The Australian (Crime Royalty Romance Book 2) (3 page)

Yes, he was offering me the job. It was a high salary, too. Still, I did not know how I felt about it. Overtime? What could possibly entail overtime? I remained seated as he rose up and walked around the edge of the desk. His dress pants appeared to have been tailored for his long legs, as was his light blue dress shirt for his narrow waist and broad shoulders.

“I need to address something else with you, Mr. Knight.”

He sighed and leaned against the desk in front of me. “Certainly, Miss Sykes. Maybe you’re after a company car or bonuses?”

I found the altered circumstance awkward (his crotch was eye-level), while my brain summarily ruled out his last remarks since they were sarcastic—why? I had not asked for anything unreasonable, had I?

I was forced to stare up at him, rather than at his genital area, feeling rather prevailed over as a result.

“I do not believe it is appropriate or professional to engage in coitus with one’s employer.” A noise came out of his nose, his eyebrows shot up, and his mouth popped open slightly before closing quickly. “While you have given me no indication of inappropriate behavior today, a few things that were said by my temp director and the tweet posted by your former assistant have led me to believe you may have expectations from your staff that are not strictly professional.” His eyes narrowed—with what emotion, I could not say. A splash of red hit both his cheeks. I continued since he had not denied the accusation or interrupted me. “So there is absolutely no confusion, it behooves me to make it clear upfront that I am not at all interested in embarking on an intimate relationship with you.”

“Let’s clear the air, then, Miss Sykes,” he said, with an edge in his voice. “I haven’t, nor would I ever, have a fling with an offsider, though the last one tried like ’ell. So I can assure you that”—his eyes flickered ever so quickly over my body—“you’ll have no worries there.”

I cleared my throat. It was very dry. I actually wasn’t mulling over whether I could believe him. I was wondering what was wrong with me. I rarely experienced emotional responses that weren’t readily tempered with rationality or, in some cases, a hard-strapping logic.

Mr. Knight’s brow knitted tightly together.

“If my word’s not good enough for you, perhaps you’d like the preservation of your chastity included in the contract? I’ll have to check with my solicitors as I’m not sure such a clause would fall under Australian employment law . . .”

The strangest thing occurred as he spoke: I felt blood rush to my cheeks. I never blush. It makes me uncomfortable and shaky.

Why was it happening? He was addressing my concern with professional courtesy. I withdrew into myself to assess what was wrong. Nothing, that I could tell. I felt my cheeks with the back of my hand. A moment of empty time passed. And another. Panic seized me. I did want this job. I should take it. Like Muriel would have.

I had not heard the rest of what he said. But I did acknowledge how unconventional it was to be discussing sexual intercourse in a job interview. He finished speaking, and the way he was watching me, clenching his jaw, standing so close—

I popped up quickly and extended my hand. “No. No need to formalize that in the contract. This has been a very successful first meeting. I will see you on Monday. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Knight. I will strive not to disappoint you.”

He took my hand gently, and held it an extra second longer than necessary. Try as I may, I could not meet his eyes, which I knew would send some kind of negative message. Instead I stared at our hands, ever so slightly tugged mine free, and left the room without a second glance.

I needed fresh air.

Yes, that was it.

“How’s it goin’, Miss Sykes?” asked Mr. Knight, passing by my desk at 10:08 a.m. on Monday morning, appearing youthful, too youthful, perhaps, for his elegant suit. He had two gentlemen with him who actually looked their age, late thirties, both in pants and dress shirts, no suit jackets.

“Good morning, Mr. Knight. I am well, thank you.” I stood up from my desk located just outside his office, curious at the pressure I felt in my chest.

Anxiety? No. Anticipation. I had been looking forward to embarking on my new role. The weekend had been . . . quiet. Also, perhaps, yes, I had been looking forward to seeing Mr. Knight. I would have to analyze that later.

Mr. Knight smelled of mint and spice and something else I could only label as strictly masculine.

“Can I get you a coffee, sir?”

He stopped in his tracks, as did the two gentlemen behind him, eyebrows raised, faces animated. They were examining me like one might examine a two-headed zebra on an African safari.

“Or perhaps some other refreshment?”

