who were also in attendance, keeping a determined and confident smile fixed to her face. Most of them didn’t exactly looked inspired by her speech. And Malcolm didn’t look close to even listening to any kind of save-the-school plan.
“We’ve terminated the contracts of Dawn O’Shea and Vernon Balder. The fraternization policy at the school is very clear. They both understood the reasons for their dismissal. I’ve made it clear to the staff that there are no exceptions to any of our rules.”
“That’s a good course of action, but it’s not enough to change the board’s decision, Ms. Stephens,” Malcolm said.
Grace was disappointed by his comment but had expected nothing less. Malcolm had to have been humiliated when the pictures of Dawn were published first on the Internet and then in the local paper. He was out for blood.
“What Malcolm means is that we’re also concerned with the school’s financial state. As you know, the incident caused many families to withdraw their students and we had to refund tuition, which affected the operating budget for the remainder of the school year,” Adam said.
Grace took a deep breath. It was January and the start of the second semester—enrollment had dropped by half. Parents didn’t want their future leaders touched by any kind of scandal. She was painfully aware that the school was barely going to cover operating expenses until the school year ended in May.
This was the first conversation she’d had with Adam that had involved more than one- or two-word answers. “I know that. I’ve been working with our school accountant and I think we have a plan that will keep us under budget until the end of the year.”
“Even if we keep the school open until the end of the semester, we’ll be back here discussing the same situation in the fall.”
Grace felt her heart drop. Though the board had agreed to this meeting, they’d already made up their minds and there seemed to be nothing she could say to change them. But giving up without a fight wasn’t her style.
“I don’t agree with that point of view, Mr. Bowen,” she said. “Our remaining student body wants to return next year and, together with the student council, we’ve started an aggressive recruiting campaign.”
She’d spent her entire life in pursuit of this one goal—living a proper life and working at this school. She wanted the conservative reputation she now had. She’d wanted to be anything other than the sinful daughter of the Preacher Reverend Stephens.
She forced that to the back of her mind. She definitely wasn’t going to dwell on the terribly clichéd fact that her mother had run off with a traveling salesman. Jenny Stephens had left long before Grace had been old enough to ask to go with her, and the reverend had made sure Jenny had little time with Grace thereafter. Although he’d taken her to her mother’s funeral after Jenny’s death from an aneurysm.
She rubbed the back of her neck and tried to concentrate, but the smell of Adam’s cologne distracted her. It was earthy, woodsy, a scent that titillated her senses.
“I’d like the chance to show you our entire presentation before the board votes,” she said.
“That’s why we’re here, Ms. Stephens.”
Adam’s BlackBerry twittered and he pulled the unit closer to him. His hands were large, his fingers long and his nails nicer looking than hers, which were chewed to the quick.
“Excuse me,” Adam said. “I need to see Ms. Stephens outside for a minute.”
“Of course, that will give Bruce and me time to set up the presentation for our fiscal reconstruction plan. Will fifteen minutes be enough?” Jose asked.
“Perfect,” Adam said.
He gestured for her to lead the way. She was conscious of him walking close behind her until they were outside the boardroom and in the relative privacy of the hallway in the administrative building. He had his hand on the small of her back. She felt the heat of his touch through the layers of her clothing.
She hoped that none of what she’d thought earlier showed on her face. She tried to keep her breathing even and told herself that she was at work, not a place for desire.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Bowen?” she asked, trying to keep her mind on business and not the way his suit jacket fit his broad shoulders.
“I’ve asked you to call me Adam when we’re not in the presence of the other regents,” he said.
“It wouldn’t be proper,” she said, trying not to notice that the dark-blue shirt he wore made his eyes even brighter and more penetrating than usual.
“And are you always proper, Grace?”
Yes, sadly she was. She nodded. Too bad other members of her staff weren’t as vigilant. “I think maybe that’s a good thing, considering the problems our school is facing.”
He gave her a wry grin. “I need to use your office computer to print an e-mail that I just received and fax back a response.”
She led him down the hall to her office. She logged on to her computer and then left him to his work. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
Adam accessed the Internet and read the e-mail Lana, his assistant, had sent him. Every business had its headaches, but lately running AXIOM was no longer just a fun adventure, especially where Viper was concerned.
Viper had been one of the first bands he’d signed to his label and he felt a sense of loyalty to them. And the last year and a half had been hard on both the band and the label. Lead singer Stevie Taylor’s mother had been sick and dying of cancer. Stevie had reacted to his grief by partying harder, and when Stevie drank he got violent. The latest episode involved three staff members at a Paris hotel and the authorities.
Adam rubbed his brow as the list of people he had to talk to lengthened. He needed a conference call with Mitch Hollaran, Stevie’s attorney, and Nico DeTrio, AXIOM’s attorney.
He picked up the phone and called Lana, giving her specific instructions for dealing with Stevie, who was more trouble than he was worth as far as the bottom line was concerned. But since Viper had made Adam his first million independent of his inheritance, he would put up with more crap from them than any other band he had. He hit the print icon and waited for his document.
As he turned back from the printer, he bumped into Grace’s desk. Her office was a decent size, but not really big enough for the large oak desk. Two file folders fell to the floor and papers spilled out of both of them.
He dropped to one knee to pick them up, glancing at the papers for a second. The words breast and mouth caught his eye, and he pulled that page farther from the folder, reading it. He was surprised to see a very racy story that opened with the boss and secretary engaged in a steamy embrace on an office conference table. It was titled “Adam’s Mistress,” by Stephanie Grace. Not much of a stretch to conclude that this was Grace’s pen name.
But even more intriguing was the fact that “Adam” bore a startling resemblance, both physically and financially, to him. And the heroine’s name was Grace.
He finished reading that first scene, feeling more than a little aroused by the sexy images he assumed Grace had created. There were almost five pages of first-person fantasy there.
