Cassandra knocks softly on Mr. Rodriguez’s door, and a curt voice says, “Come in.” She takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, and steps inside.
The office is twice the size of Mr. Smith’s. Two chairs sit opposite a hand-carved wooden desk, with a black suit jacket casually draped over a black leather chair behind it. To her right, there’s a lounge area complete with a drink station, and a chess board sits on the coffee table in the center of the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of Times Square.
Closing the door behind her, Cassandra ventures further into the room, her legs trembling slightly. She stops in front of the desk, but there’s no one there—just the stunning view.
“Mr. Rodriguez?” she calls out softly. No response. She sets the file and mail on his impeccably organized desk and turns to leave.
Oh God. When will she be able to tell him about the top-secret file? Maybe she can just bring it in tomorrow.
A deep, masculine voice stops her in her tracks. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Cassandra spins around so quickly she nearly loses her balance. The man she’s looking for is nowhere in sight, but that voice…it’s so familiar.
The leather chair slowly swivels around, and Cassandra’s face drains of color. ~Emilio Perez…?~
Emilio—the father of her child—is in her boss’s office.
“I—I’m looking for Mr. Rodriguez,” she says.
“You’ve found him,” Emilio Perez replies, his voice cold.
~This man is Emiliano Rodriguez~?
Fearful that her shaky knees might give out, Cassandra steadies herself on the nearby couch. His stunning eyes meet hers. He looks just as surprised as she feels, but he’s more attractive than ever. Golden olive skin, jet black hair, dark eyes, high cheekbones, chiseled features.
And that mouth…oh, the things that mouth has done to her body. A shiver runs down her spine.
Standing in his office is a woman he has had far too many dreams about, a woman who once set his blood on fire.
~A woman who gave him a bad phone number~.
What the hell is going on?
Can this really be Cassie?
Her fair skin and fiery red hair, her big green eyes and full lips—and ah, those lips…
She’s just as beautiful as when he first met her. God, why does he so vividly remember the pleasure he found in her curvy body, in her full, firm breasts? Even now, just thinking about them stirs desire in him.
“Damn!” Emiliano mutters under his breath. He’s not a hormonal teenager anymore; he needs to get a grip.
Cassie was a virgin. The only one he’s ever been with.
But she tricked him. She gave him a phone number that didn’t work…
As a rule, he avoids inexperienced women—they tend to come with a lot of expectations. Not this one, apparently. This one just wanted to disappear into the night and never see him again.
Emiliano rises from his chair and walks around the desk. He stops a few feet away, his six-foot frame towering over her five-foot one. From this angle, she looks incredibly small, young, and delicate.
Standing face-to-face with Alex’s father, a man she thought she’d never see again, Cassandra is at a loss for words. ~Alex looks just like him~, she thinks.
“But—you said your name was Emilio Perez,” she murmurs at last, stunned.
“Perez is my mother’s last name. I use it sometimes,” he drawls back. “Cathy, was it?”
He doesn’t even remember her name?
“Cassie,” she says, squaring her shoulders.
~It really is him.~
No wonder she never found him in all her searching. She didn’t even know his real name.
The memory of their night together floods back to Cassandra. Her gaze sweeps over his athletic body, and her body reacts just as it did the first time she saw him.
But it’s different, this time.
This time, she has much more than her virginity to lose.
~What would he do if he found out about our son? He’s a billionaire, the CEO of a world-renowned bank. Would he try to take Alex away from me?~
Don’t panic. He’s probably married. He probably has children of his own. He’d have zero interest in some love child he’s never laid eyes on.
Then she remembers. Not married. A player. The grapevine says he goes through women like bottled water.
“How long have you been working here, Ms. Miller?”
Emilio’s question—and his use of her last name—catches her off guard. Her heart pounding, she meets his gaze. “Uh…eight weeks, sir.”
“Do you like working here?” he asks.
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Then I suggest you arrive on time. I don’t tolerate tardiness, especially from my receptionist. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Rodriguez.”
“Also, I believe someone handed you a file yesterday?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well?” He strides over and flips through the mail and the report from Scott Smith. “Where is it?”
“Uh…I left—I left it in my apartm—” In the pocket of her skirt, her cell phone begins to ring. Reflexively, she pulls it out. Weird—her hands are shaking.
The daycare’s phone number is flashing on the screen.
Without thinking, she puts the phone to her ear. “Mrs. Williams—is everything okay?” She prays nothing is wrong with her little boy.
“Ms. Miller, Alex has a fever and he’s been really fussy. I gave him the medicine you left, but it hasn’t helped. His fever’s spiking.”
Cassandra’s heart drops. She feels her face go pale and her knees wobble. She grabs the back of a chair for support. “I’ll be right there, Mrs. Williams. Did you try giving him a bath to cool him down?”
“No, we didn’t. I was so worried, it slipped my mind.”
The panic in Mrs. Williams’s voice scares her.
“I’m on my way, Mrs. Williams. I’m not sure how long it’ll take, but I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
She hangs up the phone and looks up, straight into Emilio’s narrowed eyes.
“What’s going on?” he asks in a low, intense voice.
“I have to go. I’m so sorry. My son is ill…”
“Your—~son~?” Silence falls between them. He is staring at her as if he can see right through her skull and into her brain. “How old?”
“He’s just a baby… I’m so sorry. I have to go. I’ll bring the file in tomorrow, I promise.”
“Stop,” says Emilio, stepping in front of her. “Where exactly are you headed? And how are you getting there?”
“Lower East Side. I’ll take the subway.”
“No, you won’t,” he says. “I’ll take you.”
“~What~? No, it’s fine—”
“We’ll go in the Sikorsky.”
“The—what?”
“My private helicopter. Come on.”