Tailored for Trouble: A Romantic Comedy (Happy Pants) by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

to her eyes.
    “Ye-ye-yesss?” She cleared her throat.
Oh God, did you just answer him like a weak little girl?
If her brothers had been in the room, they would’ve been shaking their heads in disgust or chucking basketballs at her head. “Yes,” she said firmly.
    “I’m not so sure I believe you. You seem like the sort of woman who’s still searching. Or, perhaps the type who has needs she’s not willing to admit to herself.”
    Presumptuous jerk.
Like he knew anything about how she felt or what she needed.
    “But all right,” he went on. “Let’s say for argument’s sake you’re right. It doesn’t change the answer to your question.”
    She’d completely forgotten the question. They’d gone down an entirely different path, and now her insides felt all flustered.
    “Then what’s the answer?”
Maybe I’ll remember the question by the time you say it.
    “I want to hire you because the world is changing quickly and I have to evolve with it. I need someone who can teach me to speak your language—a strong, opinionated woman’s language. And because you have no apprehension about sharing your views regardless of the consequences or the feelings of others—your shrewd candor rivals my own.”
    Hmph!
It did not. She wasn’t mean and hurtful! “I think your tight pants are getting to your big thick head.” Taylor, for absolutely no apparent reason, found her gaze sinking south to the man’s substantial bulge again.
    Tay!
    “My…head?” Bennett frowned, his eyes darting down to his groin.
    “Oh! I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…”
I am now shriveling into a tiny ball of mortification. Hey, a window! I wonder if I can get it open so I can jump.
    “Yes?” He waited, a grin slanting across his lips.
    Taylor took a moment to compose herself and then rebounded with a confident gaze. “Look, Bennett, I want to work with you, but I’m just not sure you’ll take the training seriously.”
    “If you’re going to work
for
me, you really should call me
Mr. Wade
. And yes, why the hell would I be sitting here if I didn’t plan on taking it seriously?”
    Okay, he had a point. “With. Work
with
you; I’m a free agent. And let me remind you that you were demoted from deity to regular guy, so I’ll stick with Bennett.”
    He laughed, shaking his head from side to side. “All right. Suit yourself.”
    “Suited and ready for duty.” She made a little salute with her index finger. “When would you like to start?”
    “Tonight. Over dinner.”
    Taylor heard the unpleasant sound of a needle scratching its way across the vinyl. “Whoa there. You and I are not—”
    He stood. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ms. Reed, I’m interested in your training program only. My schedule simply happens to be extremely tight over the next two weeks—a special project of mine—and that means my office hours are from twelve to twelve. Now so are yours.”
    “Noon to midnight?” It was a little unorthodox, but okay. For fifty thousand, she had to be flexible.
    “No. Midnight to midnight. And since I’ll be traveling extensively, you’ll be coming along. Where I go, you go.” He turned away and headed for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting to attend.”
    She raised her index finger and stood. “But—”
    “See you tonight at eight. Robin will give you the details.”
    Taylor knew she’d just lost this round of mind-fuck-chess with the billionaire, and frankly, she needed to retreat. Because, dammit—point for Bennett—he’d managed to fluster her in a big way. A big, huge, unprofessional, sad, needy woman sort of way that not only undermined her sense of pride but her feminine power, too.
That man is trouble.
    He stopped and dipped his head. “And Ms. Reed?”
    “Ye-ye,” she cleared the tickle from her throat. “Yes?”
    “You’re keeping that phone.” He glanced at the manila envelope on the table.
    Obviously, he’d figured out there was more than a letter