The Game Page 2

  “Name them.”

  “One: My room shouldn’t be too close to yours. That way, I’ll have some personal space. And two: You should promise never to enter it.”

  “Unless invited, of course,” Grant says.

  Invited? I suddenly have an image of him and me in a bedroom, but I shake that off. I ignore the suggestion as well.

  “Do you accept my conditions?” I ask, squaring my shoulders.

  “Yes.”

  “All right.” I take a deep breath. “If you’ll excuse me, then, I’ll go get my things.”

  “I’d ask someone to help you but I’m afraid I haven’t hired maids,” Grant says. “I just moved in here a week ago.”

  “That’s fine,” I tell him. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying my things. Also, I can help you hire the maids if you’d like.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  I turn on my heel.

  “Oh, and Abby?”

  I glance back.

  He leans forward on his desk. “I look forward to having you around.”

  For a moment, I think I see a spark of lust in his eyes but then it vanishes so I must have imagined it. There’s no way a man as hot and powerful as him could want someone like me. The sooner I firmly engrave that in my mind and stop imagining things, the better.

  Outside the office, I heave a sigh of relief. Well, at least my new boss likes me. Still, something tells me that being Grant’s personal assistant isn’t going to be as easy as I thought.

  Chapter 2

  Intentions

  Grant

  Getting Abby to fall for me is going to be easier than I thought.

  Watching her sitting on a garden bench from an upstairs balcony, stretching her arms and looking completely at ease, I grin. She may have managed to regain her composure this morning. She may have put up a brave front and tried to keep her distance from me. She may appear tough and cold. But I know better. I know what I saw in her dark eyes when they first clashed with mine.

  Wonder. Excitement. Desire.

  Just as I expected.

  Indeed, so far, everything is going according to plan.

  “You’ve got that creepy look on your face again,” Roger’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

  I still find it puzzling how such a large man can make such little noise. Then again, he was a spy of some sort before he came to work for my grandfather.

  “What creepy look?” I ask as I sit down.

  He opens the bottle of water in his hand as he leans on the wall. “I take it your first meeting went well?”

  “It did.” I grab the bottle of brandy and pour myself a glass. “Better than I expected.”

  “Can’t you just ask her nicely?”

  “What? Just go up to her and say ‘Hey, can you fall in love with me so that I can get Lindsey Holland to put her name on my apps?’” I shake my head as I take a sip. “Sorry, but no.”

  A few weeks ago, I spoke to Lindsey Holland, the country’s top female psychologist, who also happens to be my ex. I told her I was coming up with a whole line of apps designed for women and I wanted her name on them. She refused and when I persisted, she said she would only agree if I managed to make a woman fall in love with me for real. So far, I’ve sent her a few women I’ve slept with but she’s turned them all against me with her psycho-babble to prove they weren’t really in love with me. I can’t waste any more time. I have to take things more seriously. I have to find the perfect woman.

  The moment I saw Abby in Nathan’s office, I knew she had potential. And as soon as I’d read her file, I knew she was the one. She’s single. She’s smart, so Lindsey won’t take her for a fool, and she hasn’t been with a man for a while, which means she’s probably waiting to be swept off her feet. That is exactly what I’m going to do. Plus, she’s a Filipina, so Lindsey should approve of her.

  I look at Roger. “You like her, don’t you?”

  “She isn’t like all the other women you’ve been with before.” He puts the cap back on his bottle after drinking. “She’s… strong.”

  Wow. Roger was able to form that opinion even though he just got a few minutes to talk to Abby? If I didn’t know him better, I wouldn’t have believed him. But I do.

  I’ve known Roger since he started working for Grandfather. I was only a teenager then. I’m not exactly sure what his background is but I know he fell in love with my mother and promised her he’d watch over me, which is why he’s here with me now. I know, too, that he’s as good a judge of character as he is skilled with a gun and a knife.

  If he says Abby is strong, she must be. But it doesn’t matter.

  “If you didn’t want her getting hurt, you should have kept the gate closed,” I tell him.

  “I guess I’m taking a chance on her.”

  I crease my eyebrows at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Anyway, you are going to hire maids, aren’t you?” Roger asks. “The house is clean right now but it won’t take long for the dust to settle. And I washed the kettle and some cups so I can make tea but the rest of the silverware still needs cleaning.”

  “Abby said she’ll take care of it.”

  Roger nods then leaves. Alone, I continue watching Abby, who’s still in the garden deep in thought and without a clue she’s being watched.

  So she managed to impress Roger, huh? Well, I have to admit I’m fascinated by her personality as well. As for her looks... she’s attractive enough, maybe even more so because she’s trying to hide it. For example, she has her brown hair tied in a bun on the top of her head and something tells me that’s how she’s always worn it. She has full lips but she isn’t wearing lipstick. In fact, she’s barely wearing any makeup. Her gray cashmere turtleneck, black cardigan, and floral scarf expertly conceal her ample-sized breasts and slim waist while making nothing of a fashion statement. Her pencil skirt extends two inches below the knee even though I caught a glimpse of smooth legs.

  Why is she hiding? Who is she hiding from?

