Simone is a sweetheart. I knew as soon as she introduced herself that she and I would get along well.
This Dylan person, on the other hand, is already on my last nerve, and I only just met him.
The word “smarmy” was invented for men like him. He’s looked me up and down half a dozen times in our short conversation, staring at my breasts and practically salivating over my legs. He stands too close, talks too loudly, and wears too much cologne. My nose hairs are singed from it.
If all that wasn’t bad enough, he’s got a laugh like a hyena’s.
Or a donkey having a tooth pulled.
Pushing aside the memory of the cute story Cole manufactured about how hideous my laugh was that night we laid naked together in the hotel bed, I laugh politely at the lame joke Dylan just made and glance at Simone.
I telegraph my discomfort, which she receives loud and clear.
Thank God for women’s intuition.
“Dylan, I need to spend time with Shay now to discuss her workload and get her up to speed on our current projects. Would you excuse us, please?”
“Oh sure, sure, no problemo. Shay, it was great meeting you. Welcome aboard. My office is right next door, so feel free to drop in anytime if you need anything.”
Tearing his gaze from my breasts, he jerks his chin up and winks at me. “Or if you just want to say hi.”
I wonder if I can ask to be relocated, but then I get distracted by the sight of Cole barreling through the office like a charging bull, his head lowered and his jaw clenched. Startled employees scatter out of his path like buckshot.
He’s headed straight toward my office.
No doubt to subject me to more of his charm. Maybe he’ll spit in my face this time instead of slamming a door in it.
I turn and give Dylan a tight smile. “I sure will, Dylan. Thank you so much. It’s been a real treat meeting you.”
When Dylan licks his lips and chuckles, I realize he thinks I just hit on him.
If only punching a co-worker in the nose on your first day on the job wasn’t frowned upon.
Cole charges through the door. He stops short, nods curtly at Simone, then turns his attention to Dylan. The glare he produces is so evil, Dylan looks as if he’s about to wet his pants.
“Oh, uh. Hi there, Mr. McCord. We, uh, we were just meeting your new assist—”
“Out,” interrupts Cole with a snarl.
Dylan runs off like a scolded puppy. Simone isn’t so easily intimidated, however. She clasps her hands at her waist and waits with her brows lifted until Cole turns his attention back to her.
He says gruffly, “Please excuse my manners, Simone. It’s been a difficult morning. I’d like a word alone with Shay.”
Simone glances at me, sending me a look I understand to mean that she’s within shouting distance if I need someone to call 9-1-1. Then she withdraws, closing my office door behind her.
Cole’s back faces the cubicle field, so he can’t see what I see through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls: a sea of people gaping at us.
Great. What a way to make a first impression. Next maybe I can barf on someone’s shoes.
My face red and my heart thudding, I stand my ground under the blistering stare Cole sends me.
His voice less controlled than when he spoke to Simone, he demands, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I believe we already established that. I’m working.” Just to dig the knife a little deeper, I add a sarcastic, “Sir.”
It’s the wrong thing to say for several reasons, but mainly because the vivid memory of me on my knees in the hotel room with his hard dick in my hand when he suggested I call him Sir for Chelsea’s benefit now sits there between us, supercharging the air.
I can tell he’s thinking of it, too, because he shifts his weight from foot to foot and growls. Then he snaps, “How?”
“How what?”
“How did you come to be working here?”
“The usual method.”
“Which is?”
“I was hired.”
Obviously annoyed by my short answers, he demands loudly, “How did you know it was me you’d be working for?”
“I didn’t.”
When he only stares at me in disbelieving silence, it dawns on me that he thinks I purposely took the job as his assistant to get close to him. Not only that, he thinks my reasons for that were nefarious.
“Wait,” I say hotly. “Wait just a minute. I didn’t know it was you I’d be working for, okay? Nobody told me your name.”
“I find that extremely hard to believe.”
“I don’t care what you believe. It’s the truth.”
He folds his arms over his chest and stares down his nose at me.
