Page 8 of His Temporary Assistant

Which apparently wasn’t right now.

I jerked the swing into motion and tipped back my head as it creaked and squeaked. It probably needed WD-40 or whatever one did to aging porch swings. I could get someone out here to fix it, but this was my sanctuary. I didn’t want to deal with more people.

Except, oddly enough, the one I’d just voluntarily texted during my free time. But that was different. She was going to be working for me.

Sure, I’d demanded her work history and not looked at it for four days. That seemed illogical. Wholly unlike me. As if it hadn’t mattered if she was competent, because she’d intrigued me.

But I didn’t operate that way. Besides, I’d been busy.

Right.

The vibration in my hand broke into my thoughts. I glanced down and swiped to see the full message.

Miss Moon: Who this?

This was going to be my assistant for a week? Her command of the English language concerned me. Then again, maybe she was in a hurry. In the middle of…something.

What I wasn’t going to dwell on.

PMS: This is Preston Shaw. Your new boss.

Another delay, this one longer than the last. I tapped my foot while I waited.

Miss Moon: Did you lose your watch? You’re past business hours.

PMS: I am, unavoidably so. Are you engaged?

Miss Moon: Like to be married? Hell no. Why?

There was no stopping my smirk. Or my sense of relief. Wasn’t going to try to explain that one.

Some things defied all sense.

PMS: I meant are you currently engaged in an activity that precludes you from speaking to me.

Miss Moon: Yes.

That was it. Just yes. No explanation. No apology. I hadn’t apologized for texting so late either.

We were just a pair of unapologetic, inappropriate individuals.

Was that why I’d sought her out tonight? Because I was tired of coloring within the lines, and I could already tell Ryan Goddess Moon did not let anything stop her, let alone rules.

But apparently, she wasn’t going to talk to me now. And if I was disappointed, I would just turn off my damn phone and go take a shower.

I certainly wasn’t going to swallow hard when an audio file appeared on my screen some ten minutes later. I still hadn’t moved.

r /> I pressed play and sinuous, sexy music started to play. After about thirty seconds, feminine laughter rolled over the track.

Hey there, gods and goddesses. It’s time for another episode of the Tarot Tramps. Featuring me, la-la-Luna, and…

My forearm tensed where it rested on the arm of the swing. Husky laughter joined the lighter, frothier version from la-la-Luna.

Ryan Moon, goddess of all things creative, sexual and free.

I wasn’t smirking now. Her voice on the podcast was a seductive tease. Low, deep, with a bit of a rasp as if she’d smoked a full pack of Camels and followed them up with a whisky chaser.

I pushed a hand through my hair. Shifted on the swing. Wanted to turn off the damn audio because it was getting hot out here and not even the chilly breeze could cool me off.

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