Samantha Edwards had never minded the interview process,
even when she was the one looking for a job. But having
seen her prospective boss naked made things just a little
tricky.
The good news was Jack Hanson was unlikely to bring up
that single night they'd shared. Not only wasn't it
relevant to her employment application, it had been nearly
ten years ago. She doubted he remembered anything about
the event.
Well, not just the one event. Her recollection was
completely clear. There had been three "events" that
night, each of them more spectacular than the one before.
"Ms. Edwards? Mr. Hanson will see you now."
Samantha looked up at the sixty-something secretary behind
the modern metal-and-glass desk in the foyer in front of
Jack's office.
"Thank you," Samantha said as she rose and moved toward
the closed door.
She paused to tug on her cropped jacket. Her clothing
choices had been deliberately conservative β for her, at
least. Flowing black slacks, a cream-and-black checked
jacket over a cream silk shirt. It killed her to avoid
color, but ten years ago Jack Hanson had been the poster
boy for straitlaced conservative types. She was willing to
guess that hadn't changed.
Except he hadn't been the least bit conservative in bed.
The wayward thought popped into her head just as she
pushed open the door to his office. She did her best to
ignore it as she drew in a deep breath, reminded herself
how much she wanted this job and walked confidently toward
the man standing behind his desk.
"Hello, Jack," she said, shaking hands with him.
"It's been a long time."
"Samantha. Good to see you."
He studied her with a thoroughness that made her breath
catch. How much of his steady perusal was about sizing up
the candidate and how much was about their past?
She decided two could play at that game and did a little
looking of her own.
He was taller than she'd remembered and he still seemed to
exude power and confidence. She wanted to say that was a
natural attribute for someone born to money, but she had a
feeling Jack would have been a winner regardless of his
upbringing. He was simply that kind of man.
Time had been kind, but then time had always preferred men
to women, she thought humorously. Jack's face showed
character in addition to chiseled features. She wondered
if life ever got boring for the physically perfect. While
he had to deal with things like broad shoulders and a
smile that would have most of the female population lining
up to be seduced, she had unruly red hair that defied
taming, a stick-straight body, small breasts and a butt
that could only be described as bony. Was that fair?
"Please," he said, motioning to one of the chairs.
"Have a seat."
"Thanks."
He did the same, claiming his side of the desk. He looked
good there β in charge and powerful. But she happened to
know he was new to the job.
"I read about your father's death a couple of months ago,"
she said. "I'm sorry."
"Thanks." He motioned to the office. "That's why I'm
working here. The board asked me to step in and take care
of the company for a while."
"I'd wondered," she admitted. "Last I'd heard, you were
practicing law."
"It would be my preference," he told her.
"But you did so well at business school." She would know β
they'd been competing for the top spot, often by working
together. He'd been the detail-intensive, organized half
and she'd been the creative member of the team.
"Hated every minute of it," he said. "I realized I
preferred the law."
Jack thought about the day he'd told his father he wasn't
entering the family business. George Hanson hadn't been
able to comprehend that his oldest son wasn't interested
in learning how to run a multimillion-dollar company. The
older man had been disappointed and furious. It had been
the only time Jack hadn't done what was expected of him.
Ironically, today he was exactly where his father had
wanted him to be.
But not for long, he reminded himself. "I guess your
father's death changed your plans," Samantha said.
He nodded. "I'm on a three-month leave of absence from my
law firm. Until then Hanson Media Group gets my full
attention."
"Are you sure you want the Donald Trump act to be
temporary?"
"I'm not the tycoon type."
She smiled. "I would say you have potential. Word on the
street is you're bringing in a lot of new people."
"That's true. My father hated to hand over control of
anything. He was still the head of at least three
departments. With a company this big, no one has the time
or energy to run them and the rest of the business. I'm
looking for the best people possible to join the team."
"I'm flattered."
"It's the truth. You're only here because you're good. I
need creative types. It's not my strong suit."
She smiled. "A man who can admit his weaknesses. How
unusual."
"Samantha, the only reason I passed marketing was because
I was on your team. You carried me through the whole
class."
