The Specialist (Norcross #3) - Anna Hackett Page 0,1

with his work as a side job. And her sister was ten years younger than Harlow, so she’d helped her mother a lot when the new baby had arrived.

When she’d first told her father that she wasn’t going to practice law, he’d lost it. “No child of mine will be a lowly assistant.”

Harlow snorted. She was well aware good assistants kept the business world running. Her father’s included.

The elevator slowed and she straightened her shoulders. She knew a brilliant executive assistant was worth their weight in gold. She was well-paid, and that helped with her ultimate goal—buying her own house.

She felt a giddy little feeling. Harlow wanted to own a lovely San Francisco home all of her own. She wanted to renovate. Decorate. She was a closet reno-show addict. She had a burning need to knock down some walls and gut some bathrooms.

She grinned to herself.

She was so good at her job that she had earned the dubious prize of working for Easton for the foreseeable future.

The elevator doors opened. The main office level was shadowed, the lights on low. Pushing worry for her dad away, she strode forward. She’d pin him down eventually.

The carpet muffled the sound of her steps. There were lights on in Easton’s office.

Maybe the man was part machine?

She passed her own desk. It was exactly how she’d left it several hours earlier. Mostly clear, with a few neat, organized piles.

She paused in the doorway.

Against her will, her belly tightened. The man might be a tyrant, but she was female enough to admit he was a mouthwatering one.

Especially like this.

Usually, Easton wore perfectly tailored suits. He was always pressed, looking gorgeous and intimidating.

Right now, he was in off mode. Or as off as he got.

His dark suit jacket hung over the back of his executive desk chair. He still wore the white shirt he’d had on today, but now the sleeves were rolled up, and the top two buttons were undone. All of that revealed the ink that was usually kept hidden.

Harlow’s pulse skipped a beat, her mouth suddenly dry. Intricate, black designs coiled around his muscled forearms, and there was the hint of more on his chest.

Oh, no. No. No. No. She wasn’t giving this any air time.

For now, Easton Norcross was her boss. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, entertain any attraction to him.

She hadn’t made a noise, but his head lifted. Instincts honed from his time in the military.

Harlow lifted her chin. It would have been really nice if the universe could have made his face less gorgeous. His Italian-American heritage was stamped all over his features. He was a little too rugged to be strictly handsome. A strong jaw, clean-shaven in the morning, was now covered in a dark, five-o’clock shadow. His eyes were a deep, cobalt blue, and his ink-black hair was just a little longer than what you’d expect from a successful businessman.

That sharp gaze roamed over her, then flicked back to her face.

“A little overdressed for the office, Ms. Carlson.”

Ignoring the deep drawl, Harlow strode in and dumped her coat and clutch on one of the guest chairs in front of Easton’s lake-sized desk of polished teak.

“I’m not supposed to be in the office,” she said sharply. “I’m supposed to be finishing my date, but I’m employed by a workaholic.”

Dark brows drew down. “Date?”

“Yes, you know, man, woman, dinner.”

His gaze dropped to her legs. “And a little more than dinner if that dress is anything to go by.”

“There is nothing wrong with my dress.” She strode around his desk. She wasn’t letting him intimidate her. “And my date is none of your business.” She started scanning the desk for the missing files. “I left those reports right on your desk. What have you done with them?”

He looked up at her. She caught a faint whiff of his cologne—crisp and sexy, with a spicy undertone.

Dammit. Focus, Harlow.

There were no files on his desk, just one hot boss leaning against it.

“Ms. Carlson.” His fingers wrapped around her arm.

The heat of his touch ran through her. She sucked in a breath.

“Anyone who works for me is very much my business.”

Easton watched Harlow’s blue-green eyes fire.

She didn’t pull back. No, one thing he’d learned about Harlow Carlson over the last few weeks since she’d become the bane of his existence, was that she rarely did the expected.

She leaned closer, rifling through the papers on his desk.

“You might think you’re in charge of the world, Mr. Norcross, but you aren’t.”

Fuck. Easton finally confronted the fact that anytime