Hot Bayou Nights - Chapter #2 - Free To Read

Grunter folded his arms across his chest, leaned back in his chair, and propped his feet up on the desk.

He gave her a curt nod, as if Carla had tried his patience one too many times.

“I’m Jackson Rivard. Owner of Rivard Research.” His cool eyes flicked along the length of her, judgmental, dismissive, like a potential cattle buyer assessing stock. “And you’re apparently this month’s eager beaver executive intern.”

A rush of anger shot through her blood and her face flamed red. He’d mocked her before seeing even a single minute of her work, falling just short of rolling his eyes at her existence. Not cool. Her heartbeat raced to triple time and she tightened her folded hands. With feet firmly planted on the floor, she leaned forward and stared at him through narrowed eyes.

“I apologize if I’ve kept you waiting,” she said in a steely voice, “but the fact that you were expecting me an hour ago appears to be your fault, not mine. My instructions say to arrive by five o’clock, and I’ve done so. The fact sheet states I’m to meet Mr. Jackson.”

She held it up so he could see for himself if he wished. He declined.

“I’ve done that as well. What I’d now like to know is whether there’s something I haven’t done. Or whether I did something incorrectly. Because from where I sit, your behavior is completely rude and inappropriate and I’d like to know what I did to deserve it.”

She punctuated her statement with an outward huff of air, her face awash in indignation. She crossed her arms, awaiting his reply, shielding herself from the onslaught she felt was sure to come. What she received, instead, was silence.

****

Jackson Rivard sat in his chair for a good long minute, considering what Ms. Corporate just said. He removed his glasses and set them on the desk, then rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb. Bone tired didn’t even begin to describe how he felt, and the day was far from over. Tests needed to be run, he had reports and analysis to review. And where the hell was the contractor for the new lab they were building? Last week there’d been that problem with the plumbing. Merde. He had so much to do and not enough hours in the day to do it, and on top of everything he had to deal with this new intern. An intern he didn’t even want. Still…

He stopped rubbing his eyes and let his gaze drift over her, more carefully this time. He took for granted that she’d be like every other young corporate executive he’d had the misfortune to meet: self-indulgent, MBA waving narcissists who assumed their degrees entitled them to advise him on everything from operational efficiencies to best hiring practices.

But this one seemed a little different. Her fiery spark of annoyance was definitely interesting. Pretty ballsy calling him rude, but she was probably right. Manners weren’t always his strong suit. Anyway, her gumption gave him hope that she’d be able to last for a month around here. And from the way she spoke and carried herself, the lady clearly had a brain in her head. Exactly how she intended on using that brain, and whether she’d be like the others in advising him on corporate bull was still to be determined. But he could see the potential.

She remained sitting pencil straight in her chair, cheeks flushed, sparks shooting from her eyes. Her dusky pink lips parted to let out an impatient sigh, and an unexpected spear of lust shot straight to his cock. Damn. He hadn’t realized before now that this gal ⎯ he had a folder somewhere with her name on it ⎯ was dead-on gorgeous. Not in a swimsuit model kind of way, which he disdained, but as a real woman. She was a little on the short side, with a pretty face and a truly beautiful smile. And how refreshing to look at a woman with actual curves, instead of a size 0 who would fly away in a stiff breeze. And those legs…nice.

Unable to help himself, he let his eyes travel down the length of them, savoring the journey, like a voyage over cream. He could imagine parting those thighs and running his tongue along the length of them, kissing the silky skin. He hadn’t seen legs like those in a long time.

Well, not that it mattered. He needed to stop his train of thought this second and tamp down the tent in his jeans. He had zero time for it. Besides, he was no more interested in meeting a woman than flying to the moon. Only one woman in his life deserved his care, one woman to whom he devoted his time and energy every single day. That woman was his sister. Amy. He had no room for anyone else.

“You didn’t do anything,” he finally said with weary resignation. “Let’s forget it and start over.” Not exactly an apology, but with the resolved glint in his eye and the crossed boots twitching atop his desk, Carla decided she’d get no better. She nodded and straightened in her chair, awaiting instructions on her assignment for the next month.

“How much do you know about what we do here?” Jackson asked.

“Very little,” Carla replied. “On purpose. We’re specifically advised not to do any research about the place we’re sent to or the people with whom we’ll be working.” She declined to mention that, contrary to the instructions, she actually had tried to find out something about this place, but had come up empty. Nothing on the web, not a book to be found. Strange.

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because this is an aptitude adventure. Commonly referred to as a fear assignment.”

“A what?”

“A fear assignment.” Despite his obnoxious snort of skepticism, she soldiered on. “High potential employees on the fast track in my company are given a series of assessments designed to extrapolate indicators of their personality as they relate to decision making abilities. As part of the assessment we have to reveal our fears, and then we’re given an assignment in which we face one of those fears head on. We don’t know which one it’ll be—the company makes that determination. But how well we complete the assignment while dealing with the fear measures factors in our personality. The company uses the results to determine who’s worthy of advancement.”