What an asshole. If murder were legal, he’d already be dead.
“Whatever story you’re concocting about why I’m here, it’s BS.”
“Sure it is.”
Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air. “I heard about this position from a friend!”
“What friend? The same one who you’re planning on splitting your settlement money with when you sue me for sexual harassment?”
I already knew he was thinking something bad about why I’m here, but I didn’t know how bad. This takes the cake. “You think I set you up?”
When he doesn’t say a word but only continues staring at me with that same look of disdain, I have my answer.
“You do. You think somehow I found out who you were, and I followed you into that bar and propositioned you that night, all the while planning to get hired as your assistant so I could turn around and sue the pants off you.”
“Or blackmail me, yes.”
Outraged by the suggestion, I gasp.
“Well, what are the odds, Shay? You and your friends just happened to be at that particular bar that night? And you just happened to decide you wanted to demand sex from me?”
“Demand? I did no such—”
“Then, out of the blue, you show up in my office, and the first thing out of your mouth is a threat to sue me?”
He glances down at my outfit. His eyes flare. His cheeks grown even more ruddy than they were before.
“While wearing the blouse I bought you?”
I wish I’d put this stupid Balmain blouse down the garbage disposal. It’s the nicest thing I own, and I wanted to look my best today, and now I just wish I’d shoved it down the garbage disposal where I should also shove all my pleasant memories of the evening I spent with this jerk.
“I didn’t threaten to sue you. I said I’d file a complaint with HR if you continued to treat me with disrespect.”
“Followed by a threat to sue.”
“Okay, fine, yes, but only if you fired me in retaliation. Which, now that I’ve seen you in your native environment, seems exactly like something you’d do.”
He tries to interrupt, but I raise my voice and talk over him. “I shouldn’t have been surprised by your behavior because literally everyone warned me about it, but given that it was you standing in the doorway and not some stuffy old guy with dandruff on his shoulders and halitosis that could kill a camel like I imagined it would be, I was. So you’ll have to forgive me for playing into your ridiculous farce of a self-serving story, but in no way did I scheme to get this job.”
He steps closer, lowering his arms to his sides. Now we’re only a few feet apart, glaring at each other.
“All right, Shay. Then tell me. What’s the name of this friend you heard about the position from?”
I can tell he thinks this is a detail that will trip me up. He thinks I’ll manufacture a name from thin air, which he’ll then be able to disprove as a lie because the position was never posted publicly. Or I’ll give him a name of someone inside the corporation who he thinks conspired with me to trap him into a settlement and split the proceeds.
So it’s with great pride and a profound sense of satisfaction that I prove him wrong.
“Her name is Emery. She owns a bookstore in Venice called Lit Happens that I’ve been going to for years. She said you were a customer of hers, and she thought I might be a good fit for the job.”
Cole’s lips part. He blinks. Then he closes his eyes, exhales heavily, and mutters, “Fuck.”
Not the reaction I was expecting. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not a customer of Emery’s. She’s my sister-in-law.”
I notice in my peripheral vision that everyone out in the cubicle field is still staring in our direction, watching our little drama unfold. Sure hope these glass walls are soundproof.
“Sister-in-law?”
He opens his eyes and gazes at me, nodding. “Yes. She’s married to my older brother, Callum.”
“Why on earth would she tell me you were her customer?”
“I assume to protect me.”
That hurts my feelings a little. Does she think I’m some kind of mercenary? “Why do you need protecting?’
He drags a hand through his hair and exhales heavily. “It’s just our thing. Our family thing.”
“That makes not one bit of sense to me.”
He turns around and paces the length of the office with his hands propped on his hips. It’s a small office, so he’s turning around in seconds. He paces back toward me, then makes another turn and repeats the process.
I hate myself for noticing how handsome he is. How virile. How his dark hair curls over the back of the collar of his pale blue dress shirt. How the veins in his forearms stand out.
How great his ass looks in those black slacks he’s wearing.
