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Okay, wow, I needed sleep. Since my grandmother had died, I’d been spending endless hours in my workshop, only falling onto the old twin mattress I kept in the corner when my mind was too numb to work.
I needed to blink out and gather my resources again. It was even more apparent now since I was having very warm feelings toward a burgundy tie and the man who had swept in and stole my house.
The heat coming off of him was obviously melting my brain.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.” His voice followed me out the door.
I stopped and turned on my heel. “Pardon?”
“Probationary. I’ll have a packet on your desk by morning with your salary and benefits. If that works for you, then we’ll see how it goes.”
“You’re hiring me?” Was that a squeak in my voice? And did he say benefits?
“Yes, Ms. Copeland. You’re the only applicant that was the least bit interesting. Let’s see if you continue to be after an hour.”
“Gee, thanks.” I slammed my molars together. Shoot.
But he didn’t say anything more. And the door shut in my face.
Three
It was a very good thing that I’d already been prepared to beg, because I suddenly wanted to smash the window of his door with my heel. Of course, I hadn’t been exactly the most professional of interview candidates.
And yet, I still had the job.
As assistant for one of the most infamous billionaires in Boston.
Holy shit.
Jack Hollister stood and came around the desk. His tie was off and dripping out of his pants pocket, and his cuffs were rolled back on a rather nice set of forearms. No ink for him. Was it wrong that it disappointed me? Hmm.
I’d always appreciated ink, but rarely did it turn my sensors on high. To be honest, little had rated on my male-o-meter in the last few years. I wasn’t a nun, but I definitely hadn’t been interested in more than an occasional dinner date in too many months to count.
Or was it a year?
Oy.
The fact that I didn’t know should have made me re-evaluate my dating life, but I was just too tired. Between my grandmother’s sudden death and my last gallery showing, men had been the very last thing on my mind.
Ten minutes with Blake Carson had dissolved that like an acid etching.
And now I had to be there at sev
en in the morning and try to pretend I was prime assistant material. Evidently, I need to brush up on my spreadsheet knowledge. Luckily, I was used to playing with invoices at Lady’s Cove Gallery. I’d whipped the Stanwick family gallery into shape. I could do the same with Blake Carson.
I hoped.
“I was just about to go in there and check on you. Most women come out crying within five minutes.”
“He wasn’t that bad. And that’s very sexist, Mr. Hollister.”
Jack snorted and leaned his hip against the desk. “Maybe a little, but he’s my best friend. I know exactly how he is.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why, but I managed to keep that one to myself. A six pack of faux pas a day was more than enough. Yet, there must have been something about my interview that he liked.
That gave me a little more time to figure out a way to get onto his good side. “I got the job. So, it wasn’t all bad.”
“Good, because I’m sick of playing secretary.”
