"Did you see the gloves?" One of them laughed. "Avoided my hand like he was handling biohazardous material."
"The guy’s a freak," the other one said. "Brilliant, sure, but a certified freak. How anyone works for him is beyond me."
"I heard his last four assistants quit. All of them."
"No surprise there. Who wants to work for someone that insane?"
I stopped walking.
The anger hit instant and sharp, already in my spine, already moving my feet before my brain caught up. And it caught me off guard, because it wasn't for me.
I came around the corner. They saw me and the conversation died. Two guys in suits, mid-thirties, lanyards swinging, coffee cups in hand, both wearing the expressions of men who’d just been caught.
"Hi." I smiled tightly. "I’m Mr. Hunter’s assistant. Anna Wilson."
They looked at each other.
"If you have opinions about Mr. Hunter, you’re welcome to share them with him directly. He’s just down the hall. I can arrange the meeting right now. Walk you there myself."
Neither of them moved.
"No?" I tilted my head. "Then maybe keep it to yourselves. Because the man you just called a freak just spent the last hour out-thinking every person in that room, including your boss. And the gloves?" I held their gaze. "They’re none of your business."
I turned and walked around the corner. My eyes widened a fraction—there he was.
My heart was pounding. My hands were shaking. From his expression, I couldn’t gauge if he’d heard or not. I hoped not.
CHAPTER 9
Jace
I heard her before I saw her.
The Meridian meeting had wrapped clean. Co-production deals solid, timeline agreed, budget within range. I should’ve been thinking about the contracts that needed reviewing or the call with the Geneva distributor I’d pushed to Thursday. Instead I was thinking about the fact that my assistant had excused herself five minutes ago and hadn’t come back.
I walked toward the corridor. That’s when her voice reached me.
"I’m Mr. Hunter’s assistant. Anna Wilson."
I stopped. Just around the corner, out of sight.
"If you have opinions about Mr. Hunter, you’re welcome to share them with him directly. He’s just down the hall. I can arrange the meeting right now. Walk you there myself."
Silence from whoever she was talking to.
"No? Then maybe keep it to yourselves. Because the man you just called a freak spent the last hour out-thinking every person in that room, including your boss. And the gloves? They are none of your business."
Footsteps. Heels on floor. She was walking away from them and toward me.
I stepped back. She came around the corner. Her face was flushed, her jaw set, her eyes still carrying the heat of whatever she’d just said. She saw me and the heat banked immediately, replaced by that careful professionalism she wore like a second outfit.
"I suppose we can leave now?" she asked, like nothing had happened.
I nodded, like I hadn’t just heard every word.
We walked to the car in silence. I held the door for her, which I’d never done for an assistant, and told myself it was because the parking structure was poorly lit and the steps were uneven—not because a woman I’d known for only a few weeks had defended me to strangers without knowing I could hear her.
In the car, I drove. She sat in the passenger seat reviewing her notes, pen moving across the page in quick, efficient strokes. Her hair was tucked behind her left ear and the afternoon light was coming through the window at a low angle, catching the side of her face.
