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She shuffles from one leg to the other, her clunky shoes tapping on the tile. “We didn’t really get into names and such…”
“I told you mine.”
“Right. Yeah. But I didn’t—I never knew your name. Or the name of the man I would be working for, I mean.”
“You agreed to be a personal assistant to someone you didn’t know?”
“I was homeless and couldn’t afford to buy a pizza,” she says between gritted teeth. “Please don’t make me explain that I was desperate. Besides, knowing your name wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“It might have saved us this uncomfortable encounter.”
Her cheeks flush with color, but it’s not embarrassment I’ve caused—it’s hurt.
Goddammit.It’s not that I haven’t upset my fair share of assistants; this is just the first time I’ve felt guilty about it.
Before I can figure out what I intend to do, Paige’s mouth flattens into a slash of indignation. Her dark brown eyes are filled with contempt as she marches right up to the table.
“I’m sorry I’ve made thingsuncomfortablefor you, but I didn’t act alone that night. It takes two to tango. You were there, too.”
“That night,” I muse, leaning back. “Let’s talk about ‘that night,’ shall we?”
I round the conference table to stand next to her. She straightens up as tall as she can, squaring her shoulders like it’ll save her from me. “What about it?”
“Did you enjoy your stay at the hotel?”
Her expression darkens. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“But you did stay, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I stayed,” she says coldly. “It’s easier to have pride when you have money,Mr. Orlov.”
“There’s no sense putting up professional barriers now. We didn’t use one that night.”
Her jaw drops before she catches herself and stands tall. “I was flustered, and confused, and a little drunk, and I forgot to ask. It was a mistake.”
“A more cynical man might assume you had an ulterior motive.”
“I thought you didn’t make assumptions,sir,” she hisses. “What exactly are you worried about? If you’ve contracted some sort of horrible STD, it must have been from one of the other dozens of helpless damsels in distress I’m sure you’ve rescued since then.”
I raise my eyebrows, surprised that that’s where she’s jumped. It hadn’t even crossed my mind until this second that she might bejealous.
She waits for me to say something. Maybe to deny that I’ve slept with anyone else. Or to assure her I don’t have a disease.
I haven’t, and I don’t.
But watching her squirm is way too much fun to tell her that.
When I say nothing, she leans forward and spits her words into my face. “You’re a complete asshole. You don’t deserve this, but I’ll ease your mind anyway: I. Am. Clean.” When I still don’t respond, she bites back a scream. “Do you seriously not believe me? Am I required to do a test or something? For God’s sake, I’m clean. You’re the first man I’ve slept with in months.”
“I wasn’t worried about an STD,” I say finally.
She glances down, cheeks blazing. “Wonderful news. Listen, whether you believe me or not, I need this job. So let’s do ourselves a favor and forget that night ever happened.”
I tap a pen against my knuckles. “You’re sure you want this?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Being my personal assistant will not be easy.”
