“I’m going to get her set up on the computer at Janice’s desk,” Roberta said. “Then she’ll be ready to go.”

Trainor nodded and sat down in the big chair, swiveling away from them toward a computer screen before they’d started to leave. So that was how it would be. All business. Chloe was good with that.

After Roberta gave her a quick tutorial on the executive e-mail and messaging system, Chloe smoothed her hair back, picked up a pad of paper and a pen, and knocked on Trainor’s door.

“Come in.” This time he was leaning back in his chair, contemplating one of the computer screens. He rotated to face her and gestured to the two square leather chairs set in front of his desk. “Have a seat. So all I do is answer e-mails, read and write reports, and go to meetings. You’re in charge of facilitating those functions, particularly the meetings. I value punctuality.”

Then he gave her a smile. It drew fascinating brackets at the corners of his very masculine lips. Chloe had a hard time breathing.

She sat down abruptly and sucked in oxygen as she tried to remember what she’d wanted to ask him. “Roberta showed me your calendar. Would you like an e-mail reminder twenty minutes before each item on your schedule if the meeting is in-house?”

“Good suggestion,” he said. “How are you at proofreading?”

Feeling on firm ground now, she said, “I majored in English.” Typos seemed to jump out at her when she read anything, something that often drove her crazy when reading articles on the Internet.

He turned his chair and swiped his fingertip over his screen first in one direction, then another, then a third. He had long, tapering fingers, so he looked rather like a magician casting a spell. “I’ve just sent you a report one of my associates drafted. It needs cleaning up. That’s your first job.”

“Yes, sir,” Chloe said.

His brows drew together. “Sir?”

“Mr. Trainor.”

He seemed about to say something, but instead shrugged and turned back to his computer screen.

Chloe returned to her desk, fighting down the mix of gut-punching attraction and mild resentment Trainor evoked in her. She didn’t mind the resentment, but she needed to eliminate the attraction. He was the CEO of a giant, heartless corporation, just like the one that had sucked her father dry.

The report Trainor had sent her—an analysis of a recent marketing campaign written by someone named Richard Sinclair—needed more than just cleaning up. She debated a moment before she hit the intercom button. “Mr. Trainor, may I suggest some edits for this report? I’ll use tracking so you know what I’ve changed.”

“You want to edit the report?” His surprise came through her headset clearly.

“For clarity,” Chloe said. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ve worked in marketing before, so I know the jargon.”

She’d also worked in sales, accounting, and just about every other department a business could have. That was the joy and pain of working for start-ups; they were understaffed, so she filled in wherever she was needed. Unfortunately, she also brought the Russell jinx down on them. No fewer than three of the last four companies she’d worked for had failed. It had taken only three months from the day she was hired for the most recent one to close its doors. However, she refused to give up and work for a soulless corporation like Trainor Electronics except on a temporary basis. Her father’s experience had convinced her to avoid that career path. His employer had used his brilliant mind and given him a pittance in return.

A moment of silence. “Go ahead,” Trainor said and hung up.

She set alarms to remind herself to alert her boss about his meetings, and dug into the mess of charts and graphs and disorganized analyses. It got so bad that she created a whole new document with her changes. There were interruptions, of course, as the phone rang and a parade of visitors had to be vetted. However, the phone wasn’t as busy as she’d expected because Priscilla screened all the calls first and only put through those she thought Trainor might have an interest in taking.

“This job is cake,” Chloe muttered to herself as she attached the rewritten report to an e-mail and hit “Send.”

Trainor’s office door swung open, and the man himself emerged. Her gaze went straight to his sculpted forearms, then lifted as he ran one hand through the thick waves of his hair, making it look tousled, as though he’d just gotten out of bed. He frowned down at her from his considerable height. “Did you go to lunch?”

She glanced at the time on the computer screen: 2:03. She’d been so engrossed in the editing, she’d missed her one o’clock lunchtime. Her stomach growled. “Should I go now?”

“Could you order in sandwiches for both of us? I have a meeting in thirty minutes, and I’d like you to take notes.”

“I don’t know shorthand,” Chloe confessed. Almost no one did anymore, but maybe he was old-school.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re just window dressing.”

Maybe she should be insulted, but that reminded her that she was underdressed for her new position. She wasn’t going to add any luster to her boss’s reputation in this outfit.

But that wasn’t a problem she could fix. Lunch was. Not that she knew where she was going to get lunch in less than twenty minutes. “What would you like on your sandwich?”

He hesitated, the first time she’d seen him do that. “Keep it plain.”