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I can even hear his ragey griping in my head and laugh.
So why is that my problem? I ask.
Wardhole: You’re my assistant.
My fingers pound away.
Oh, silly me. A decision I regret more with each passing day. I don’t have to stick around.
His next message is almost out of character for a perma-grouch.
Don’t even joke about that. You’re keeping the lights on. I won’t get through this week without you either. Winthrope is a huge deal. Don’t disappoint Grandma.
Here comes that pesky part where I feel empathy for this beast of a man when I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t, I fire back. That’s why I’m still here, you know. But don’t take advantage of my respect for Beatrice.
I hold my breath until another message notification chimes.
Never. And I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you did. Grandma wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you, Paige.
Crud-rama.
When he’s nice, it’s ever so slightly harder to forget the beastly way he pinned me to the wall and kissed me like our plane started falling out of the sky. And I really don’t want to remember it since he acts like it never happened.
I also don’t want to dwell on what happened later, when he came back to me, removed my heels, and swapped them out for the big fuzzy shoes right in front of his brother.
I thought my heart might never beat normally again, playing this messed up Cinderella.
Then the next day he was back to being Wardhole incarnate without explanation.
Yeah.
I don’t have time for this drama, this confusion, this shit my enigma of a boss inflicts on me.
So I mute my phone to Do Not Disturb and go to bed.
The next day, it’s tempting as hell to play with his coffee. Make it sweet, or decaf, or flavored with jackfruit. But I’m a good girl and order his stupid artisan black drip.
He’s in his office when I drop off his coffee, looking magnificent as ever in his white button-down and fiery teal-blue eyes chiseled off a lump of pure turquoise.
“You’re here early,” I say.
“Someone needs to be and we both know it won’t be Nick,” he grumbles.
I place the coffee on his desk, ready to scram.
But before I can turn, he says, “Sit down.”
Oh, boy. What now? I take the chair across from his desk.
“You look exhausted,” he says, seemingly oblivious to him being the reason.
He’s left me no choice. I flash the I’m-gonna-kick-your-balls-off grin he hates so much.
“I am. I left at eleven and before I could get in my door, someone was texting me about work today.”
He doesn’t apologize, just levels a dead-eyed stare. “Go get me a tie. The closest color you can find to my eyes.”
“Come again?” I blink.
“My other one got splattered in a business meeting last week and it’s at the cleaners. I need a new tie,” he says, as if that explains everything.
Like I haven’t seen him wearing a dozen different ties before? Like there’s no backup? What?
You know what? I’m not sure I even want to know. If this new neurotic obsession gets me the hell away from him, cool.
My shoes click the floor when I stand.
“You’re wearing those things again?” He pauses and snorts. “Don’t you own a sensible pair of flats?”
“I thought the mandate that I stay heelless only applied when I’m physically in the office. I just got here from fetching someone’s coffee and haven’t swapped them out yet. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”
He doesn’t.
Of course, he doesn’t.
“Paige, I don’t care if you wear house shoes, slippers, or fucking clogs. I just care that they’re shoes you can walk in comfortably. Buy yourself a fresh pair on the company card while you’re out and try not to break your neck before you get to the check-out line.”
“How are my shoes your business?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Humor me.”
I don’t have to humor anything, you overbearing Warden, I think bitterly.
“Why is it my job to buy your ties? That’s a little more personal than coffee runs,” I snap.
“You’re my assistant and this is a business need.”
“I get the feeling this is a you need, actually,” I say, twirling my hair.
I think he tries to ignite me on the spot with this hot, annoyingly sexy, and totally not amused stare down.
“Teal silk tie. Got it. I’ll see you later,” I squeak, hating how good he is at winding me up. “I’m so glad your playboy brother doesn’t demand this kind of trivial crap.”
Whatever. At least I won’t be around to listen to how much everyone hates him and how quickly this place crashed since Beatrice got sick.
“You think Nick’s a playboy?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, but can’t hide the grin. Why do you care, Ward?
I shrug.
“He’s not unattractive, and he’s definitely easier to deal with. Plus, I hear he’s quite the ladies’ man.”
