Boss’s Demand
Jennifer Lewis
JENNIFER LEWIS has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember and is thrilled to be able to share them with readers. She has lived on both sides of the Atlantic and worked in media and the arts before she grew bold enough to put pen to paper. She is happily settled in New York with her family, and she would love to hear from readers at [email protected].
For Michael, Jordan and Mia, my favourite people in the world.
Thanks to all the people who read this book at various stages, including Amanda, Anne, Barb, Betty, Car, Cece, Cheryel, Kathy, Joanne, Leeanne, Marie and Mish. Special thanks to Carol and Kelle for your insight into aspects of the oil industry.
“I want her gone.”
Elan Al Mansur’s low-pitched command shot into her ear as she pressed the intercom button to speak with him. Surprise made Sara catch her breath—he must have someone in his office. She held her tongue, afraid of her new boss though she’d only been there a few hours.
“But Mr. Al Mansur…” Sara recognized the voice of Jill Took from Human Resources. “She has a bachelor’s degree in business with a minor in geology, she wrote her honors thesis on the profit potential of alternative mining technologies, and her references are excellent.”
They were talking about her.
Her finger quivered on the button as her brain told her to hang up. But she stifled her breathing and kept her finger in place.
“Did I not inform you that I require my assistant to be a mature woman?” His voice was almost a growl.
“Yes, but…”
“How old is Miss Daly?”
“Twenty-five, but she seems exceptionally mature. She presented herself…”
“Twenty-five!” Sara heard a dismissive snort. “That’s hardly what I would call mature. I’ve made it quite clear that I prefer my assistant to be a woman with decades of experience, and preferably gray hairs on her head.”
Sara’s finger twitched on the button as her hackles rose. She took in a measured gulp of air.
“Mr. Al Mansur, I’m afraid we don’t receive many applications from senior citizens. I…”
“Is Miss Daly married?”
“No, sir, I don’t believe she is. But as you know, sir, that kind of information is not—”
Jill paused and Sara pressed the phone to her ear as she heard a loud creak and some rustling. Elan Al Mansur must have silenced Jill with a gesture.
“Miss Took—” His throaty voice coiled into Sara’s ear and fear curled in her stomach at his tone. “I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for the whims and fancies of foolish girls. We both know the kinds of problems which have plagued my office of late. Miss Daly must go.”
“But Mr. Al Mansur…”
“That’s my last word on the matter. Miss Daly?”
Sara jumped in her chair as her name assaulted her down the phone line. He must have pressed the intercom button, too.
“Yes,” she croaked.
“Please, come in.”
“Yes, sir.” She hung up the phone gingerly. Adrenaline spiked through her body. I’m going to be fired.
She could hear the murmur of their voices on the other side of the heavy mahogany door, no doubt discussing the terms of her severance. Her severance? After one morning? She’d moved a thousand miles from her home in Wisconsin to take this job in Placer, amidst the crumpled peaks and wide valleys of Nevada’s high desert. All her cash had gone into the security deposit on her apartment and her car had died and… The horror of the situation bloomed like a thunderhead.
This job was the answer to all her prayers. The high salary was her ticket out from under the crushing load of debt from her college loans and her mother’s final illness. It had taken her extra time to get her degree while holding down a full-time job, and finally here was an opportunity to build her career and make her reputation as Executive Assistant and Project Manager at one of the fastest growing players in the oil industry.
Now it would be taken from her because she didn’t have any gray in her hair?
It wasn’t fair. To work so hard for so long and not even be given a chance to prove herself? No. Not today, Mr. Al Mansur. She didn’t plan to leave quietly.
Fear and rage fought inside her as she rose from her chair. Buttoning the jacket of the conservative suit she’d bought especially for the job, she strode toward the door. Her hand trembled as she reached for the large brushed-steel handle, and she inhaled sharply as she pressed down the lever.
“But she’s a plain little thing, I’m sure she wouldn’t be the type to…” Ms. Took’s words trailed off and pink flushed her cheeks as Sara made her entrance.
Her boss’s focused black gaze hit her like a right hook to the gut. He leaned back in a black leather chair, arms on the armrests, surveying her down the length of his aristocratic nose.
Everything about the man seemed designed to intimidate. From his thick black hair and hard-edged features to his broad muscled frame in its tailored black suit, Elan Al Mansur seethed with power and danger.
Sara’s angry protest withered on her tongue as he leaned forward in his chair, narrowed his eyes, and pursed his lips slightly.
“Miss Daly.”
“Yes.” She was surprised her voice sounded so normal as she gagged on a ferocious cocktail of terror and indignation.
His gaze drifted over her face, disdain plain in his raised eyebrow and slightly curled lip.
Anger simmered inside Sara along with an unfamiliar sensation. An odd tension that tightened her muscles and nerves, wound them taut like the strings of an instrument as a searing note of high-pitched anxiety rose in the air.
His eyes locked on hers. “You’re being reassigned to a position in accounting. Your salary and benefits will remain the same. You’ll begin your duties immediately.”
Accounting? She’d moved here to take a highly visible position as right hand to the CEO, with assurances that her duties would range far beyond administrative tasks. A transfer to accounting was a step backward. A slap in the face.
“But why?” The words shot out before she had a chance to shape them into an intelligent question.
Jill Took shifted awkwardly in her chair, “Er,
