Soul Mate Publishing
She wants a soul mate. He wants another bauble. But once fast-track billionaire David Grant meets modern day, home spun sweetheart Sloane Porter, he finds a gem too rare to discard.
The hero is David Grant, billionaire owner and CEO of Grant Oil. He meets Sloane Porter once, briefly, at a college bar in Fairbanks, Alaska, and their passions explode. She runs away after one dance, one kiss, but neither can forget the moments they shared, even though they don't know each other's names. Sloane decides to stay in Alaska in hopes of reuniting with her "mystery man." The novel opens two years after the kiss in the bar. Sloane, fresh out of college, trying to land a job that will keep her in Alaska, enters David's office, a final candidate for a position as an executive assistant. They are mutually shocked when they recognize one another, and again they let their incredible magnetism get the best of them. But Sloane won't run away this time, and she won't be any man's one night stand. David Grant doesn't know it, but the pretty bauble he seeks will become his most precious gem.
“I’ll be all yours in a moment, Ms. Porter,” David said absentmindedly to the final interviewee entering his plush Fairbanks office. The walnut and steel door swooshed closed as the woman approached his desk. He didn’t glance up from his paper pile, but he could smell a hint of Chanel perfume, and he already liked the confident click clack of the candidate’s heels across his tiled office floor.
“Yes, sir. Take all the time you need,” the applicant purred, and remained standing, waiting for David to ask her to be seated.
He enjoyed making his prospective employees squirm—just a bit—as they waited to find out if their futures would be linked with his Fortune 500 company. Everyone wanted a piece of the pie, but only one person would be hired to become the newest administrative assistant to the CEO and owner of the billion dollar enterprise.
David Grant required a team of personal aids to scurry after him and keep things running smoothly so he could wrangle the S & P and rough up those big city corporate honchos. He smiled to himself. The new figures looked strong, and Grant Oil was set to double up.
David slowly lifted his eyes to observe every detail of the young woman.
He started at her shoes, a serviceable pair of two inch heels. Check. She doesn’t wear stilettos, a sure sign of self-indulgence if worn to the office. Good.
Her legs were lean but strong; he could see calf muscle but no knee. Check. Modesty was key to creating a productive workplace. He didn’t want to see thighs at Grant Oil. He demanded a focused environment, and that meant no glimpses of distracting flesh.
As his inquisitive eyes moved to the woman’s hips, he noted she was full figured despite her athletic legs. Her blue wool pencil skirt did little to hide her feminine curves. Wool was a smart choice because June could be quite cool in Fairbanks, despite the sun’s bright glare.
Her arms were to her sides and her fingers hung loosely. Light pink paint adorned each small nail. No wedding ring decorated her slim pale fingers, though she had quite a nice ornament on her left pinky finger. A 2 carat diamond sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine coming through the giant paned window above his desk. Terrific. She didn’t have a husband to keep her home. David needed assistants who moved as quickly as he did.
The woman’s matching suit coat jacket was finely tailored, and the small leather covered buttons were undone so David could see the crisp white silk shirt that almost disguised a full bosom.
Her throat was long and he could see a pulse. Good. She was nervous despite her calm demeanor. A few wisps of auburn hair had escaped from her chignon, but they curled artfully along her neck, just touching her suited shoulder. David appreciated the softness just a few misplaced hairs could lend to a business woman. A woman should be soft—even in the rugged oil business, he wanted a woman to be a woman.
As he continued his deliberate perusal, he noted her dimpled chin, full pink lips and pert nose. When he finally arrived at her eyes, he almost lost his composure.
“It’s you,” he managed as his throat clamped tight. If he had been kicked in the gut, he couldn’t have been more affected.
A quick flash of recognition quickly became all business as her brilliant green eyes smiled at him, twinkled even. She extended her hand across his glass topped desk and said, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Grant. Thank you for the opportunity.”
David felt her small hand go instantly hot. He stood then, and she stepped back, pulling her hand from his strong grip. He could see a flash of confusion and then determination well up in her remarkable eyes.
“I understand you are here for a position in my company,” he assuaged. He read her name from the top of her resume again: Sloane Porter. “I apologize for my familiarity, Ms. Porter, but you are the woman I danced with a couple of years ago at Hal’s. Right?”
Her eyes fell to the desktop. “I’m not sure, sir,” Sloane lied.
“Please sit down, Ms. Porter,” he said; his voice sounded annoyingly tight, maybe even gruff, as he motioned her into the sleek steel and leather chair across the desk from his own larger chair.
He sat heavily, shaking his head in disbelief. She certainly must remember the night in question. David knew he hadn’t been able to forget the way she had wend her way to his table and asked him to dance. It had only been one dance, but the heat between them had ignited into a long, slow, amazing kiss—a kiss that had left him wanting to unhook her bra and remove her panties. It hadn’t gone anywhere. The music ended and she left.
No one left David Grant–well, almost no one—and he had not forgotten her. Not for a minute.