Mr. Knight spun around quickly and moved into my space. I glanced up at him, noticing his smooth brown skin, smile lines just forming around large obsidian eyes currently looking down on me with a very negative emotion. I experienced fear, before I reminded myself I was perfectly safe.

“Miss Sykes, don’t ever call me
sir
. Got that?”

“Oh. Certainly. Sorry.”

I winced. Two seconds on the job and I had already made a mistake.

“A yank, ay, Jace?” said the short one with beady eyes. He whistled then, and added, “Trying out new flavors—”

“That’s enough,” barked Mr. Knight over his shoulder, then eyed me again and stepped back. “Miss Sykes comes to me highly recommended for her . . . efficiency. We’re testing each other on a probationary basis to see if we’re the right fit for a permanent position.”

He smiled slightly at me and relief coursed through me. A positive emotion, finally. “Miss Sykes, this is Mr. Bennett and Mr. Carlisle.” I reached out and shook each of their hands. They both wore stunned expressions, along with, I noted, slightly crumpled clothes. Mr. Bennett was the one with small eyes. Mr. Carlisle had one extremely droopy eye (perhaps an injury?) and had gone salt and pepper early considering he barely had wrinkles. “They’re executives of holdings I consult on outside of Knight Enterprises and . . . good mates of mine.”

Their eyes kept shifting between Mr. Knight and myself.

“You’ll be seeing quite a bit of them.”

“Nice to meet you,” I murmured. In turn, they murmured vague responses. It was clear they greatly respected Mr. Knight, who had not taken his eyes off me. That would take some getting used to—his barely-blinking black eyes on me—though I had no idea why. I breathed in deeply and felt my trusty navy smock dress pull tight against my waist and breasts.

He asked me if was settling in, and I told him yes, I had met with HR at 8:30 a.m., and that I appreciated the benefits plan and had signed the contract. I also informed him I would like to reorganize his schedule into a handy phone app that would allow me to send alerts.

“Sounds fine, Miss Sykes. We can discuss the week’s schedule this arvo.” (Arvo, I had learned, is Australian strine for afternoon.)

As Mr. Knight’s associates filed into his office, I was baffled by their reaction to me, and worried briefly that they may have some negative influence on my position there. I brushed the concern aside, as I have found speculation gives me nothing but a headache.

After that encounter, I settled into my day readily, making myself familiar with basic operations and sundries. I marveled at how smart Mr. Knight was to surround himself not just with a highly respected board of directors, but also with a bevy of additional experts to consult on all aspects of his business. It was a logical and prudent method for someone who had not attained a formal business education—even though I suspected his IQ was above average.

And there, I’d done it again. No matter how hard I focused on the job at hand, my thoughts circled back to Mr. Knight. I had never had trouble concentrating in my life before. I chalked it up to all of the newness in my life, and my desire to make this job work, and perhaps also recognizing the fact that, physically, Mr. Knight was a fine specimen. I could admire him, I reasoned, in a removed fashion, and not be distracted, if I simply set my mind to it.

At lunchtime, in the Plaza’s main washroom I applied SPF 50 to my exposed skin and wandered to the nearby tourist attraction, Darling Harbour. I ate my peanut butter sandwich seated on a pedestrian-friendly art installation of spiraling steps set up at one corner of the wharf. This enabled me to observe locals and tourists soaking up the sun at restaurant tables or ambling around the market shops while whiffing the unfamiliar scent of the sea, and admiring the downtown skyline.

As long as one minimized movement in the Australian heat, sweating was avoidable. I wondered if my mother would have liked the heat, and found no likely answer in my memory bank. I deliberated on how long it would take for my body to acclimatize to the temperature. And then I thought through the various activities I needed to conduct to gain a sense of Mr. Knight’s filing system. I was also responsible for fielding much of his email. The inbox folder was full, which indicated the former assistant had not been managing that task for quite some time. It was clear Mr. Knight was in need of basic office management. Also, I was looking forward to reading the company’s prospectus and digging deeper into his holdings for areas of research I might assist in.

“Can I join ya?” asked a raspy male voice with a heavy Australian accent. I glanced down at a tall, fit man, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, standing at the bottom of the stairs. He also wore scruff on his face that matched his short brown hair. Even from four steps high, I could make out his bright blue eyes. They practically popped out of his face. He was decidedly above average in the looks department, and, given the tattoo on his left forearm, possibly someone B would describe as a “bad boy” and thus likely not “stick-it” material.

