Heat Rising: City of Hope, Book 1
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Escaping a war-ravaged Earth, Mesa Adair has made her home miles below the surface of Aleucia in the underground city of Hope. But salvation comes at a price. Her life is no longer her own, her every move monitored, and her freedom limited by the alien warriors who rescued humanity from their dying planet. The only bright spot in her new reality is her position as a personal assistant to the most powerful male in the city, but even that is about to come to an end.
From the moment the raven-haired beauty stepped into his office, Director Raxcor Wyeth knew he had to have her. The more she challenges him, the more he wants her, but lately, something has changed. She’s distracted, guarded, and when she requests a transfer to a different level of the city, he knows he’ll do anything to keep her, anything to protect her. Mesa might be human, but she belongs to him—whether she realizes it yet or not. |
Excerpt
“You have an interview in ten minutes and another in an hour.”
Raxcor Wyeth frowned as he watched his assistant flick her finger across the glowing screen of her digital organizer. In fact, he hadn’t been able to wipe the scowl from his mouth since Mesa had walked into his office at the beginning of the week and requested to be reassigned to Level 13—Resource and Development.
“I’ve prepared questions for you to ask, and of course, I’ve already prescreened the applicants.” Her pretty pink lips pressed together in a thin line, and her bright green eyes sparked with warning. “Do try not to be a dick.”
A quiet ping announced the arrival of a new communication, and he tapped the display in the center of his glass desktop, opening the interview questions Mesa had transferred to him. With a cursory glance at the detailed list, he leaned back in his chair, templing his index fingers together and touching them to his lips.
“I will be charming as always,” he answered, sending his words directly into her mind.
Many of the humans he’d met since becoming Director of Hope preferred the Aleucians to speak aloud. Apparently, it unnerved them to have a stranger invade their minds, but Raxcor had neither the time nor the patience for such inefficiency. Thankfully, Mesa never complained.
“Right.” With a derisive snort, she seated herself on the oversized sofa—oversized for the human female anyway—pushed her ebony hair out of her eyes, and began packing away her things into a surgically white messenger bag. “Let me know how that works out for you.”
No one else would dare speak to him in such a way, but Mesa’s fiery attitude had been one of the main reasons he’d chosen her as his personal assistant in the first place. She challenged him. She made him look at things differently. Mostly, she made him crave things he had no business wanting.
Moving to the edge of his seat, he rested his elbows on the desk and arched an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning you’re not an easy male to work for,” Mesa answered without looking up from her packing. “You’ve already chased off half a dozen acceptable applicants, and those who actually lasted until the end of the interview will probably need therapy to sort through their newfound feelings of inferiority.”
Raxcor shrugged and ran his tongue over one, pointed fang as he pushed away from the desk and swiveled his chair around to look at the cityscape depicted on the floor-to-ceiling mod-screens behind him. He didn’t know which Earth city was depicted, and watching the hordes of humans scuttling about the paved sidewalks held little interest for him. Mesa liked it, though. It reminded her of the home she’d lost, and he wanted her to be happy.
“Seeing as they were inferior, perhaps I did them a favor.” He didn’t want acceptable. He wanted perfection. “I don’t understand why this is necessary in the first place.”
“Because,” Mesa stated pointedly from behind him, “I’m transferring at the end of next week, as you very well know.”
With a low growl, he turned back to face his assistant. “I’m not stupid or forgetful,” he replied, enunciating each word aloud. “I am well aware that you’re leaving. What I meant, as youvery well know, Miss Adair, is that I do not understand why you feel the need to transfer.”
Mesa finally looked up at him, her expression almost pitying, and sighed. “I’ve been your personal assistant since I first arrived in Hope, so almost a year now. While it probably makes me insane, I actually enjoy working for you.”
“Then, what’s the problem?”
“This is just something I need to do.” Mesa had been saying the same thing since she’d asked to be reassigned, but she never elaborated further. “You’ll manage.” One corner of her mouth quirked upward in a fond, half smile. “Everything will work out. It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.”
Again, Raxcor didn’t want “okay.” He didn’t want fine, acceptable, or even satisfactory. He didn’t keep the city of Hope running smoothly by surrounding himself with mediocrity. If that made him a dick, so be it.
“Is there a problem in the office?”
Though not in his nature to compromise, he had no reservations about resorting to bribery or manipulation. Her sudden and inexplicable desire to transfer to a different level wasn’t about credits, work hours, or benefits. If he could only discover what Mesa needed to be happy, what she needed to stay, he’d give it to her. Whatever it took to keep her, he’d make it happen. If there was a problem in the office, if someone was harassing her, he’d have them shipped off to the Rock in a heartbeat—if he didn’t kill them first.
Mesa tensed, and a nearly imperceptible darkness clouded her expression, but it was gone too quickly for Raxcor to pinpoint the emotion that had caused it. Still, her reaction piqued his interest, finally giving him some idea as to what had elicited her sudden desire to leave.
Before he could question her further, however, she stood, slinging the strap of her messenger bag over one shoulder and tossing her long, dark hair over the other. The corners of her eyes softened, and she looked back at him with a sympathetic tilt of her head.
