“Excuse me, Mr. King, but,” the temp manager’s back straightens while his gaze darts to Martin, “Ms. Wrong’s priorjobs were highly placed and very successful,” he continues in a steady voice while the princess shoots him a surprised look.
Why is she surprised? That he’s defending her? I did that too. Once. I got a soft smile and surprised eyes too. And almost a kiss. And then I fucked it up.
“I don’t care if she organized the Pope’s calendar,” I say, locking my eyes on Bea. Remembering the balcony just reignites my anger.Good.That’s what I need. “She’s not mine.” The words slip out before I realize my mistake. “Not my assistant, I mean, and she’ll never be.”
Martin’s right brow rises slightly, subtly letting me know he noticed my slipup. “Noah. We need help. You need help. This project is sucking our souls, and if you don’t finish that drawing and start production, the board—and your father—still win,” he adds the last parts quieter, only for my ears to hear.
A printer jams in the hallway, its screech punctuates the silence, reminding me that I have a decision to make. No one moves. Even the fucking printer stopped working.
“Why did you take this job?” I ask her in a flat voice despite the hammering pulse in my ears, ignoring curious stares of every single person who can see our interaction. “Tired of living on your daddy’s money?”
Her lips purse while her little nostrils flare. The same spark I saw in her eyes a year ago returns, and it goes straight into my pants, reigniting the fire that took months to put out. Then her spine straightens while she’s clearly battling for self-control.
“I took this job because I am qualified for it.” Her tone is clipped but firm.
“Not enough.” I shake my head.
“Noah, listen.” Martin steps in front of me, demanding my attention. “You just complained to me how your current assistant?—”
“Ex-ass-sistant,” I correct, because I fired her ass ten minutes ago for being a dumb worker who only wants to bat her damn eyelashes at me.
“Ex-ass-sistant,” he repeats with a stupid smile, “wasn’t qualified enough. So you fired her. And now you don’t have an assistant anymore.Amiright?”
I purse my lips because we both know he is.
“Great. And Beatrice here,” he points at the most infuriating woman on the planet, currently standing by Julian’s side and sending me poisonous daggers with her eyes, “has the needed experience.”
“I’m sure she does,” I snort, making her lips turn into one thin line.
“I do have the experience, Mr. King.”
My cock twitches. Fuck. If she keeps talking in that defiant way, I’ll have a situation on my hands. Or between my legs to be precise. And then I can add another broken code to my already-long list of HR problems.
“And let me assure you that working here is not my first option either. But considering we both have been put into this not ideal situation,” her tone is pure professionalism, “we can at least make it work temporarily because we are both adults. Or am I wrong?”
Her gaze drags down my body with obvious disdain, and I return the favor. My eyes linger on her skirt’s curve and then on her lace bra outline, just to piss her off.
Big mistake.
The oxygen evaporates in an instant, the previous unresolved tension thickens, but this time, her eyes are filled with hatred. Pure, raw, unhinged hatred. It’s rare that I get such a strong response from a female; most women usually fall over themselves for me and become eager and pliant. Exactly whatI like, especially in the past year. Easy and quick has been my motto.
But Bea and her open defiance? It’s something new and more potent than anything I’ve ever been given.
“Your day starts when mine does,” I nearly growl at her, daring her to flinch. Iwanther to flinch and run away screaming, saving us both the disaster that will happen for sure if she stays here.
Every eye in the room—Martin, Julian, the office workers down the hall—flicks between us, waiting for her to crack. Because that’s what everyone else does.
“When is that?” she asks, pulling a spiraled notebook out of her purse. That’s when I know it’s not happening. She will fight for her win.
Then I shall deliver her a good fight. “When I feel like it.”
“Got it.” She scribbles something in her pad.
“I take my coffee black,” I continue snapping.
“No wonder,” she mumbles under her breath, but we all hear it because Martin coughs into his fist and places his ass back into his chair.
“You start now.” I stride away after saying that, not waiting to see if she follows. She’d better.
