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Nilla was twenty-seven, ambitious, and had been exhausted from the moment she’d taken the job as my assistant. Once I signed with a publishing house, everything had moved impossibly fast. I’d gone from someone who wrote on my own terms and at my own pace to being swept up in a whirlwind of public appearances, obligations, and, of course, the kind of guy who needed a personal assistant.
I would’ve loved to ditch all of it if I could. My only genuine desire was to write a book and have people read it. I didn’t need them to come to this kind of place and worship me. I didn’t need to pretend I was more than the asshole who put the words down. Honestly, I wished I could go back to my creative writing classes in college, where the motto had been that the story speaks for itself. It didn’t matter if the author wanted to jump in and defend it. It didn’t matter if you liked him or her. All that mattered was the story.
I could feel myself getting pissed all over again.
Nilla had even been desperate enough to step in as a cat sitter for me, but being the asshole that he was, my cat had chased her off from that job.
She shook her head at me, eyes full of annoyance and exhaustion. “Did you have to?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “That’s what made it so fun.”
“Maybe once in a while, you could think of how this is all going to fall back on your poor assistant. Worse, I feel like this is just going to wind up as ammunition for that insane ex of yours.”
I sighed. Nilla was probably right, but I didn’t particularly feel like dealing with it at the moment. “I’m sure you’ll—” I cut myself off when I heard hurried footsteps coming down the hall from the way I’d just come. Nilla threw up her hands in frustration and stormed off, already fielding another call as she did.
When I turned to look toward the approaching footsteps, I saw a ridiculously short woman coming my way. She could’ve barely been above five feet. She was glistening with a sheen of sweat, and her dark brown hair, which was dyed blue at the tips, was sticking to her forehead.
I frowned, trying to take in the sight and make sense of it. She looked like she was coming straight for me. And with purpose.
I was about midway through a theory that she was possibly someone from the crowd I’d just pissed off when she reached me and slapped me right across the face. I admired her technique, considering she was slapping way above her height and still made solid contact.
I took the blow, then tilted my head at her. “Do I know you?” I asked.
She was breathing heavy, either from exertion or from emotion. Maybe both. Her almond eyes were just slightly upturned, and she had a soft, pale complexion except for the patches of uneven red that were staining her cheeks.
“And did I interrupt your workout?” I asked, grinning despite my general annoyance these days and the fact that she’d just slapped me.
“Do you know how fast I walked to get a good seat for that?”
I looked at her, noting the hint of sweat on her clothes, too. She was wearing a dark green dress that made no secret of the killer body she had beneath. It wasn’t a gym sculpted body, but she had generous curves in all the places that mattered. I dragged my eyes away, even though I was enjoying the view. I had enough shit on my plate without trying to get tangled up with a woman. “It looks like you walked quite fast,” I said.
“Yeah, asshole. I did. And how do you guess I feel about that decision after that turd of a speech you gave?”
I grinned. I had to admit, I liked the way she spoke. It wasn’t just the refreshing way she seemed to say exactly what she was thinking. There was something in her features. Maybe it was a note of defiance, or maybe it was something else. Either way, she intrigued me. “I imagine you were not pleased.”
“No shit,” she blurted. “What the hell was that?”
“It’s me doing my best to teach my publisher not to schedule me for this kind of thing. I’ve got no interest in motivating other authors. I just want to write.”
She folded her arms, studying me. It gave me a chance to more fully admire how attractive she was. It was a kind of pretty that didn’t immediately jump out. I could’ve passed her on the street and maybe not even taken a second glance. But the more I stood there watching her, the more I was becoming convinced that I needed to get a taste of her before I let her go. I watched her mouth, admiring the way her upper lip was slightly larger than her lower lip. It made me want to kiss her—to find out if she’d look as defiant while she moaned for me.
