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The door slams shut and it reminds me of earlier this morning. A door slammed. I’d been on the phone with Mr. Collins. She’d been upset then too.
Don’t worry, Violet…I see you now.
“Don’t.”
I blink away the thoughts of her and glare at Bull. “What?”
“Don’t do it. Let her go. That woman has been here for six years busting her ass for you, and you’re just now realizing she’s here. But it’s your dick that finally sees her. Call Elisha. She’ll take care of that nosy little dick of yours and you can get back to focusing on shit that matters. Like the Collins deal.” He takes his glasses off and scrubs his face as if this entire afternoon is exhausting him.
And I’ve never felt so refreshed.
I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve learned everything there is to know about Violet O. Simmons.
“You’re right,” I lie as I gather the paperwork on my desk. “Let me finish going over some stuff. I’ll lock up tonight.”
He narrows his gaze at me but doesn’t say a word in argument as he slips his glasses back on and stands. “Want to grab a beer later?”
I nod and wave him off. I’m antsy. I want my best friend to leave me be so I can do a little research. Twenty long minutes later, I hear his keys jangling against the glass of the front doors of our floor as he leaves.
I’m all alone.
The first thing I do is flip open my laptop. Facebook is where you learn a whole lot about a person. It takes a minute to find her, and when I do, I’m disappointed. She has it locked down. All I’m privy to is her name and her profile picture. Instead of her face, she has a picture of the ocean. Her cover photo is some vague quote.
My past has not defined me, destroyed me, deterred me; it has only strengthened me. – Steve Maraboli.
I’m dying to know what sort of things she posts, but it’s all fucking private. I can’t even tell how many friends she has. Does she have friends here at the office? Is Bull her friend? Another blossom of irritation surges in my chest. I’ve had this stunning woman strutting into my office several times a day and I have never paid one ounce of attention to her. Granted, I don’t know ninety percent of the people who work for me, but this feels different. This feels like an injustice. Like I’ve been duped.
With a huff, I rise and stride out of my office. Her desk sits right outside my door. Everything is neat and in order. Pride swells inside me. My assistant isn’t messy or disorderly. She’s organized like me. Perhaps that is why she was chosen to work for me in the first place. Bull knows me better than I know myself. I don’t deal with the employees or HR. He does and is good at it.
I sit in her stiff chair and let out a groan. The damn thing isn’t nearly as comfortable as my plush leather one. I’ve just sat down and my back already hurts. I make a mental note to order her a new one. Brown. Like the non-shiny parts of her hair. Everything has a place on her desk. A company coaster sits right beside her mouse. All of her pens and papers have been put away. Nothing except her phone and computer and the coaster adorn the desk. One corner is especially empty. I want to fill it. I will fill it.
Inhaling, I almost crack another rare smile when I catch a whiff of her lingering scent. A hint of coffee mixed with her sweet floral perfume. I wonder how she would smell the exact moment she spritzes on her perfume and steps out of her bedroom. Would it be intense or faint?
I will find out.
Using an age-old trick, I lift her keyboard and am elated to find a sticky note with her passwords written on it. The same one for all of her logins. SurViV0r.
It only takes a couple of moments to get logged on to her computer. All of her folders are arranged neatly. Her spreadsheets of my clients are all in a manner I approve of. She has many detailed notes from meetings. Meticulous logs of calls made to me and visitors who have come to see me. I also see where she’s run data on properties. Checked on sales prices and values. Run comparison analyses. The works. Aside from bringing me my coffee and fielding my calls, I’m not sure what she does for my company. Apparently, though, she does a lot for her own information. None of the data she collects goes anywhere except her spreadsheets.
Skipping over to her email, I’m also pleased to see how neat and organized it is. All that sits in her inbox is an email from HR indicating they’ve also received a copy of her resignation. Ignoring the annoyance that someone else knows about her attempt to quit, I find a folder in her emails called: Ideas for the Idiot.
I pop it open to find hundreds if not thousands of emails to me. I blink several times to allow what I’m seeing to soak in. These emails are simply saved as drafts. She never sent them. Some are of her telling me off. Those make me crack another smile. Most, though, are of her making suggestions. Or providing analytical details on properties. A lot of her emails could have been really damn helpful.
Why didn’t she send them?
I press send on several of the emails that could be useful, especially the data for the Collins venture, before closing out her email and opening the Internet. Once I pull up Facebook, I type in SurViV0r. I’m immediately granted access to her account.
The first place I click is her friends. I’m dying to know who she’s friends with here at my company. I scan through all thirty-six friends. None are Bull. None are Clint from HR. Other than that, I don’t know these people.
