Silver fox, p.1
Silver Fox, page 1
Cassie Mint
Silver Fox
First published by Black Cherry Publishing 2022
Copyright © 2022 by Cassie Mint
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
First edition
ISBN: 978-1-914242-95-3
Cover art by Cormar Covers
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
Find out more at reedsy.com
Contents
1. Kara
2. Galen
3. Kara
4. Galen
5. Kara
6. Galen
7. Kara
8. Galen
Teaser: Pit Stop
About the Author
One
Kara
The only warning I ever get is the whir of the elevator. It’s sleek and almost silent, perfectly built like everything else in this building, so I keep my ears trained for the slightest whisper; for that ten-second warning when the golden elevator light begins to glow, racing through the floors.
I don’t play music. Don’t put in earbuds or hum as I work.
I like to know when he’s coming.
Not because I’m scared of Galen Onasis—which is kind of funny, because everyone else definitely is. When he prowls the lower offices, glancing over shoulders at computer screens and pulling managers aside, the air is so thick with trepidation, you’d think our boss is a bonafide tyrant.
He’s not, by the way. At least, not to me.
Though ever since I became Galen Onasis’ executive assistant three years ago, Human Resources has insisted on monthly meetings with me, just in case. They sent me a special holiday card last year, with a handwritten note to ‘Reach out anytime!’, as though Galen has me trapped up here like a princess in her tower.
When I pass the HR team in the halls, they stare at me like they’re waiting for a secret signal—for me to blink twice or tap S.O.S in morse code on my thigh.
They’ll be waiting a long time, because I’m no damsel in distress. I love being up here with Galen. Sometimes, when the sun shines through the huge skylights and low-lying clouds hug the skyscrapers, it feels like we’re in our own private world.
This morning when the elevator hums, I glance across the office, my reflection staring back at me in the shiny silver doors: a wide-eyed girl with a pressed peter pan collar, my thin bracelets clinking as I arrange my boss’s breakfast on his desk.
Black coffee with a small jug of milk on the side. One pink grapefruit, halved, with a sharpened spoon. A glass of room temperature water, and three vitamin supplements laid out ready.
Guess this explains how Galen looks like that, even as silver threads through his brown hair and bleaches his temples. The man’s a Greek statue. A pin-up model. He’s just so disciplined about everything, his toned muscles testament to how hard he works in all areas of his life, and setting out this severe breakfast every morning makes my chest pinch.
When will Galen Onasis allow himself small pleasures? When will he finally relax the iron grip on his self control?
I bite my bottom lip, placing my personal addition to the breakfast: a bran muffin on a small, white plate, fresh from my oven at home. Galen didn’t ask for this, but I’m offering it. Trying to tempt him.
No, it’s not healthy, but it’s still bran. The softest possible fall from grace.
As the elevator doors whoosh open, I scurry back across to my own desk. This is an open plan office, with the whole sun-drenched top floor reserved just for Galen and I. Well, us and the dozens of olive trees Galen keeps in huge planters. They grow beside the huge windows and under the skylights, leaves curling in pleasure in the golden sunshine.
Every morning when I come up here, it’s like the elevator doors part and I step into a dream. A mythical kingdom, or a fairy tale lair.
But when Galen steps off the elevator, he huffs loudly and marches across the tiled floor, tugging at his shirt cuff.
“Morning, Kara.”
Even in Galen’s stormiest moods, he still greets me warmly, and every time it makes my head spin.
I grip the edge of my desk and offer him a smile. A normal smile, with an appropriate amount of excitement to see my boss. You know: none of the tragic yearning I feel for him on display.
This is why I like advance notice that Galen is coming. Why I listen for the elevator. I need to batten down the hatches; get my stupid crush under control.
“How did the meeting go last night?”
Galen grunts.
Oookay then. Not great. “Well remember, you’re the one with everything they want. You hold all the power, Mr Onasis.”
A faint smile drifts over my boss’s handsome face as he passes my desk, crossing to his own and sinking into the leather chair. He’s in a tailored gray three-piece suit, his waistcoat hugging his trim waist. Galen’s old school. “You’re right. What would I do without your pep talks, Kara?”
Ha! Um. How about: become a titan of industry. Try: build an award-winning film studio and amass a huge amount of wealth. Galen Onasis was a legend long before he ever met me.
Meanwhile, I’m a twenty-six year old assistant getting paid to lay out this man’s breakfast, and I burned a whole batch of bran muffins before I made the final version on his desk. He didn’t say it in a mean way, but I sink down behind my desk all the same.
Me, giving Galen Onasis pep talks. Can you believe it? So ridiculous.
“What’s this?”
My boss nudges the bran muffin an inch away with the tip of his finger, his mouth flattening in distaste. Sudden regret is a stone lodged in my belly.
“Uh.” I clear my throat, and my cheeks are on fire. “I thought maybe you’d like something different this morning. A treat.”
Galen wrinkles his nose at the muffin I baked him, his doubt clear. Yep, I want to die.