“I was just leaving,” I announced as I stood up, my dress sliding down to just above knee level. I stepped down the stairs, but he was one of those persistent ones, as he kept his eyes glued on me and followed. B says it is my sex appeal, which never fails to make me laugh (a generally rare occurrence). She also says that I need only open my mouth to deflect them.

“I’ll see you back,” he said.

“How do you know where I am going?” I paused. Now that I was ground level I could see he was taller than I previously assumed, six foot four perhaps, which threw a giant shadow over my five foot five.

“I work for Knight Enterprises. Spotted you this morning and reckoned I’d make a move before some other bloke does.” He smiled in a way that did not appear natural. He was trying to be charming.

Oh.

“I appreciate your candor,” I heard myself say, surprised I had not given him my usual line, which is, “I am not interested in men.” (This usually garners initial excitement until they realize I am quite serious.) However, I reminded myself in the moment, I was in Australia, to, among other goals, find a mate.

Those eyes were hard
not
to stare into. My reaction was biological, I realized. Indeed, I found his physical appearance, especially his unusually curved, slightly thin lips and ample height, attractive. Adrenaline swirled around in my chest. I licked my lips. I watched his eyes fall on my mouth, his own pupils dilated. Perhaps he would cherish me, and mate with me for life.

“Name’s Sullivan Blaise.”

I gave him my hand.

“I am Charlie Sykes.”

“Sure are a dazzler, aren’t you?” he said. No one had ever been quite so direct about their attraction to me before.

“Thank you. I find you quite pleasing, physically, as well.”

“Do you, then?” He laughed, smiling.

“I also appreciate a man who says what he means.” His smile slipped, his eyebrows raised, and he shifted closer, tilting his head.

“Well, I appreciate the same in a woman, too,” he added softly.

We walked back, a friendly connection established, in silence for a moment or two. “How about you let me take you out tonight so we can see what else we have in common?” We were paused at the crosswalk outside the Plaza.

“I am indisposed this evening.”

He frowned.

I explained. “I am picking up my cat. I have booked a cab, as I must get to the other side of the city before seven p.m. in order to release her from the unfair and lengthy quarantine which has finally come to an end.”

He watched me closely, and for a moment, I anticipated that look people give me. The best way I can describe it is skepticism. But, he appeared only to be contemplating what I had just told him.

“You don’t drive?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you let me take you? We could grab some tucker after.”

“That’s very kind of you, Sullivan,” I said. “I hesitate only because I have been looking forward to my reunion with Miss Moneypenny. I want to remain close beside her to help remind her of my affection, especially as she will be introduced to yet another new environment.”

“Well, why don’t we eat at yours?” He put his hands in his pocket. “I’d like to meet . . . your cat.” We stood outside the entrance to Mr. Knight’s plaza hotel. Sullivan glanced over my shoulder, and then back at me, asking quickly, “So how ’bout tonight, Charlie?”

I could not think of a reason to refuse given his incentive of a vehicle.

“Your offer is very kind. I will take you up on it. Thank you.”

“Good-oh. See ya later then, out front, around five,” said Sullivan, and he walked leisurely back into the hotel. I realized I had not asked in what capacity he worked for Mr. Knight.

I was about to head in when I heard Mr. Knight call to me.

“Miss Sykes.” I glanced at the steady stream of arriving and departing vehicles. Mr. Knight approached. He was returning from lunch with one of his business lawyers. The driver of a town car was just closing the door behind him.

“Mr. Knight.”

I accompanied him in silence down the connecting hallway from the hotel to the office’s reception, then two turns to reach our office area. I greatly appreciated the fact Mr. Knight did not fill the air with empty words. However, he had placed his hand on my lower back upon ushering me through the entrance and had not removed it. I nearly informed him I did not need physical assistance in order to navigate my way, but thought better on it. The contact was not intrusive, in fact, it created a warmth in my lower back that I felt in the nape of my neck and behind my ears. I tried to ignore the sensation, as I did not wish to misconstrue his gesture. Possibly, this was a custom for Australian men.