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“Please,” I groaned. “Go. And don’t cause any more problems until I figure out how to fix this one.”
Like a kid who knew he’d pissed off his parents and was glad to get off with a slap on the wrist, Chris slid wordlessly out the door and closed it, leaving me with a wonderful little ball of pressure in the back of my head with his name on it.
I was just getting my focus back when my office phone chimed. “Mr. Rose, there’s a woman here who says you gave her a job yesterday. Should I call security?”
I grinned at that thought. It would be amusing to have security escort Chelsea out and pretend I’d never hired her. It would also mean she’d be gone for good this time. Which… was what I wanted, wasn’t it?
“No.” I tapped my finger on the desk. I hadn’t even decided which circle of hell to send my little Tinkerbell to. Exile was too easy. I could condemn her to the mail room or HR. Or… “Send her to my office.”
There was a long pause. “Your office, sir?”
“If the phones aren’t clear enough to stop me from repeating myself, then call fucking IT.” I shut off the call and rocked back in my chair, glaring at nothing in particular. Once upon a time, being an asshole had been a choice. When did it become so automatic?
It wasn’t something I could afford to worry about. Trish had made sure of that. Leading by fear meant the ones planning to stab you in the back were easier to spot. If you treat everyone like equals and friends, the knife will come with a smile. Lead with fear, and you either got bent necks or hatred. I was happy to bend every neck under me and dispatch the ones dumb enough to glare back. It was ruthless, but effective.
It also meant I didn’t make the same mistakes again—like trusting someone with my feelings or giving them the keys to hurt me. No. I’d learned the most important lesson from my ex, Trish. If you never let anyone in, you were fucking untouchable.
Tinkerbell was about to get a lesson in exactly what happened to people who had the nerve to defy me, and I was going to enjoy it.
My door opened a few minutes later. She walked in wearing another outfit that looked like it was plucked from the bargain bin of a thrift store—a dull skirt that stopped just above her knees and a tan, silky top that made her look like she belonged in an 80s law drama. I was only surprised it didn’t have shoulder pads.
“Sit.”
She waited just long enough to remind me she was a pain in my ass, then took the seat across from my desk. She sat with her thighs pressed together, but not so tightly that I couldn’t get a generous glimpse of her smooth legs. A vivid memory of spinning her around and fucking her from behind assaulted my senses. With an effort, I pushed it down.
The years had been kind to Chelsea. She’d blossomed from what I assumed was her early twenties and the look of a girl just barely out of college to a woman. A full blown, obnoxiously attractive woman. She still had that slightly crooked, freckled nose. She didn’t look as tan as I remembered, but her hips appeared wider and I even thought her chest had grown somewhat. Back then, she’d been hard, like an athlete at the peak of her career. Now she’d softened around the edges, and I couldn’t help wondering how soft and delicious it’d feel to pull her body against mine.
Except those were thoughts I couldn’t indulge.
There was absolutely not going to be a repeat of that encounter. She was at my company now, and the company was my life. I’d cut my own arm off before I risked it for a woman.
“Where will I be working?”
“Under me.” I was speaking without thinking. Under me? No. Send her to HR. To the front desk. Your dumbass doesn’t need to be tempted by seeing her every single day. I could already feel the foundations trembling. Somehow, some way, I was going to regret this. I knew it. “You’ll be my personal assistant. Coffee runs, printing, faxing, deliveries, dry cleaning, and anything else I decide I can use you for.”
Idiot.
She hesitated. “Anything else?”
I decided not to acknowledge the shared secret between us and how it might have colored my words. “Anything.”
“And what will I be paid for this work?”
It was tempting to insult her with a low offer. Ten grand a year, for example. But I realized it’d be more satisfying to make the offer as juicy as I could. Because I was going to test her patience more than it had ever been tested, and the harder I made it to walk away, the more fun I could have. “Three hundred thousand a year. Full benefits.”
