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“So what are you waiting for?”
Jesus Christ. I cross my arms over my chest so I won’t throttle him. “It’s been one day. And I’m already way out of my element. I’ve never even worked in an office before, let alone been an assistant. I appreciate you getting me the interview—”
“Interview? You think that’s all I did?” He paces in front of the coffee table, an unsettling manic air about him. I’m not sure what’s been going on with him for the last few months, but it’s nothing good. “I bribed the hiring manager. You’d never have gotten that job on your own.”
A sickening pull tugs at the pit of my stomach. “Oh.” No, I don’t have a lot of experience, but I assumed my personality and willingness to learn qualified me.
“Your one job is to convince him to buy my company. Got it?”
“But Dad—”
“I don’t want to hear any buts.”
I roll my lips between my teeth to contain my groan. Has he ever actually talkedtome rather thanatme? “Why go to all these lengths? Just have someone else buy it if you need to sell it that bad.”
He stops his pacing, coming over to perch on the other end of the couch. “Emma, I’m going to be real with you for a minute.” He grips his hands together, so hard his knuckles turn white. “Harold Bishop got some wild idea in his head that I was trying to get one over on him, so he blacklisted me. And now no one will do business with Montague Media because they’re afraid Bishop Industries will blacklist them too. They’re that powerful of a company.”
I blink, staying silent. Dad’s never spoken to me about his business before. Just one more thing he’s kept me in the dark about.
“Now we’re going bankrupt. Fast. I need you to get Connor to agree to renew the buyout.”
“Even if I ask him, it won’t mean all that much. I barely know him.”
After Vivian had come back in the room, we’d spent hours reviewing her master list of things to catch him up on until it was time to go home. I hadn’t even had another chance to speak with him alone.
He stands, pacing again, past the living room window and to the front door with his hands gripped around the back of his neck. “We need a faster way for you to gain his trust so he’ll listen to you.”
“Maybe I can pass myself off as some kind of business expert.”
The look he gives me clearly conveys what he thinks of that idea. Yeah, I don’t blame him.
“No, something not even you can screw up. Something that comes natural, something…” He trails off, studying me. I cross my arms tighter over me, trying to appear smaller. “Something like your mother did to me.”
Uh, what now?
“You’re going to use your feminine wiles on him. That’s the quickest way to get him under your thumb. Do that and he won’t be able to refuse whatever you suggest. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
Feminine wiles? Is he living in the 1950s? “There’s no way I’m pimping myself out—”
“Don’t be crass. I’m not saying you actually have to sleep with him. Just make himthinkyou will. He’ll do whatever you want him to.”
Is he being serious right now? “Look, I agreed to get a job at Bishop Industries and try to convince some higher up to buy Montague Media, but this is going too far. You’re asking me to seduce someone when I don’t have the first clue about any of that. Besides, he’s ridiculously out of my league.”
I admit, when I’d seen pictures of him in the tabloids, I thought someone had photoshopped them. No one is that handsome in real life. High cut cheekbones. Strong jaw. Piercing blue eyes. They’d obviously accentuated his features to sell more magazines.
But as it turns out, they hadn’t. And a magazine could never recreate the warmth of his handshake, the crisp, woodsy scent emanating from him, the rich baritone of his voice.
Dad waves his hand to dismiss my concerns. “You’re the spitting image of your mother twenty years ago. You’ll have no problem bagging him.”
Ew.
Yes, I look just like my mom. The big boobs and small waist. The sexpot voice and looks. But I don’t know what to do with any of that stuff. I’d rather stay home and sew, not go out and pick up guys. And definitely not seduce them.
“Maybe you should get Serena to talk—”
“No,” he shouts, so loudly I startle. “No,” he repeats more evenly. “You’re the perfect person. No one knows you’re my daughter. They’ll never suspect where your loyalties lie.”
Wow, the one time being the bastard child he’s never publicly acknowledged is a good thing.