  It doesn’t matter. It makes things more interesting. In fact, heat stirs in my crotch as I anticipate setting her hair loose and unraveling all those layers of unflattering clothing.

  Right. I’m going to break through those walls around her, draw her out, and win her over. I’m going to make Abby mine.

  And I already have the next step planned.

  ***

  “You want me to go out and have dinner with you?” Abby looks up at me from the plate she’s wiping on the kitchen counter, her eyes wide.

  I had knocked on her bedroom door, but she wasn’t there. I searched the house only to find her in the kitchen washing the dusty dishes. I told her she didn’t have to do it but she explained how she stumbled upon them while searching for a glass and she couldn’t just leave them alone and unwashed.

  “Yes,” I answer her simply.

  “Because?”

  “Because there’s nothing here in the kitchen,” I tell her. “I haven’t hired a cook yet.”

  “I see.” Abby tucks a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “I guess I’ll have to help you do that, too. For now, though, I can cook. I mean, there’s food in the pantry. And now, there are some clean dishes.”

  She lifts the plate she’s finished wiping.

  “I have no doubt you’re a good cook, but I’d rather we have dinner out. I know a good restaurant.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “I figured we could take this chance to break the ice and get to know each other better,” I explain. “So that we can work together smoothly.”

  She carries some of the clean dishes to the cupboard. “So, you’re asking me as my boss?”

  I carry the rest, following her. “Well, if you want to make it a date with me, that’s fine, too.”

  Abby stops and falls silent, a blush coating her cheeks.

  “Fine, I’ll go,” she says finally as she puts the dishes in. “But it’s not a date. It’s more like a meeting.”

  Ano
ther wall up.

  “Whatever you say.”

  She takes the dishes from my hands. “And it better not be a fancy French restaurant because I don’t have an evening gown.”

  “No.” I lean on the counter. “You can just come as you are.”

  I have to admit, though, I’m suddenly curious to know how she’d look in a gown.

  “Good.” She closes the cupboard. “Just give me fifteen minutes to shower and change. I don’t want to be all covered in dust.”

  “Sure.” I grin. “Take all the time you need.”

  ***

  All the women I’ve met have taken at least an hour to get ready for a dinner date. But in exactly twelve minutes, Abby comes down the stairs in an oversized maroon knit dress that looks like one of my old sweaters.

  So much for hoping for a little black dress.

  Well, at least it’ll be easy to remove.

  Patience, Grant. Patience.

  “You look great,” I compliment her, standing up with my hands in the pockets of my jacket.

  “You don’t have to lie,” she answers, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. “After all, this isn’t a date.”

  “Oh, is lying what people do on a date? I thought it was having fun.”

  She pouts. “It’s trying hard to impress each other and pretending to have fun.”

  “Really? You seem an expert on dates.”

  “Hardly. Shall we go?” She tucks her purse under her arm and starts walking. “I’d like to come back early.”

  “No problem.” I nod, following her to the door.

  After a few steps, she pauses. “By the way, what did you say the name of the restaurant was again?”

  ***

  Cubo.

  That’s the name of the restaurant I’ve booked for the evening, one that serves Filipino fusion cuisine. I’ve read that the name is the local word for hut, the traditional dwelling, but is spelled with a C instead of a K for a modern, western twist. Well, the place does look like a modern hut; the floor made of wood and the walls made of bamboo but with large glass windows and a high ceiling.

  I had read about Abby’s Filipino heritage, her parents both being Filipinos. She was even born in the Philippines but moved to the USA in her late childhood after her mother married an American.

  I guess I’m hoping that by bringing Abby here, I’ll be giving her something of a homecoming and maybe bridge the gap between us quicker.

  It’s all part of the plan.

  As I glance at her, I realize it’s working. Abby gapes in surprise as she looks around our table.

  That’s right, sweetheart. You can thank me later.

  Suddenly, though, the corners of her mouth droop.

  What? Isn’t she happy? Or maybe she’s just feeling homesick.

  “What can I get for you?” the waiter asks.

  “Oh, I’ll let my lovely companion for this evening decide,” I say, gesturing toward Abby. “She is a Filipina, after all.”

  “Oh, really?” The waiter looks pleased.

  Abby, however, doesn’t. She mumbles something to the waiter – something in Filipino, I assume – then to my surprise, she gets up and leaves. I mumble an apology of my own and follow her, catching up to her in the parking lot.

  I grab her arm. “Abby, what’s wrong? I thought you’d love the place.”

  “Because I’m a Filipina?” She whirls around, jerking her arm free. “What? Is that something Mr. Landers told you?”

  “No. It was in your file.”

  Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that.

  “So I have a file, huh?”

  I touch my forehead. “I wanted to know about you.”

  “And what else did that file say, hmm?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, let me guess what it didn’t say. I bet it didn’t say that I hate the Philippines.”

  I blink, puzzled. What? Most of the Filipinos I’ve met can’t wait to go home.

  “I haven’t been back there since I was eight, and I don’t think I ever will. I don’t have a home there.”

