Winn didn't look up immediately. He was leaning back in his chair, reading glasses low on his nose, looking at a spread of building designs.
"Contact our Manhattan architect and inform him I need those plans in the next hour. I don't have time to go for lunch today, so get me something. Twelve sharp. And make sure—"
"You're not firing me?" Ivy blurted, cutting him off.
Winn's head snapped up. His dark eyes narrowed on her. "Do you want me to?" he asked smoothly, one brow arched.
"No! No, sir," Ivy stammered, her face burning. "Carry on."
Winn exhaled slowly through his nose. "I have a meeting with our European investors. They'll be landing at JFK by two. There are five of them. Make sure they're picked up, driven to their hotels, and—" He stopped abruptly, eyes narrowing.
"Why aren't you taking notes?"
She didn't come in with a pen or notepad because she honestly thought she would be fired.
"I can handle it," Ivy said, her chin tilted just high enough to look confident.
Winn leaned back in his chair, dark eyes gleaming with amusement. She can handle it. Interesting. This one… she was either over confident or stupid. Maybe both.
"I want them brought back here by five p.m. sharp for our meeting. The conference room ready, the lounge prepared afterward with refreshments. The report of that meeting on my desk tomorrow morning, condensed. Skip the fluff. I don't have time for inconsequential details."
Ivy stood there listening, clutching her contract behind her back. He rattled off instructions like machine-gun fire, and she couldn't help but be impressed. No wonder the man was a billionaire. He sounded efficient. A perfectionist who expected excellence.
Winn's eyes flicked back to her face, sharper now. "Are you sure you shouldn't be writing these down?"
"No offense, sir, but if you can list all my tasks from memory, then I can do them from memory."
"Are you comparing yourself to me?"
"Not in the slightest, sir," Ivy replied quickly. Her pulse spiked when his gaze dragged over her face.
"Today may be your first day. You mess anything up, it will be your last."
"Understood, sir."
For a moment, Winn studied her, his pen tapping lightly against the desk. Then, with a dismissive flick of his hand, he said, "That will be all."
"Where are they from?" Ivy asked.
Winn frowned. "What?"
"The Europeans," she clarified, shifting her weight from one heel to the other. "Where are they from?"
"They're Dutch," he answered flatly. What the hell did that matter?
"Noted," Ivy said with a small, thoughtful nod, filing the detail away. Her face gave nothing away, but Winn didn't like that. "Would you like anything else done?" she asked.
"You can go."
Ivy gave a quick nod, then, sly as a thief, she slipped her unsigned employment contract back onto the edge of his desk before walking out. Winn caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, but he said nothing.
As the door shut behind her, he allowed himself the smallest smirk. It's going to be a race against time, he thought. She was definitely going to drown beneath the pressure.
*****
So far, Winn had no problems with Ivy's work. Which was, frankly, shocking. He expected his temp secretaries to crumble within hours—hell, most of them couldn't even manage to order his lunch properly. But Ivy?
She was efficient, irritatingly composed for a woman who had flashed him her tits hours ago.
As a matter of fact, he was impressed—but he wouldn't tell her that now, would he? Praise only made employees think they had leverage.
His lunch had arrived at exactly twelve, down to the minute. The silence between them stretched, until she collected the files he'd finished signing. He slid them toward her, except for one. Her employment file.
Ivy noticed. Her gaze lingered for half a second longer than it should. She swallowed her words, squared her shoulders, and turned to leave.
The phone rang. Winn answered it. The investors had landed at JFK, had been picked up and already checking into their hotel for a short rest. He set the receiver down and, almost idly, reached for Ivy's file.
Her résumé was… unimpressive, to put it mildly. Dropped out of college. Worked as a barista. Moonlighted as an event usher on weekends. Winn's brows furrowed as he scanned the lines. On paper, she was disposable.
So why the hell was she still on his mind? Why did he keep remembering the feel of her skin under his knuckles, the sharp flash of defiance in her eyes, the way she dared to speak back without flinching?
Winn closed the file with a snap. She's nothing. Just another temp.
He tossed Ivy's file back onto the desk. With a frustrated exhale, he turned to his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard, when the door cracked open again.
"Sir. Reception just called. Your father is on his way up."
Winn's head dropped back against the chair with a groan. "Fuck!" His jaw clenched as he muttered, "Just let him come in."
"Yes, sir." Ivy nodded briskly and slipped out. A few minutes later, the door opened again. It was his father.
Tom Kane strolled in, his custom-tailored suit sharp, his cologne strong. "Why the hell aren't you picking my calls?"
Winn pinched the bridge of his nose, already exhausted. "Dad, I've been busy. I'm swamped."
"Too swamped to deal with family business?" Tom shot back. He lowered himself into one of the chairs opposite Winn's desk.
Winn's gut tightened. He knew what was coming before his father even opened his mouth.
"We need to discuss your grandfather's will."
Of course. Always money. The only thing Tom Kane ever gave a damn about. Winn sat back in his chair but inside he was simmering. His maternal grandfather had passed only a year ago.
"There's absolutely nothing I can do," Winn said flatly. "The will will be read whenever it can be read."