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“Saint?” I question under my breath.
He adjusts one of his stunning silver cufflinks as he rakes me from head to toe. A sexy smile slides over his lips. “You’re the new hire?”
With my stomach tied in nervous knots, I nod. “I am.”
“Follow me, Champ. We need to talk.”
Chapter Eight
Sean
I might findthis situation laughable if I wasn’t so fucking tired.
Who am I kidding?
This is goddamn hilarious.
The woman who called the police on me last night works for me.
Champ is trailing me as I greet my executive assistant before heading straight into my office.
I would have confronted her on the elevator ride up here from reception, but it was jam-packed with employees. They each had something to say to me. Most were a cheery, ‘good morning.’ Some used the confined space to compliment me on my tie or suit.
I don’t know if they’re fishing for a raise, but since I don’t know most of them by name, their good intentions aren’t going to result in any type of advantage.
My brother is the one they should be directing their niceties to. He knows everything about every fucking person who works here. He not only addresses all of our employees by name, but he also knows every birthday and hire date.
I head toward my desk and flip open the file folder that Delora Green, the head of our marketing department, shoved at me before she raced into a meeting.
Giving new hires a company tour and standing by their side as they sign their employment contracts is not my job.
It’s not Delora’s either, but our human resources manager is out sick today, so the task of acquainting our newest employee with the company has fallen on my shoulders.
I planned to hand this off to someone else after meeting the person at the reception desk, but then I saw who it was.
Champ, my beautiful neighbor and the woman who had me detained by the police last night, is now an employee of mine.
Fate can be such a sweet beast.
“Mr. Wells,” she says from where she’s standing. “I had absolutely no idea that you owned this company.”
Curling a finger in the air, I lure her closer. “Take a seat.”
She hesitates before settling her ass in one of the two chairs facing my desk.
Her legs cross and then uncross.
It would seem that someone with a sharp tongue and full pink-stained lips is nervous as hell.
I glance down at her employment file.
Calliope Morrow.
She earned an MBA at New York University.
Her experience in marketing is limited, but her references are impeccable.
If I had a hand in the hiring process, I wouldn’t have signed off on this, but my brother has the last say in that department.