“Try not to worry so much. I’ll help you find a replacement before I leave.”
“I’m not worried.”
Irritated, yes, but not worried. He needed someone who wouldn’t fracture under the pressure and demands of the job, but not one of the candidates he’d interviewed so far had measured up to his standards. In fact, each and every one of them had left him feeling nothing short of utter disappointment.
Then again, he doubted anyone could measure up to Mesa Adair.
Raxcor Wyeth frowned as he watched his assistant flick her finger across the glowing screen of her digital organizer. In fact, he hadn’t been able to wipe the scowl from his mouth since Mesa had walked into his office at the beginning of the week and requested to be reassigned to Level 13—Resource and Development.
“I’ve prepared questions for you to ask, and of course, I’ve already prescreened the applicants.” Her pretty pink lips pressed together in a thin line, and her bright green eyes sparked with warning. “Do try not to be a dick.”
A quiet ping announced the arrival of a new communication, and he tapped the display in the center of his glass desktop, opening the interview questions Mesa had transferred to him. With a cursory glance at the detailed list, he leaned back in his chair, templing his index fingers together and touching them to his lips.
“I will be charming as always,” he answered, sending his words directly into her mind.
Many of the humans he’d met since becoming Director of Hope preferred the Aleucians to speak aloud. Apparently, it unnerved them to have a stranger invade their minds, but Raxcor had neither the time nor the patience for such inefficiency. Thankfully, Mesa never complained.
“Right.” With a derisive snort, she seated herself on the oversized sofa—oversized for the human female anyway—pushed her ebony hair out of her eyes, and began packing away her things into a surgically white messenger bag. “Let me know how that works out for you.”
No one else would dare speak to him in such a way, but Mesa’s fiery attitude had been one of the main reasons he’d chosen her as his personal assistant in the first place. She challenged him. She made him look at things differently. Mostly, she made him crave things he had no business wanting.
Moving to the edge of his seat, he rested his elbows on the desk and arched an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning you’re not an easy male to work for,” Mesa answered without looking up from her packing. “You’ve already chased off half a dozen acceptable applicants, and those who actually lasted until the end of the interview will probably need therapy to sort through their newfound feelings of inferiority.”
Raxcor shrugged and ran his tongue over one, pointed fang as he pushed away from the desk and swiveled his chair around to look at the cityscape depicted on the floor-to-ceiling mod-screens behind him. He didn’t know which Earth city was depicted, and watching the hordes of humans scuttling about the paved sidewalks held little interest for him. Mesa liked it, though. It reminded her of the home she’d lost, and he wanted her to be happy.
“Seeing as they were inferior, perhaps I did them a favor.” He didn’t want acceptable. He wanted perfection. “I don’t understand why this is necessary in the first place.”
“Because,” Mesa stated pointedly from behind him, “I’m transferring at the end of next week, as you very well know.”
With a low growl, he turned back to face his assistant. “I’m not stupid or forgetful,” he replied, enunciating each word aloud. “I am well aware that you’re leaving. What I meant, as youvery well know, Miss Adair, is that I do not understand why you feel the need to transfer.”
Mesa finally looked up at him, her expression almost pitying, and sighed. “I’ve been your personal assistant since I first arrived in Hope, so almost a year now. While it probably makes me insane, I actually enjoy working for you.”
“Then, what’s the problem?”
“This is just something I need to do.” Mesa had been saying the same thing since she’d asked to be reassigned, but she never elaborated further. “You’ll manage.” One corner of her mouth quirked upward in a fond, half smile. “Everything will work out. It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.”
Again, Raxcor didn’t want “okay.” He didn’t want fine, acceptable, or even satisfactory. He didn’t keep the city of Hope running smoothly by surrounding himself with mediocrity. If that made him a dick, so be it.
“Is there a problem in the office?”
Though not in his nature to compromise, he had no reservations about resorting to bribery or manipulation. Her sudden and inexplicable desire to transfer to a different level wasn’t about credits, work hours, or benefits. If he could only discover what Mesa needed to be happy, what she needed to stay, he’d give it to her. Whatever it took to keep her, he’d make it happen. If there was a problem in the office, if someone was harassing her, he’d have them shipped off to the Rock in a heartbeat—if he didn’t kill them first.
Mesa tensed, and a nearly imperceptible darkness clouded her expression, but it was gone too quickly for Raxcor to pinpoint the emotion that had caused it. Still, her reaction piqued his interest, finally giving him some idea as to what had elicited her sudden desire to leave.
Before he could question her further, however, she stood, slinging the strap of her messenger bag over one shoulder and tossing her long, dark hair over the other. The corners of her eyes softened, and she looked back at him with a sympathetic tilt of her head.
“Try not to worry so much. I’ll help you find a replacement before I leave.”
“I’m not worried.”
Irritated, yes, but not worried. He needed someone who wouldn’t fracture under the pressure and demands of the job, but not one of the candidates he’d interviewed so far had measured up to his standards. In fact, each and every one of them had left him feeling nothing short of utter disappointment.
Then again, he doubted anyone could measure up to Mesa Adair.