“Forget it.” My desk chair clatters as I shove to my feet, hurrying across the tiles to his side. I snatch the muffin so fast, crumbs spray over the desk. “Shoot. I’ll get those in a second. I’m just—hang on.”
A strong hand wraps around my wrist, holding me in place, his skin bare against the sleeve of my cardigan. Such a big hand, with strong, squared knuckles and a sleek watch clasped beneath his cuff. As my boss watches me closely, the pad of his thumb dips beneath my sleeve, resting against my brown skin and tracing circles over my pulse point.
My traitorous heart pitter-patters so fast. I’m a rabbit caught in a snare.
“Sir?” I squeak.
“Where did you get the muffin?” Galen’s frowning at me, suspicion etched on his brow. This is his lie-detector thing. He might as well hook me up to a polygraph.
And god, I should extricate myself, but he’s so handsome when you get this close—his face is made up of such clean lines, it’s like he could be etched from stone.
Blue eyes narrow. “Kara?”
It’s no use. Galen sniffs out lies better than any bloodhound. “I…”
What can I tell him? I baked it for you. You work so hard, Mr Onasis, so I wanted you to have some sweetness in your life. And I ate so many muffins myself that I made myself sick, all because I wanted to taste what you would taste.
Even sitting down, Galen’s face is level with mine. His hand is so warm and steady on my wrist.
“I baked it,” I whisper, radioactive with embarrassment and shame. Because who does stuff like this? What kind of executive assistant brings her all-powerful boss squishy baked goods from home? Maybe HR should have me on some kind of watch list.
“Thank you.”
Just like that, Galen releases my wrist, and I suck in a shaky breath. What is he thanking me for, exactly? My humiliating confession, or my ill-considered gift? I move to step away, but he plucks the muffin from my hands—and it’s even more misshapen now. Lumpy and tragic.
“You really don’t need to—”
Galen takes an enormous bite, holding my gaze. He’s eaten half of the muffin in one go, his strong jaw shifting as he chews, and I’m so mixed up right now. So embarrassed, so nervous, so thrilled. “Is it… okay?”
Galen swallows and nods, then eats the rest of the muffin in one bite. And I guess that’s my answer, though it doesn’t tell me what I really want to know.
Like: should I bring him muffins for breakfast every day now? Did he actually enjoy it, or was that a pity bite? Did he feel my pulse going crazy when he held my wrist?
Is my boss as desperate for these stolen touches as I am?
No.
Meetings. Agendas. Notes.
There are a thousand things I should be thinking about right now, and none of them are baked goods or the rugged line of Galen Onasis’ jaw. I’m not paid to moon around after my boss, damn it, I’m paid to make his life easier.
“You have a meeting at ten thirty, Mr Onasis, and Casting sent up more suggestions for your final approval. Also, Titan magazine called again, and they really want to do a profile on you. They promised the front cover and a six page spread.”
Galen rolls his eyes, and I press my lips to
Galen Onasis doesn’t admit things like that to anyone else. He saves those pieces of himself for me.
“You think I should do it,” he says flatly, and I shrug. My cardigan sleeve brushes against his shirt, but I still don’t step back, not even as warm tingles race over my skin below the fabric.
He touched me first. He started it.
And I’m testing my luck here with this unspoken game, nudging a toe across a line, but Galen doesn’t send me away. If anything, his desk chair creaks as he wheels a fraction closer.
“It’s a major magazine,” I point out. “And you wanted to find new ways to market the streaming division.”
“Alright, alright.” Galen dumps milk into his coffee, expression sour. “I’ll do it, Kara.”
My laugh is nearly silent. A choked puff of air. We’re still so close together—so near that if someone walked in right now, they wouldn’t know what to think. “You don’t have to do what I say, you know. I’m not the boss, Mr Onasis.”
Blue eyes flick to me, then away. “Sure you are.”
And I have no idea what that means, but I float all the way back to my desk, warmth swirling through my limbs. Galen ate my muffin, and he agreed to the magazine feature. He called me the boss.
See, everyone on the lower levels may be frightened of this man; they may whisper about him in the break rooms and scuttle away when they see him coming.
But I know what he’s really like behind closed doors.
And the big, scary boss? He’s a pussy cat.
Two
Galen
“Quarterly figures look good, and we’ve brought on a lot of new talent. By this time next year, we could be looking at…”
I frown down the length of the meeting table, letting the updates about my company fade into a steady drone.
I know all this. Do they think I’m completely ignorant about my own business? There’s no analysis to these words; no fresh angle I might not have considered. It’s basic, and these overpaid managers are like eager school children, bringing scribbled reports to their teacher and hoping for a gold star.
I need to shake up my workforce. Trim the excess, then recruit.
A stolen glance at Kara chases the irritation away. She’s hiding a smile, taking diligent notes in that looping handwriting of hers, and I know she can sense me wrestling with my temper.