  “But you have relatives there, don’t you? I’m sure they—”

  “I haven’t heard from them in years. They might as well not exist. They don’t exist for me. That country does not exist for me. It hasn’t done anything for me.”

  “But you were born there. It’s a part of you. You—”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” She lifts her hands in dismay. “It’s a burden, a curse.”

  Her hatred takes me by surprise. “Well, maybe you’re taking it the wrong way. Maybe you should just accept it and—”

  “Don’t talk to me like you know me,” she cuts me off angrily, lifting a finger in warning. “You may have a file on me but you know nothing about me.” She pokes my chest. “Nothing.”

  With that, she stomps away.

  This time, I don’t stop her. I just watch her walk across the parking lot and hail a cab, knowing that it’s futile to give chase now. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve made a mistake, and, as a result, the date turned out to be a disaster even before it could start.

  Fuck.

  My fists clench at my sides as I fight a strong desire to punch something. I look up at the night sky and take a deep breath.

  All right. So, I underestimated her. I assumed she would love her heritage, which was a key part of my plan. Obviously I didn’t think things through well enough. Then again, I’ve never had to go through such lengths to win a woman over. Usually, they just fall into my lap and into my bed.

  But I’ve learned my lesson. There’s no way in hell I’m giving up. I’ll take care of her pet peeves later. For now, I’ll just work around them and concentrate on getting her wrapped around my finger, and, hopefully, another part of me, which eagerly pulses in anticipation.

  Taking a deep breath, I put my hands in my pockets and walk to my car.

  Just you wait, Abby. You’ll be mine soon enough.

  Chapter 3

  Retry

  Abby

  Who does Grant think he is?

  I stomp into my room and sit in front of the dresser, still fuming.

  I know he’s my boss and he’s a billionaire but that doesn’t give him the right to dictate my feelings or my personal life.

  So, he has a file on me, does he? What? Did he have a friend of his pull out all my records or did he pay someone to spy on me? Either would be easy for someone with as much money as him. That’s not what annoys me, though. Every employer has the right--maybe even a duty-- to keep a file on his employees. But what annoys me is that he thinks that file is all I am. Now, he thinks he knows me inside out and so he feels that he can easily wrap me around his finger and that he has the right to judge me.

  Grant doesn’t know anything.

  A wealthy, pampered, blue-blooded man like him can’t possibly know about all the pain and suffering I’ve been through, about all the discrimination, alienation, or the bouts of depression. I’m looking at the mirror now but he can’t possibly know all the times I’ve loathed doing so, hating what I see or the times I couldn’t even recognize my own reflection. He can’t possibly know how many tears these eyes looking back at me have shed or those they didn’t, couldn’t.

  Grant can’t possibly know or understand.

  I pull off my scrunchie, shaking my head to spread my hair over my shoulders. Then I leave the dresser to change my clothes before throwing myself on top of the king-sized bed, sighing as I stare at the pale blue ceiling.

  Maybe it’s the way the shade of the ceiling resembles the summer sky, or maybe it’s the softness of the bed beneath me that feels like a cloud, but for some reason, my anger ebbs away. My heart and my breathing slow down.

  As my mind clears, a realization sinks in – I just raised my voice at my boss. And in public, no less.

  “Shit.” I sit up, placing my hands on the top of my head.

  Sure, he hurt my feelings, but he’s still my boss. I should have been more civil. I should have kept m
y mouth shut. What if he decides to fire me?

  “Ugh.” I lie back down, grabbing a pillow and placing it over my face.

  What is wrong with me? First, that voyeurism and the spilled coffee this morning and now, the spat. None of this ever happened with Mr. Landers. What is it about Grant Herbert that drives me out of character?

  It’s mostly his fault. Still, I wasn’t entirely on my best behavior. I let my emotions get the better of me and forgot my position. Plus, maybe I was a little too hard on him. After all, he was just trying to impress me. And as for him telling me to accept who I am, it may be unsolicited advice... but it isn’t wrong. I’ve known it for years. I just never had anyone tell it to my face or summoned the courage to do it.

  Taking a deep breath, I place the pillow behind my head then turn to my side, pulling the blanket up to my shoulders.

  I’ll apologize first thing in the morning.

  ***

  “I’m sorry,” Grant says at the same time I do, his hands clasped on his desk.

  Standing in front of him with my tablet in one arm, I blink.

  He’s apologizing? He’s not mad? I thought for sure he was either going to fire me or pretend that nothing happened, like he did with yesterday’s morning “incident.”

  “I had no right to do what I did,” he adds solemnly.

  Isn’t that my line? Well, one of my lines. I had a whole speech prepared.

  “It’s all right,” I tell him as I hug my tablet to my chest, improvising now. “I’m the one who acted out of turn. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. You’re still my boss, after all.”

  “You can’t be calm all the time, Abby. In fact, I’d prefer it if you weren’t.”

  Grant turns to his computer, and I just stand there.

  Now, what? Have I been dismissed? Should I go?

  “Oh, by the way, I got rid of that file.” He places his hand over the mouse.

  Another surprise. “You did?”

  “It didn’t tell me the important stuff.”

  “Important stuff?” I ask curiously, tapping a finger on my arm.