A clicking of her heels behind my back says she’s following. I know I walk fast, I also know she’s short, and running in those hooker heels must not be comfortable, but I’m not planning on slowing down. She’d better know what she’s in for right from the start.
When we reach my office, I point at the desk in front of it. “That’s yours. Stay there.”
She drops her bag on the corner, slides into the chair, and squares up to the monitor with her fingers poised like she’s ready to pounce.
“Yes, sir.” Her tone is laced with just enough mockery to make my jaw tick. Among other things.
Even though I know her words are nothing but a joke, my poor dick doesn’t get the memo. The fucker twitches again—I should text one of my hookups and see if one of them would be up for dinner. Or preferably just skipping dinner and going straight to the good part.
As I plant myself on my chair in my office, I think I’ve made a mistake by agreeing to hire her. We hate each other, that’s true. But I also want to fuck her. Have been wanting to for eleven months and twenty days. To be fair, I usually want to fuck anyone in a skirt, but her specifically. There’s a certain, short, blue-eyed reason I became extra active this year. It’s the same reason why all my dates are blondes.
But she’s Maeve’s sister—my fuckin’ sister-in-law’s sister. Ezra would skin me alive if I went anywhere near her. He knows me; he knows I don’t do relationships, and by now Maeve knows it too. She’d get upset, meaning Ezra would get mad, and we would be in an even worse state than we already are.
Also, Beatrice doesn’t look like a very competent person. I mean, she’s Maeve’s sister, and that girl managed to mess up my brother’s coffee for many months. I’m still not sure if she has learned how to make it right. Of course, I can make my own damn coffee, but one of the perks of being at the head of a company is that you don’t have to. So when—when, not if—she messes up, I’ll lose it. It doesn’t take much these days with all this fucking pressure and the family situation.
Why did she really take the job? She had to know whom she’d be working for, and judging by the disgust on her face when she looked at me, I doubt her feelings toward me have changed. She’s a Wrong, born into wealth, yet here she is, slumming it for a paycheck.
She needed something from the marriage with Ezra, something Maeve has taken, and now she is here. I doubt it’s to get work experience. She is desperate for something, and I can use that to my advantage.
12
Bea
I’m questioningmyself for the tenth time in the past two minutes while clearing up the desk from the previous person who worked here. It’s not a lot to begin with—I don’t think they were here long enough to make the desk homey.
But I intend to do just that. I’ll stick around no matter how much Mr. Jerk doesn’t want me around. Julian mentioned the possibility of increased pay if I stay here longer than my predecessor. Even though Martin thinks I can’t keep my mouth shut to save my life, I actually can when it really matters. And now it matters. I don’t want to leave Maeve, the only family I have left, especially after we just reconnected. Because that is what will happen if I can’t find a well-paying job. It’s either this or moving into a cardboard box and becoming homeless but proud. When Maeve’s old friend Jeff was homeless, he managed to live in one. Maybe I can too.
I didn’t take anything with me today because I didn’t know where I’d be assigned—the beauty of being a temp is that every single day is a surprise. I’ll make it work today, but tomorrow I’llbring my own mug. Every single personal item will be used in this battle against the caveman. I’ll kill him with coziness.
The computer screen comes to life after a click of the mouse, asking for a password. Which I don’t have. Or a profile. Or anything really. I didn’t have any introductions, so I’ll have to make it work as it is. I bet King thinks I’ll sit here and cry, but I’ll show him what I’m made of. I’ll cry later at home.
Picking up the stationary phone, I dial the HR department—thanks to the written directory on the plastic.
“Yes, Molly,”comes a tired voice.
“Ehm, it’s not Molly. It’s Beatrice.”
There’s a silence followed by a heavy sigh.“Did it happen again?”
“If you mean did Mr. King fire his previous assistant, then yes.”
A long curse is all I need to know about what this poor HR person thinks about the situation.“And who are you again?”
“Beatrice.” I intentionally drop my last name because I don’t want to be associated with it in case anyone is familiar with my family. I also don’t want to be treated any differently if they know I’m related to Maeve. “I was sent from the temp floor.”
“Sent?”
“Well, walked. Julian walked me here from the temp floor.”
There’s another very pregnant pause before she speaks again. “Did anyone give you a rundown?”
“Not really,” I reply a little hesitantly. I’m not familiar with how the hiring process works in big corporations, but I’m sure I should at least be told the rules. And telling me how my boss takes his coffee does not top the list. “I’m a temp, so I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”
“Did you sign the papers at the agency?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, give me a second.”I hear clicking on the keyboard before her attention returns to the conversation.“Okay. Good. Wait, Beatrice Wrong? Any relation to—”She lets the thought trail off, and I’m not sure what she’s referring to, my family or my sister.
