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I pick it up, my soul bristling at the idea that she saw one little bruise and thought I neededtending.Maybe she thought she could hold the ice to my face while I worked.
Maybe she thought I would let her do that.
All the bruise means is that I got punched in the face last night.
I’m not explaining to Bristol Anderson that the experience wasn’t unexpected. I was prepared for the possibility going in. I wanted a fight, and I got one, though it wouldn’t necessarily be sanctioned by the city police.
I glare at her in lieu of saying a word and take an irritated sip.
The coffee is indeed just how I like it. The fact that it’s right, that it’s how I expected it to be, feels good. It calms the side of me that woke up this morning ready to take another swing at someone. Wanting it, despite how I spent the better part of yesterday evening.
“Is it right?” Bristol asks.
“It’s acceptable.” I sit back down at the desk and look into her eyes to emphasize the point.
“It will be ready when you arrive at the office tomorrow,” she promises. “I also went ahead and sorted your mail.” She moves to drop the folder and the envelopes on the desk, but something else comes down with them, landing as lightly as if a breeze carried it.
Bristol whisks it away, but not before I catch a glimpse. A glossy brochure with a tropical scene on the front. White-sand beach. Palm trees.
Absolutely nothing to do with any of the projects in our pipeline.
Is she making vacation plans? I want to demand more information about that ridiculous piece of paper. It most certainly isn’t part ofmymail, otherwise it would already be sorted into recycling. I don’t take vacations. I don’t daydream about lying around on the beach.
It’s gone through some sleight of hand. Into her pocket, perhaps, or behind her back.
I’m begrudgingly impressed that she came prepared for the next thing I was going to ask her. “What about the invoices that came in?”
“I forwarded them to the finance department.”
Fuck, she’s good.
Bristol’s tone is demure and professional, but her cheeks are pink. Something about that brochure embarrassed her. She didn’t want me to see it, and now I have.
Worse yet, I’m curious. Interested. It’s torture, having her in the same room. Bristol Anderson smells too good to fill in as my secretary. She is too gorgeous. And she’s trying too hard for a prick like me.
It only drives me back to my base instincts. The ones I learned from my bastard criminal father. The ones I inherited from him.
“Fine.”
“I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.” Her lips part, and if she asks me one more time if I want an ice pack, if I want her totouchme, I swear to Satan himself…
Bristol decides against it, and part of me is disappointed. Part of me is a weak, disappointed bastard that she didn’t decide to push the issue.
She turns to leave.
“How did you know?” I ask, holding up the coffee.
“Cream, no sugar?” She gives an adorable little grimace. “The temp agency sends me all over. I’m used to jumping in without much guidance.”
I raise an eyebrow, waiting.
The words come out in a rush. “I messaged your last assistant on Facebook. He told me how you take your coffee.”
“Is that all he told you?”
Her cheeks flush pink. “He had some things to say about you as a… as a boss. I’m used to that, though. No one likes to get fired. I’m sure most of it isn’t even true.”
“Let’s get this straight. Everything he told you? Definitely true. He might have even downplayed it. I’m a bastard of a boss, and it will be a shock if you last the full two weeks.”
