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“You’re attracted to my brother,” he thunders, then louder, “Stay away from him, Paige. He’s bad news and he knows better than to fraternize with employees.”
“Since I’m his assistant, it’s going to be hard. I have to spend a lot of time with my bosses, you know,” I tell him, biting back a smile.
He doesn’t say anything, but his face is firm as he knifes me with his eyes.
I start for the door again.
“Remember!” he calls after me. “It has to be the same color as my eyes.”
Sure it does when you’re an egomaniac.
“Teal-blue like the sea.” It comes out a little too fast. Oops.
Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, I tell myself. Inevitably, I do.
He’s grinning like a wolf. “You’ve noticed my eyes.”
Ugh, yeah, they’re hard to miss when they’re the bane of my existence and the center of my nonexistent sex life.
“No,” I fire back.
But Wardhole’s Cheshire-cat grin widens.
“It’s okay. Truth be told, sometimes I’ve noticed your—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Get out of here, Paige.”
“Everyone calls your brother frivolous, but he’s never asked for a silk tie the same color as his eyes,” I say, crossing my arms.
Ward sighs. “I lost my lucky tie, if you must know. Now go.”
My eyebrows go up.
How superstitious. I kind of like it because it almost makes him human.
I go to the door, put my hand on it, and turn to face him again. “What do you notice about me? You never finished that sentence, bossman.”
His eyes soften, and without saying a word, he winks at me.
Holy Toledo, this man drives me crazy.
One minute he’s all Wardhole, quills and all, and the next he’s Casa-freaking-nova.
I go downstairs and get in the town car.
“You’re leaving early today,” Reese says with a smile.
“I have to find the Warden a tie that matches his exact eye color.”
She laughs. “He’s got you wrapped around his finger, huh?”
My forehead creases. “Question. Is he making me do stuff another assistant wouldn’t do?”
“Umm—the last few EAs didn’t last long.” She’s quiet for a minute before looking back in the mirror. “So, Paige, you work in the office with the big shots. Be honest, is Granny Bea coming back? Because a lot of people are saying she’s not, and if this is how it’s going to be working for the Brandt Boys...I’m not sure I can handle it.”
Not you too!
I clear my throat.
“She’s coming back, Reese. We’re just not sure when. Don’t even dream about quitting. We can’t afford anyone leaving right now. I know it’s annoying, but it’s going to get better.”
Everything except the endless love-hate jousting with my boss, but I keep that part to myself.
Finding a tie to match his paradise blue-green eyes is no small feat, and I return to the office behind on actual work.
So maybe I keep wondering why this stupid “lucky tie” thing is suddenly so important.
I drop the Barney’s—the fifth and thank God final high-end store I went to—tie on my desk and check my schedule. I need to meet with Andrew in marketing like now. I grab a pad and pen and go to his office.
This is how my day goes. Meeting after meeting followed by calls and then another meeting. Every person I talk to asks about Beatrice, and more than one tells me they don’t expect she’ll return. A few openly warn me they won’t stick around if Beatrice doesn’t come back.
I work through lunch. It’s after five when I walk into Ward’s office holding the tie box. His chair is turned toward the window, and he’s drinking from a small glass.
Coffee again?
It takes a minute, but the pungent smell, the crystal glass, and the amber-gold color confirms it’s not his usual brew. When I realize what it is, I stop dead in my tracks, my lungs seizing.
“You...you freakin’ Ward-hole!” I spit.
He startles for a second, then looks at me.
“Really? At work? What is this? Some kind of demented Mad Men throwback to the fifties?”
He doesn’t say anything. He just leans over, opens his bottom drawer, pours a second glass, and places it in front of the chair on the other side of his desk.
I sit, but don’t move for the drink, wondering if this is some weird new test.
“You gave me so much hell over being drunk,” I hiss, thoroughly annoyed. “You tried to get me fired over one glass of wine, off the job, before my first day, and now you’re drinking at work?”
I run my hands down my face, feeling my skin stretch, trying so hard to process this latest crapfest.
He scoffs. “That wasn’t a single glass of wine.”
I wish my glare could choke him.
“Truth be told, I’m having a bad day,” he says slowly, twirling his glass, staring at the amber liquid.
His words hit me hard.
Just like that I go from pissed to scared. Ward cares about the reputation of Brandt Ideas. If he’s drinking at work, he has to have a reason.