“So if you do well here you get a promotion, and if you don’t, then you get…”

“Well, I…I don’t get anything. My personality metrics will be deemed substandard.”

“Substandard? Your career could take a dive after one assignment?” He grimaced, as if personally offended. “Sounds like a bunch of psychobabble hogwash to me.”

“Well, maybe because…” She hesitated. Jackson’s reaction surprised her. Not because he’d spoken so plainly but because, deep down inside, she’d wondered the same thing herself.

Not comfortable with sharing those thoughts, instead she defended Bartlett Silver. “Maybe that’s because you haven’t had any experience with personality assessments,” she said. “But my company has been successfully using them for years. It’s a first rate technique.”

“And your company is…” He swung his boots off the desk and straightened in his chair, then thumbed through a thin manila folder on his desk. Carla caught a glance at the tab and saw her name scrawled on it.

“Bartlett Silver Management Consulting.”

“I see.” His eyes skimmed across a piece of paper. Carla smiled, assuming she’d finally get a little sense of him being impressed. Bartlett’s name often caused that reaction.

Instead what she received from him was a frown. Or perhaps more of a scowl. “What exactly does the company do?”

His lack of recognition surprised her so much that for a second her mind went blank and all she could do was stare at him, blinking like an owl. When she finally found her voice, she said, “We’re a management consulting firm.” When no response came, she added, “We advise companies.”

“On what?”

“Well…on everything. Organizational structure, operational efficiencies, best practices, cost savings—”

“They can’t figure that out for themselves?” “Not as well as we can.” Carla couldn’t control her defensive tone. “It’s our expertise, after all. We use a variety of analytics to assess current state and project growth. Then we compile a…” His glazed look made it difficult to go on, especially when his only response was a grunt. Apparently, his go-to reaction. “This is a medical research facility,” Jackson finally said. “I don’t do metrics testing or put people on the fast track. I also don’t use personality profiles or test anyone’s decision making abilities. I’ve got no use for that crap. If people can’t make good decisions they don’t work here. Simple as that.”

He picked up his glasses from the desk and put them back on. Then he leaned toward Carla and pinned her with intense blue eyes, both intimidating and sexy as hell. “What I do is attract the best damn researchers in the country to work for me. They believe in the mission here as much as I do, which is important ‘cause I can’t pay them everything they’re worth. They come here with a passion as strong as mine for the research we do here.”

As he spoke she noticed a slight lilt in his voice, an accent as light as it was elusive. Where did he come from, this intense, sexy, cerebral, rather rude man? And what exactly was the mission he was so passionate about? Suddenly, despite the awkward start, she found herself intrigued by Jackson Rivard and his business.

“What research are you conducting?”

“A cure for MS.” His voice held undeniable conviction.

“Why are you focusing specifically on multiple sclerosis?” she probed.

“The reasons don’t matter.” His clipped tone made it clear the subject was closed.

“Okay, sure. Then maybe you could let me know what exactly you’ll be having me do?”

“Just observe, to begin with. I don’t want you touching anything until I can trust you.”

“Excuse me?” Her face burned. He acted as if she were ten years old. “Just exactly what makes you think—”

“I trust no one until I know them. That’s just the way it is. You’re not being singled out.”

She nodded, mollified he’d picked up on her thoughts.

“Once I’m sure, then I’ll assign you some preliminary lab assistant work. My researchers will let you know what they need.”

“Fine.” She tapped some notes into her phone, launching into work mode. “What else?”

“Sterilizing equipment, transcribing notes, maybe feeding the snakes. Although I’m still not sure—”

Jackson stopped abruptly, likely noticing the expression on Carla’s face. “You all right?”

In a microsecond her skin had gone deathly white, as if every drop of blood she possessed had drained to her feet. Her jaw went slack, her eyes felt as round as dinner plates. “Wh—what…did you say about…”

“Snakes?” He finished for her. “You’re asking about the snakes?” For the first time since Carla had met him, the man actually cracked a smile. “I take it, snakes are your fear.” Once more he leaned back in his chair, having the audacity to chuckle. “In that case, this is going to be quite a month for you.”

Black spots danced in front of her eyes and, with a sickening lurch, the room started spinning. “What kind of place is this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I told you, we’re a medical research facility. We conduct research on the properties of snake venom and how the proteins in the venom could be used to cure sickness and disease.” Jackson held out his arms in a sweeping gesture, as if to encompass the entire area. “I’ve got over a hundred king cobras on this property and caring for them takes a lot of effort. That’s where you can help me the most.”

Luckily for Carla, her impression about Jackson being a former sprinter held true, for he needed every drop of speed he possessed in order to catch her before she hit the floor in a dead faint.