"You tutored me through cost accounting. We're even."
She shifted slightly as she spoke, causing her slacks to
briefly hug her slender thighs. The other candidates had
been highly skilled with incredible rΓ©sumΓ©s, but unlike
Samantha, they'd come in dressed in business suits,
looking equally comfortable in a board room or law office.
Not Samantha. Despite the conservative colors, she was
anything but ordinary. Maybe it was the bright green
parrot pin on her lapel or the dangling earrings that hung
nearly to her shoulders. Or maybe it was that her long,
fiery red hair seemed to have a will and a life of its own.
She was not a conservative businessperson. She was avant-
garde and wildly creative. There was an independence about
her he admired.
"You left New York," he said. "Why?"
"I wanted to make a change. I'd been working there since
graduation."
He studied her as she spoke, looking for nuances. There
were plenty, but none of them worried him. Per his
research, she was coming off a divorce. Her previous
employer had done his best to keep her from leaving.
"You have to know this is a dream job," she said.
"You're offering complete creative control of Internet
development, with more than a million-dollar budget. How
could anyone resist that? It's my idea of heaven."
"Good. It's my idea of hell."
She smiled. Her full mouth curved and he felt himself
responding. Subtle tension filled his body.
"You always did hate a blank page," she said, her smile
widening to a grin.
"You always did hate rules," he told her.
"Me?" She raised her eyebrows. "You were happy enough to
break them when it suited your purpose."
He shrugged. "Whatever it takes to get what I want. What I
want now is a great staff and the company running
smoothly. Let's get down to specifics."
He passed her information on several current Internet
campaigns. After she'd flipped through the material, they
discussed possible directions for growth.
Samantha became more animated as the conversation
progressed. "Children," she told him. "There's so much we
could do for kids. After-school programs on the Web. Not
just the usual help with homework, but interactive
programs linking kids all over the country."
As she spoke, she leaned toward him, gesturing with her
hands to make her point. "We can also cosponsor events
with popular movies or TV shows."
"Cross-advertising," he said.
"Yes. The potential is huge. And that's just younger kids.
I have even more ideas for teens."
"They're the ones with the disposable income and the time
to spend it," he said. When she raised her eyebrows in
surprise, he added, "I've been doing my research."
"Apparently. It's true. With more single-parent families
and more families with both parents working, teens are
often a real source of information on what items to
purchase. They actually influence adults' decisions on
everything from breakfast cereal to cars. Plus they're
computer savvy, which means they're comfortable
downloading information. To them, the Internet is as much
a part of their lives as phones were for us."
"So you're interested in the job," he said.
"I distinctly recall the word heaven coming up in the
conversation. I wasn't kidding. I'd love the chance to
grow this part of the company."
Her excitement was tangible energy in the office. He liked
that. She'd always thrown herself into whatever it was she
was doing and he doubted that had changed.
He'd been surprised to see her name on the short list of
candidates, but pleasantly so. He and Samantha had worked
well together at grad school. They'd been a good team.
Just as important, she was someone he could trust. "The
job is yours, if you want it," he told her. "The formal
offer would come from my human-resources person in the
morning."
Her green eyes widened. "Seriously?"
"Why are you shocked? You're talented, qualified and
someone I'm comfortable working with."
"You make me sound like a rescue dog."
He grinned. "If I could find one that could work a
computerβ¦"
She laughed. "Okay, yes. I'm interested. But I have to
warn you, I'm very much the creative type. I'll want
control of my staff."
"Agreed."
"We're not going to be wearing three-piece suits."
"I don't care if you wear frog costumes, as long as you do
the job."
She didn't look convinced. "This isn't like the law, Jack.
You can't always find an answer in a book."
"Can I get disapproving and difficult before you give me
the lecture?" he asked, mildly amused by her concern. "I
get it β creative people are different. Not a problem."
"Okay. Point taken."
She rose. He stood as well. In heels she was only a couple
of inches shorter than him. He walked around the table and
held out his hand.
"Leave your number with Mrs. Wycliff. You'll be hearing
from my HR office first thing in the morning."
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