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Great.
Lunch with my boss.
My boss who was hotter than hell and had almost run me over less than a week ago.
I glanced at the listing for the multi-million-dollar house and snorted as I pushed it away.
I was definitely broaching on hating the people who lived there now.
CHAPTER SEVEN – MALLORY
If you’ve ever thought that having lunch with your boss after two days would be weird, you would be correct.
Especially a boss who was as hot as Cameron Reid was.
Now, look. Don’t judge me. I knew that eyeing up my boss was, quite frankly, an absolutely fucking stupid idea. The problem was, I was a woman, and I had a little thing called hormones going on.
Do you know what the problem with hormones is?
They have a mind of their own.
So today, my hormones didn’t care that the walking hunk of hotness opposite me was my boss. Nope. They just wanted to crawl across the table and climb him like a koala.
Nom nom nom. Right up the abs that I imagined were behind that starchily-pressed white shirt and perfectly-tailored gray jacket.
Like a ladder. Ab by ab by ab.
Jesus, I needed a life. And some help. Professional help.
And a blindfold so I stopped staring at my boss like he was a pepperoni pizza and I was on a low-carb diet.
Not that I’d ever do that, you know. I liked carbs too much. My ass could tell you that much. I was this-close to busting a seam on my jeans.
Maybe. I mean, I couldn’t really see my ass in jeans, but the possibility was always there.
“So, what happened with your last job?” Cameron asked, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. Those bright blue eyes focused wholly on me. “Casey called for a reference, and your boss was more than willing to give you one.”
I sighed and sipped my water. “He retired. He’s pretty old. To be honest, he gave us a lot of time to get new jobs, but I just wasn’t lucky.”
“How about your colleagues?”
“You mean my tall, thin, blonde-haired, blue-eyed colleague who could charm a condom onto a monk?”
“That’s an interesting way to describe someone.”
I snorted into my hand. “Sorry. My brain can’t always define between boss and friend.”
“Carry on. By all means, you’re a breath of fresh air.” He laughed, folding the napkin and sitting back. His lips were curled into an unfairly delicious smile.
Shit. I needed to eat this sandwich before my hormones took control of my brain. It was bad enough that my brain was in control of my brain.
I smiled behind my hand. “Well, not everyone likes my brand of fresh air.”
“Fresh air is overrated.” He smirked. “Tell me about your family. I think you mentioned a crazy aunt and grandpa?”
“That’s a rabbit hole you do not want to go down,” I warned him. “Do you always talk this personally with your assistants?”
“No. But considering that I grew up with my only long-term assistant, I’m more than familiar with her weird family.” He grinned.
“You make it sound like you’re horribly picky with your assistants.”
“Worse than Mariah Carey needing tea.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“The women in my family outnumber the men. I’m subjected to far too much celebrity gossip when I’m forced to my mother’s house.”
I wished celebrity gossip was all I was subjected to at my mother’s. It was far preferable to knowing—and witnessing—the fact your parents had a more active sex life than you’d ever have.
Not to mention adventurous.
I still wasn’t over seeing them doggy-style it on the staircase.
“I admit,” Cameron said, picking up his mug of coffee. “I am picky, but I have to be. I like my assistants to be… just so. And, honestly, Casey is a hard person to follow. She’s worked here since she graduated high school, for my father before me. She knows the business inside and out.”
“What happened to the person who covered her maternity leave?”
“She was from an agency. She was only ever temporary, and I know Casey hoped that I’d hire her, but she just didn’t have that…something.” He tapped his finger against his chin. “She couldn’t handle the clients. This might sound strange, but I’m sure you’ve already figured out there’s a divide in the company.”
“You mean you deal with the rich people?”
He barked out a laugh. “Basically. This was my grandfather’s business, and all his contacts have filtered down through the generations. Word of mouth is a great thing—if someone is happy with how I broker a deal, they’ll pass on my information to someone else. But the clients can be…difficult.”
“Like Cynthia Carlton?”
“She’s something.” He paused, visibly fighting a laugh if the light in his eyes was anything to go by. “She’s hard work, but she means well. She’s a good friend of my mother’s, and yes, she’s challenging. Like my mother,” he finished on a mutter.