“We’re very private,” he says, talking as he walks. “We have to be. You can’t imagine the targets we are for every kind of scumbag out there. Scammers. Bullshit artists.” His voice drops. “Kidnappers.”
Kidnappers?
I recall how secretive everyone was about this job, all the nondisclosure agreements I had to sign and the hoops I had to jump through because of the company’s notorious dedication to privacy, and realize with a sinking feeling in my stomach that I understand what he’s saying.
The McCords are billionaires. Of course everyone would want a piece of his family’s money. Of his family’s empire. Of him.
Emery was just being careful.
I mean, I’ve known her for a while, but it’s not as if we’re close friends. We’ve never gotten together socially. She had every right to be discreet. In her position, I probably would’ve done the same thing.
Unfortunately, this clarity causes the outrage to drain from me as if a plug has been pulled. I stand there wondering if one of us owes the other an apology, and quickly decide that if he goes first, I’ll follow suit.
“Oh. I see.”
He stops pacing. Studying my face, his gaze sharpens. “You see what?”
“Nothing.”
His expression sours. He folds his arms over his chest and gazes down his nose at me, a habit that might get him castrated soon.
“It was just a figure of speech.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Yes, it was.”
“I know it’s inconvenient for you, but I can tell when you’re lying.”
“Baloney.”
“It’s true.”
“Oh yeah? How?”
“Your voice gets strange.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does. You start to sound a little like a dying donkey.”
He says it with no change in his expression or tone, but I know it’s an olive branch. That little reminder of our amazing night together is his playful way of saying oops, sorry I accused you of being a calculating, gold-digging whore, let’s try to play nice.
But wait—it could be a trap. He could be trying to test me to see if I’ll flirt with him. Does he still think I’m only here to shake him down?
Or is he being inappropriate? Is he hoping I’ll be on my knees under his desk giving him weekly blowjobs, and this is his way of hinting at it?
God, this is confusing. I have no idea how to respond. Humor? Outrage? Disdain?
Painfully uncomfortable, I resolve that if he’s going to be wily and impossible to pin down, I will too. I keep my voice and expression neutral, as if maybe I’m bored by this entire conversation.
“The donkey wasn’t dying. It was getting its tooth pulled.”
“No. It was dying.”
“I think you’re remembering it wrong.”
“I’m remembering it perfectly.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“What color was the Chihuahua?”
“The Chihuahua was hairless.”
“What kind of animal did the raptor see in the bar?”
“A dove. And I didn’t say raptor, I said predatory night bird. And it wasn’t in a bar, it was in a clearing.”
We stare at each other. Neither of us smiles. The room feels stuffy and too small. I have no idea if we’re fighting or flirting. I’ve had root canals more pleasant than this.
“Predatory night bird? So you’re an owl.”
A faint look of disgust crosses his handsome face. “I’m not an owl.”
“You sure? You kinda resemble an owl.”
“In what way do I resemble an owl?”
“Lots of ways. Big unblinking eyes. Stocky body. No neck.”
He narrows his eyes at me. I resist the urge to stick out my tongue.
Our stalemate is interrupted when someone knocks on the door. We turn to see a young man standing outside. He’s tall, handsome, and looks a lot like Cole, except he’s blond. Smiling broadly, he raises a hand and wiggles his fingers in greeting.
Cole walks to the door and opens it. I can tell by the new tension in his shoulders that he’s irritated by this arrival. To the man standing outside, he says brusquely, “You’re interrupting.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” He chuckles, then leans around Cole and grins at me. “Hi there. I’m Carter, Cole’s brother. I hear you’re his new assistant.”
“Hi, Carter. I’m Shay. And yes, I’m your brother’s new assistant, but I’m not sure for how long.”
Horrified, Carter looks at Cole. His tone turns accusing. “It’s not even nine o’clock! What crap are you putting this poor girl through already?”
Cole turns and gives me a lethal look. I return it with a sweet smile.
At least one of the McCord brothers is on my side.
