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And there it is. Even when she’s begging me for money, she somehow finds a way to lay on the guilt while complimenting me at the same time. It’s truly an art form.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” I say, not wanting to get pulled further into her web of manipulation.
“Of course you do,” she mutters.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to yell at her, to say that someone has to work to pay your bills, and it sure as hell doesn’t seem to be you. I manage to hold my observation to myself. Saying it out loud would make me just as bad as her. Sure, there were a few restless, angsty, irresponsible years after I was left on my own at seventeen, but who could blame me? My mother was thrown in jail for writing bad checks, leaving me homeless on the streets of New York City.
I, however, got tired of living hand to mouth. The idea of not only having a safe place to rest my head at night, but owning my own bed? My own room? My own goddamn skyscraper? It felt like a pipe dream at the time, but after twenty years of calculated work and precise plans falling into place, I’ve accomplished more than my teenage dirtbag self could have ever imagined.
The migraine that’s been in the back of my head all morning finally slams into me. I grunt out a goodbye before hanging up with that impossible woman.
Taking a deep breath, I roll out the tension from my shoulders and try to push away that unpleasant conversation from my mind. There’s just one thing I have to do before I can put this whole thing behind me.
I pick up my desk phone and dial the extension for my assistant. Yes, her desk is right outside my door, but Alice and I have an understanding. My office is my sanctuary. She agrees to keep everyone out, and I let her read her smutty romance books when there’s a lull in her work day.
The older woman has been in the assistant game for longer than I’ve been alive, as she likes to point out. That’s not quite true, but it’s close enough to earn her the kind of respect she deserves.
After the fourth ring, I finally look up, frowning when I see an empty desk through the glass walls encasing my office. It’s nearly nine-thirty, but Alice is nowhere to be found. She knows being late is a cardinal sin around her, especially without any explanation.
I’m about to look up her personal phone number and demand she come in right the fuck now, when I remember what she told me before she left on Friday. “Shit,” I curse under my breath. I forgot my trusted assistant’s vacation started today.
She’s going on a Christmas cruise with her husband of forty years, their kids, and their grandkids. It sounds absolutely miserable, but Alice was thrilled. After all the years of hard work she’s put in for this company, of course, I gave her the month off to be with her family. Just because I can’t relate to voluntarily spending time with my blood relatives doesn’t mean I’m a monster. Just a bastard, according to Alice.
It’s not that I hate the holidays, per se. I find them more annoying than anything else. They disrupt schedules, clog up the streets worse than normal, and come with an array of tacky, tasteless decor. I’ve managed to keep the holiday spirit away from the top floor of this building for years now, but the board of directors has been breathing down my neck to be more festive.
I think giving holiday bonuses is festive enough, but apparently not.
Just as I’m pulling up my online banking account to handle the wire transfer myself, the elevator at the end of the hall dings. I’m not expecting anyone, and there’s no reason my employees should be over on this side of the floor. Most of my accountants and R&D employees are on the lower levels, while I keep my top salespeople up here. It gives the illusion of rewarding them for their work while giving the others something to strive for.
In any case, everyone knows not to use the south elevator. That’s my elevator. The employee elevator is on the north side, where their offices are located.
Reluctantly, I pull myself from my leather chair and head to the door. Since I haven’t figured out a replacement for Alice, I’ll have to handle the unwanted guest on my own.
I step out of my office, ready to yell at whichever employee made the unfortunate mistake of using my personal elevator, but all the air drains from my lungs when I see her.
Midnight black hair frames her delicate face and fans out around her shoulders in soft waves. Ruby red lips part in a nervous smile, her round cheeks turning a light shade of pink as wide, golden eyes blink up at me.
I swallow thickly, trying to figure out what the hell is happening to me and why I’m reacting this way. My heart stalls in my chest, then kicks into action, thudding painfully against my ribcage the longer I stare at this beautiful creature.
Her curves fill out the silky green blouse she’s wearing, and I’m so distracted by her perky breasts I almost don’t notice her shirt has colorful Christmas presents printed on the fabric. I know I need to get it together and stop gawking at this mystery woman, but my treacherous eyes wander down the curve of her hips, taking in every inch of her in that tight black pencil skirt.
It’s then I notice a large cardboard box sitting next to her. Jesus, I was so caught up in this woman’s presence I almost forgot to yell at her. The box is overflowing with garland, string lights, and red bows, and I scowl at it, wishing I could set the damn thing on fire with my glare.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I growl before I can think better of it.
The captivating, confusing woman raises her eyebrows and blinks at me, her mouth opening and closing in an attempt to find the right response. Fuck me, those lips…
Before she can answer, the elevator dings again. What the hell? One day without Alice and this place is falling apart.
I’m surprised to see an old business colleague and current member of my board of directors step off the elevator. Allen waves at me and then steps up beside the raven-haired goddess.
“Bishop,” he greets, holding out his hand for me to shake. “I see you’ve met my daughter.”
CHAPTERTWO
HARLOW
Holy hotness, Batman.
