“I told him we were engaged.”
Chapter Four
Aiden
“ENGAGED.”
Seraphina’s tone is blank, her face devoid of emotion. An expression I value when she’s my executive assistant. But right now, when I need an answer and need it fast, it’s damned frustrating.
She’s standing a few feet away, hair slipping out of a messy bun to frame her face with golden strands. A face scrubbed free of makeup, cheeks red and green eyes wide.
Beautiful.
I give myself a mental shake. That’s not the direction my thoughts need to take right now.
“Yes.”
Finally, she blinks. Then she swears. I’ve never heard her curse before.
“Why?”
I keep my gaze on her face, refrain from looking at the maroon sports bra displaying her rounded breasts, the tightness of the matching leggings clinging to her long legs.
God, this is going to be a long few months.
“Randolph has been after me to settle down, prove my longevity by committing to one woman.”
I don’t bother to hide my bitterness. I despise my personal life being a consideration for a client. But whether or not I like it, it’s important to Randolph. And his agreement to the New Field deal is vital.
“He was concerned about the impact those photos could have on his campaign. So this solves both problems.”
Seraphina rolls her eyes again. Amusement trickles in despite the gravity of the situation. I’ve never seen this side of her—sassy, feisty.
“How does telling him we’re engaged solve anything?”
“It addresses his concerns about my ability to commit. Once we publicize our engagement, we take control of the narrative and spin it into a love story, alleviating the negative attention Randolph’s concerned about.”
She glares at me.
“You…but…” She puts a hand to her forehead, pushes a few strands of hair out of her face. “You’re my boss.”
“And I’ll continue to be your boss, during and after our supposed engagement.”
“No.”
I still. I haven’t heardnoin a very long time. I don’t like it.
“I’ll double your salary.”
Her mouth drops open. “What?”
“Double plus two weeks’ additional vacation.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, the move having the unfortunate effect of revealing the swells of her breasts more prominently.
“No.”
I glance around the tiny apartment. I never pictured where Seraphina lived. Never wondered how she decorated or what kind of home she created for herself. It’s jarring to think of her office at Hawke Financial, done in the same dove gray as the other offices with its gleaming mahogany desk and organized bookcases filled with binders, folders and every book on finance published in the last two years. The single family photo of her and her parents on her desk and a lone succulent plant in her window.
