd been here a hundred times. I didn't even have time to truly feel the rage Tattooed Ass made me feel before I was greeted.

"Miss Lane," a voice rumbled powerfully from out of my line of vision.

I straightened myself out: back straight, skirt smoothed down, coffee stain hidden, as I tried to word an adequate apology in my head.

I opened my mouth to turn to Theodore Harding, but before I could, he acknowledged, spoke to, and dismissed me all in one breath. "I trust you understand that here at Harding & Co, we take punctuality very seriously." His tone held a hint of warning, and I nodded vigorously, as if the harder I nodded the more apologetic I'd seem.

"I know, I'm sorry, sir. It was just that-"

"Excuses do nothing to accomplish your day's assignments, Miss Lane."

Swallowing my excuse, I nodded as I headed towards the assistant who had stood to greet me and show me to my desk.

"Asher," Theodore Harding's voice boomed, irritation teetering on the edge of his vocal cords.

"
Dad
," Tattooed Ass responded, his voice matching Theodore's in disdain.

"What have I told you about business formal attire?"

My mouth dropped.
Theodore Harding is that prick's dad?
I thought in wonder. Then, for a split second, I wondered which would be worse: having Theodore as a father or Tattooed Ass--
Asher,
as he'd called him--as a son.
More like Asser,
I snickered quietly to myself, while also enjoying the scolding he was receiving almost as much as I hated the one I'd just received. I flicked a glance behind me to eye the tense scene I was leaving behind.

Before I turned back to face where I was going, I caught Asher shrug nonchalantly. "Does my attire really make a difference when it comes to
taking
you your precious clients?"

My breath hitched. Something about the way he said 'taking' made it sound like he wasn't just gaining new clients for the company. It practically sounded sexual--enough so that it made electric fire flash inside me. It was a feeling I didn't often get with very many men. In fact, the last time I felt so turned on from just someone's
tone
was during my early college days. I savored his tone in my head for another second or two before shaking it out of my head along with any other charm I thought he had. Any attraction I had to him was crushed when I summoned the anger I felt towards him in the elevator.

I flicked another look behind me. Asher strode away from his father and into one of the glass-walled offices, clicking the lock in place behind him and drawing the curtains closed. As if he sensed me watching him, he turned and looked at me dead in the eye while continuing to close it. The corner of his lip turned on knowingly, and I quickly turned back around to face Theodore's assistant, Clara.

As I set my purse down on my desk and absently listened to Clara list off my duties for the day and the password for my computer, my mind continued to betray me with the information I discovered in the past ten minutes.
I don't know what's worse... the fact that Asser is the CEO's son, the fact that he hit on me after I was a bitch to him, or the effect that he had on me.
Either way, my time at Harding & Co certainly had an interesting start.

"Thank you," I responded warmly to Clara.

She smiled briefly.
Shit, I think she knows I wasn't listening.
"No problem. Just a word of caution: watch yourself around Asher Harding."

Confused, I swiveled in my chair to face her. "You mean Theodore Harding?" I pinched my brows together.

Clara shook her head. "No, I mean Asher. Mr. Harding only wants to make sure you're doing your job efficiently. Asher just transferred here from New York, and I heard that he's bad news." She leaned in and said in a hushed tone, "Not only has he been arrested twice but the second time he actually went to
prison.
"

Her eyes flickered to Asher's office and lingered there. I followed her gaze. He had pulled the curtains slightly open and was blatantly staring at us.

"And I don't wanna freak you out or anything, but in the week he's been here, I've never seen him watch someone the way he's been watching you since you guys walked in. Be careful."

"Nat, are you even listening? Blake Slate is on line two," Clara whispered the reminder to me from her desk.

'
Thank you'
I mouthed to her. It's only been two months since my first day at Harding & Co, but some things were already established. I've established that Clara is an amazing person and loves ranting about work over a glass of Cabernet as much as I do. I've established that Asher takes every possible opportunity to prove that he really
is
an Ass...er.

A sexy pain in your ass,
my mind intercepted.
Shut up, mind,
I snapped back at it.

Lastly, I've established that Blake Slate is a very important client to Harding & Co. Harding & Co's most popular product is a sleek, yet fast, tablet, and we're currently working together with Mr. Slate to have all of his award-winning apps preprogrammed onto our tablets. The deal would net both parties billions, and if I could help Harding & Co secure this deal in any way, then that would secure my promotion here.
Then I'd definitely be able to help my parents move and get settled here,
I thought longingly.

For the past two months, I've worked my ass off trying to organize the perfect meeting in London. Blake Slate was currently residing there with his wife for an awards ceremony, and he wanted to meet with a representative from Harding & Co to hash out the details. Unfortunately for me, that representative was Asher Harding. What Asher didn't know was that he would have Paisley May, the head of the PR department, as his escort, to make sure he acted appropriately throughout the trip and during the business meeting. For the past month, I'd been helping her type up the rules she'd be enforcing while in London. This was extra exciting for me since if I could impress her with my work ethic then it was a serious possibility that she'd talk to Mr. Harding to take me onto her team. What was also exciting was waiting to find out how exactly she planned to enforce all of her rules, because I could honestly
never
imagine Asher following through with rules like 'no more than 3 drinks in one night.'

"Mr. Slate, I am so sorry for keeping you waiting," I apologized as I picked up the receiver.

I've also learned that Blake Slate was a very no-nonsense man who got straight to the point. So much so that our conversation was over within minutes. Details for the flight and meeting location were confirmed for the following week. I opened a new Word document and quickly typed up the information we just discussed in preparation for my meeting with Paisley, Asher, and Mr. Harding.