Secrets of the Elite - Pepper Pace Page 0,1

his white hair that was the antithesis to his bad-boy image, enforcing the fact that he had no need to hide his age when he looked this good.

Perhaps it was the occasional glimpse of the big boss that inspired her to flaunt her own individuality. This was obviously a company that could embrace one’s diversity, with a figurehead such as Mr. Hightower.

She moved from the safe bit of brightly colored fabric that cinched at her throat like a scarf to the bolder African print dresses accompanied by a simple suit jacket or wide-legged print pants with plain blouses that draped her naturally tall, thin form. Jordan made sure her attire was always tasteful, and while she got several compliments on her style, she did occasionally hear negative feedback from a few of the ultraconservatives.

One white woman, a supervisor over a different team, would find ways to make snide, micro-aggressive comments about how colorful she looked, or how bold her clothing choices were for an office environment of this caliber.

But that woman made a terrible mistake when her rude comments had escalated to “joking” that Jordan’s new bantu knot hairstyle was too ghetto for Pembroke, Lacey, and Hightower.

Jordan had simply turned her back and began walking out the door, stopping only to look over her shoulder at the supervisor.

‘Come on. Follow me,’ she had said to the smug woman.

With an apprehensive expression the supervisor had asked, ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m taking you to HR. You made a discriminatory statement and I’m going to report it, and I assume you’ll want an opportunity to give your side of the events,’ Jordan had replied.

When the supervisor sputtered out her weak explanations and protests, Jordan calmly continued. ‘You called me ghetto and you don’t think this needs to be addressed? You make fun of my hair, and you don’t find it to be an issue? I’m sure EEO would disagree.’

Needless to say, the supervisor lost her job, and no one ever dared mention Jordan’s style of dress again.

Maybe Jonathan Hightower would have noticed her despite the hoopla. She was tall, taller than him, with a rich, brown complexion—one that his many hours under the tanning booth could not duplicate. She could have been a fashion model with her lanky frame and high, regal cheekbones. No one had to hear the foreign-sounding last name of Elmi to know that Jordan was born from a place in Africa where she still possessed the lyrical quality to her speech.

But once he noticed her, he made sure to learn more about her. After a few weeks, he showed up in accounting and spoke to her supervisor. She had no idea why one of the big bosses would venture down here, but she noted that he turned to look directly at her before exiting. Within hours she was moved to the executive floor, where she began training as a member of his personal team.

Jonathan made his intentions clear from the beginning; that he wanted her for more than just an employee. But that didn’t mean he didn’t trust and value the work she did for him. Jonathan valued beauty, but he needed expertise in the workforce in order to excel.

And yet he didn’t push, he didn’t persuade, he just waited patiently and after several months Jordan allowed herself to forget that this man was not only her boss, but also married.

He had smirked at her concerns over his wife. They were long separated and together in name only. He had given her a bemused look when he explained that a billionaire wouldn’t easily hand over half of his riches to a woman that was good for nothing more than sitting on a shelf as some rich man’s trophy.

Jordan guessed that she agreed with that, having worked so hard for everything she possessed. Why should some woman just be handed over millions when she had never lifted a finger to help amass this man’s wealth?

Besides, it wasn’t hard to fall for the charming man. His body was better than most men half his age. He was well-travelled, educated, and sexy as hell. There was so much she could learn from him about being a success and she told him so. He didn’t mind. She could glean whatever she needed from him, as long as she became his—and only his.

She signed a new non-disclosure agreement that addressed his more personal affairs. There would be no gossiping about what went on behind closed doors. But she didn’t mind. She was no