I’m not her friend, though.
That’s okay because I want to be more than friends. I will be more than friends with her.
Scanning through her friend requests, I delete all the males who requested to be her friend. I don’t like those creepy fuckers. She doesn’t have any common friends with them. They’re probably just trying to weasel some nude pics out of her. Over my goddamned dead body. Once they’re deleted, I check her messages. Most are silly and lame. People sending her jokes or chain letter shit or funny memes. Her Facebook has no real substance to it. All of her posts are motivational memes and the occasional picture of the ocean.
I make my mind up right then to take her to the ocean one day.
I’m scanning through old pictures when a new message pops up.
Sean Slante: Congrats again! I just wanted to let you know we’re looking forward to having you join the team. I’ve already ordered you a computer and Janine has put in an order for your nameplate. If you have any questions about the job, I’m open to meet up for coffee or even a beer. This weekend is pretty open. Hell, I could even see you tonight if you want to talk about how things went today when you put in your notice. You have my cell so just shoot me a text. Talk soon, Letty.
By the time I finish reading the message, I’m blind with rage. I want to tell the fucker off. Tell him he’s not taking my assistant. That he’s an unprofessional twit to private message her. That she will not be having a fucking beer with him.
Instead, I tamper down my fury and close out of everything. I’ll have to play my cards right. Just like acquisitions. I’ll put in my time. Analyze the details. Make smart moves.
Violet O. Simmons is mine.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
T-minus fourteen days…
CHAPTER THREE
VIOLET
I FEEL LIGHTER.
Resolved.
Like I should celebrate.
And that’s the only reason I agreed to meet Sean Slante over at an Irish pub for a round of beers. He’ll be my new boss soon, and it’ll take some getting used to that he actually acknowledges me, knows my name, and recognizes me as an asset.
Unlike him.
My thoughts flit back to earlier. When I’d boldly slapped my notice on Grayson Maxwell’s desk. How, for the first time in six years, he’d looked at me. A shiver courses through me at that thought. His icy blue eyes were narrowed but curious. I felt as though he were peeling off my clothes with every second that passed. With just one look. It was unnerving and a tiny bit satisfying.
I hope he liked what he saw.
I hope he realized what an idiot he w
as for not noticing what a hard worker I was.
The moment that I had his attention, though, it was strange. Too intense. Too much. Maybe it truly was a blessing that he’d not paid me any mind all these years. I think if he looked at me that way from the very beginning, my job would have been a whole helluva lot harder.
I could have gotten lost in that gaze.
Swallowing down my irritation, I scan the bar for Sean. He’s still not here yet. I nurse my beer and worry about my outfit. I didn’t want to wear work attire but I also didn’t want to appear too casual for my new boss. In the end, I’d settled on a black fitted dress and a pair of trendy matching ankle boots. My long legs are bare, unlike how I wear them to work, but I’m still maintaining some elegance. A part of me had leaned toward jeans but I’m still trying to make an impression, despite my accepting his offer.
“Letty!” a deep voice booms.
When I see Sean, I smile and slip out of the booth. He looks handsome in his dark jeans and powder blue, button-up shirt. The sleeves are rolled up and he’s gone without a tie. I let out a sigh of relief that I’m neither overdressed nor underdressed compared to him.
“Hi,” I greet and extend my arm.
The friendly man bypasses my handshake and pulls me in for a hug. He smells nice, but I can’t tell if it’s because he truly does or the fact I haven’t been this close to a man in a long time. I give him a polite hug back. When he pulls away, he doesn’t release me at first. His lips are pulled up into a half smile.
“I’m so glad you could meet up,” he tells me, his eyes flickering with concern. “I know Mad Max. He can be quite the pill sometimes. Was he okay with your resignation? Did the crazy old bastard throw his desk around?”
Again with the Mad Max.
I try not to feel defensive over the man who ignored me for six years. Sean is a nice guy. He’s not trying to be catty. If anything, he seems excited to have me, which is a huge change from what I’m used to.
Pulling away, I slide from his grip and sit back down. Thankfully, he plops down across from me. His long legs brush against my own under the table.
“He seemed surprised,” I admit before sipping my beer. “I don’t think it really sunk in. Probably won’t until I’m gone.”
Sean smirks and waves over a waitress. Once she takes his order, he directs his green eyes back over to mine. “You’re just a number over there, Letty. At Slante, you’re a person. Everyone at my company is recognized for their hard work. I know you’ll fit right in.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. I know I’m not the most experienced person but I’m a quick learner.”
