Page 27 of Wicked Fortune

I tell myself it’s only my first day and I need to be careful—how much poking around can I really manage on Day One? But that’s cold comfort. Jenny’s counting on me, and I’m sitting here fantasizing about Holt, a man who may well be tied in with her demise.

With a sigh, I focus on the stack of documents in front of me. At least I have an actual office, which is the first time in my run of many, many jobs that I can say that. It’s a strange little place, though. A hidden room located behind Lila’s desk. Access is through either a door camouflaged in the wood paneling of the reception area or a door that connects the north side of my office directly to Holt’s.

Right now, the door to reception is closed. The door to Holt’s office is open, per his instructions. Good, because it allows me to eavesdrop, hoping for some mention of Jenny or parties or any potentially nefarious activity. Bad because Holt is a pacer. Which means that as he takes his various calls, he walks back and forth along the length of his office, that silky voice and magnificent body catching my attention with each and every pass by my doorframe.

“Why?” I’d asked when he told me about the open-door rule. “I’m sure I’ll be able to concentrate better with the door closed, and these phones must have an intercom, right?”

“Because you’re my PA, Aria.” He’d held my gaze, emphasizing each word. “Personal. Assistant. That means I need you to be available at all times.”

“Oh.” Had I imagined the heat in his voice? I still wasn’t sure. But the heat in my veins had suddenly pooled between my thighs as I remembered that line from Pretty Woman. Apparently, I really am Holt’s beck-and-call girl, just like Clive had said.

Frankly, I like the sound of it more than I should, especially since I’m here so I can snoop around for any evidence that he or Hardline had a role in Jenny’s death. But there’s no denying the attraction, and until I’m certain Holt is in on it … well, they do say to be careful with pillow talk. Folks tend to reveal too much.

And what, I wonder, will Holt say once he calls in the lingerie marker I’m wearing and we’re sharing that pillow? Or couch. Or desk.

The latter, I’m thinking, might be more his style.

So why the hell hasn’t he made a move? If he’s not planning to touch me, to close that gap between us—then why all the head games?

Because he gets off on it. He’s playing cat and mouse, and I’m the mouse.

He’s manipulating me. And knowing that truth only turns me on more.

As if to prove that point, my thoughts have been in a constant spin all morning as I’ve tried to organize a stack of files containing his notes, staff memos, scripts, budgets, union requests, guild queries, and on and on and on.

Who would have thought a company that works in visual media would generate so much paperwork?

There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the stack, but since its organization requires my full attention, I’m having a hard time eavesdropping on his calls.

I’ve spent the morning trying to tune into words like Jenny or party or suicide or meet-and-greet or anything that might be related to my friend. So far, I’ve got bupkis.

“A mess isn’t it?” Lila says, making me jump when she appears in the reception-side doorway. She shakes her head and makes a tsking sound. “As I explained this morning, notes should be written directly into a computer file using the desktop template. But Matthew has a habit of scribbling on whatever paper happens to be on his desk. It’s the sign of a creative mind.”

“So that’s what it is,” I say dryly.

She just stares at me.

So much for female bonding.

As far as I can tell, Lila’s poised, well-spoken, intelligent, and determined—the perfect buffer between Holt and What Lies Beyond The Office Door. In other words, she’s giving off massive Watch Dog vibes, which means if I’m going to have any hope gaining enough alone time to do some serious poking around about Jenny, I’m going to have to suck up to her big time.

It’s high school all over again. And I really hated high school.

She nods to the pile on my desk. “You’ll be scanning those once you organize them. And remember, you’re not just skimming, you need to read. If anything seems urgent or creatively intriguing, bring it to Matthew’s attention.”

I nod, surprised at my visceral—and unpleasant—reaction to her using his first name. “No problem,” I say, though how I’m supposed to know what creatively intriguing means is anyone’s guess.

She continues to stand, her head tilted as if she’s waiting for me to say more.

“Uh, is there anything else you need?”

“It’s three-past noon.” There’s a haughtiness to her voice, and I’m thinking that calling her the watch dog wasn’t quite right. She’s female, after all. The nickname requires a tad more specificity.

“Sorry,” I say as I push back from my desk and stand. “And thank you for offering to show me around.” Insisted is more like it, but that’s probably par for the course with a Watch Bitch.

I fight a tiny smile, amused at my own inner monologue. Then I see Holt pass by the open door, deep in conversation about an option for some newbie’s screenplay.

I mentally cringe. “Should I ….” I begin, not sure if I can just leave or if I need to catch his attention, and when I turn back to Lila, I think she looks a little smug. As if my confusion has validated her as the Top Dog in the office.