I’ve offered her endless gadgets for her note-taking. Laptops and tablets and dictaphones and god knows what else. Hell, I’ve even offered to hire Kara her own assistant, but she insists that handwriting everything helps keep her attention sharp.
She was downright outraged at the assistant offer, too. That was a relief. I don’t want another person working on our floor with us.
I like our time alone.
And maybe I should take handwritten notes in these meetings. Perhaps then I could focus on something other than my assistant for more than five minutes at a time.
“We think you’ll be very pleased with our new casting process, Mr Onasis—”
“Do you?” It’s harsh to interrupt him this way, and the manager fumbles in his speech, his grip tightening on his water glass. In my peripheral vision, Kara ducks her chin.
She’s never been afraid of me like the others. I know my reputation—know they think of me as the devil in fine tailoring. That they run from me in the halls.
Even if I hadn’t heard their whispers, I’m sure I could smell their fear in the air, as though I’m truly a monster and not simply a man who demands quality. Everybody wants Onasis Studios on their resume, but so few want to pay the damn cost.
But Kara… she’s never frightened. Never shies away from my gaze. When I risk another glance at her now, she’s watching me, a knowing glint of humor in her dark eyes.
She stood so close to me yesterday. I felt the heat emanating from her body.
Okay, I need to ration out these glances. If I loosen the grip on my control, I’ll do nothing but stare at Kara, the rest of the world be damned. Storms could rage outside those windows and meteors could burn through the skies, and I’d still be sitting here, chin propped on one fist as I catalog every detail of my assistant.
She’s in a pale pink cardigan today, buttoned over a white blouse. A gray pencil skirt is hidden beneath the desk, and the pale colors of her blouse and cardigan are striking against her smooth, brown skin.
Kara brought me a lemon poppy seed muffin this morning. So buttery and sweet, with a tang of citrus. Delicious.
Her cheeks darkened when she saw me lick the crumbs off my fingertips.
“Give me your projections,” I tell the room, but I’m still looking at Kara. I play these idiotic games with myself when meetings get dull: setting limits on the amount of times I can look at her, but then privately decreeing it only counts as one glance so long as I don’t look away.
I bet she knows what’s coming down the pike for this company. Kara may be an assistant, but she’s also the sharpest mind at this table.
I include myself in that analysis. Perhaps once upon a time, I’d have been quick enough to give her a run for her money, but that was before she joined me in the penthouse office. Before everything in my brain reoriented toward her, my thoughts tilting toward her like sunflowers tracking warmth and light.
Fuck.
It’s a good thing these assholes can’t hear my thoughts. No one would be scared of me anymore, that’s for sure. I’ve gone soft since meeting Kara.
And this isn’t the best room to hold my focus, anyway. In between the huge windows and the panoramic view over the city, large mirrors dot the walls. Everywhere I look, there she is, taking notes and smiling at a private joke. Making my heart skip and my stomach tighten.
“Let’s wrap this up.”
I want to steal Kara away back to our private floor. Want her all to myself, where she might stand next to my desk again and tease me with that soft voice. Where I can watch her stride through the olive trees to the copy machine and back, her hips swaying with each step.
So maybe my assistant should be afraid of me, just a little. Because god knows I’d never hurt her, but this hunger I feel near her, this buzzing, heightened awareness, this obsessive need to watch her and cater to her every comfort…
That can’t be normal. Certainly, I’ve never felt this way before.
“Of course, Mr Onasis,” someone says.
Kara Onasis. The name floats across my brain, unbidden, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. Why would I think that? Why would I even let myself go there? Fucking hell.
She’s a beautiful, clever, sweet young woman, and suitors must surely fling themselves at her feet everywhere she goes. Meanwhile, I’m a notorious asshole and nearly twice her age. Never mind that I’m also her boss. Thinking of her like that… even letting myself think it…
Pathetic. I might as well doodle her name on my notepad.
“Sir?”
My chair scrapes against the floor and I stand quickly, smoothing down my waistcoat and tie. “Forget it. Send me the rest by email. Reach out to Kara if you have questions.”
Several men stiffen in their chairs, affronted by the idea, while the female managers purse their lips but nod. Less fragile egos.
And I don’t care about wounded pride—Kara can handle any issues these people raise. She knows the company inside out, and she can predict my decisions with eerie accuracy.
“Kara?” Her name comes out clipped, my tone strained, but only because I choked back a dozen other names for her first. Sweetheart, princess, darling. They all come so naturally to the tip of my tongue when I’m looking at her. HR would have a field day. “Let’s go.”
Despite my frazzled mood, Kara rises gracefully, tucking her pen into her notebook’s spiral binding. Her black hair is smoothed back into her usual bun, but two shiny locks have been left free, curling against her cheeks.
I want to twirl them around my fingers. Want to feel their softness against my knuckles, and gently tug.
Want to guide her pretty mouth down my body.
“You know my extension,” Kara tells the room, and then we’re gone, striding through the corridor toward the elevator. I’m too impatient, making her hurry to keep up, so I shorten my steps to keep her from running in her heels.
