Project Director Zane Caldwell has a major problem -- a charming, go-getter hotshot from Chicago named Ford Trionni, recently hired at Widdley Finch Inc., a Connecticut-based marketing research company. The man, whom the secretarial pool nicknamed "The Italian Stallion" based on his stunning good looks and sexual aura, has also gained the reputation of a superstar in the industry due to his innovative analytical techniques. The trouble is, the man wears his accolades like a badge on his lapel, strutting around the office like a peacock.<br><br>Ford's self-centered, lofty attitude drives Zane to utter distraction. Even worse, the man seems to know it, intentionally using his sizzling sex appeal to tie Zane's patience and libido into knots while giving off mixed messages of mutual attraction. But from what Zane can tell, Ford's already involved in an intense relationship with someone else, and the last thing Zane wants is to fall for a guy who not only treats him like a peon instead of an equal, but intends to make him a side dish to his current love affair.<br><br>Yet as he works with Ford on an important account, Zane begins to realize there's more to Ford than the man lets on, and all may not be what it seems. As the heat between them builds into an inferno despite their contrary work relationship, Zane vows to get to the bottom of Ford's confusing behavior once and for all. Is the man playing games with Zane's job and his heart, or is there a chance they might actually discover they're the perfect partners?

And the Survey Says

A medley of relief, disappointment, and fury battled for dominance in my brain. True, maybe I wouldn’t have to spend the afternoon putting up with Ford’s snide comments and lordliness, but on the other hand, I also couldn’t observe him up close either, which inspired the anger. I tapped my fingers on the desktop, fidgeted in my chair, and debated whether to head outside and partake in yet another cool Marlboro, despite my earlier declarations to the contrary. I reined in the urge. Barely. I’d rather face a firing squad then have to deal with one of Mallory’s “I told you so” lectures.


Finally, at quarter past the hour, I heard voices from outside my closed door. An instant later, the intercom buzzed.


Still stinging from Ford’s latest snub, I snatched up the phone. “Yes?”


“Zane,” said Mallory, a hint of excitement in her voice, “Mr. Trionni is here for your appointment.”


“He is, huh? So he decided to grace us with his presence?”


“Ah, yeah.” It came out sounding like “ah-duh.”


Chapter 9