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Again, that was fine.
She was far too focused on her job anyway. It gave her the stability she needed and provided her with enough of a sense of accomplishment when she concluded a task. She craved control more than she craved chocolate, and she craved chocolate a lot.
Like a huge lot.
But that was what happened to someone who grew up in a chaotic household. Her dad was a part-time art teacher, and her mom grewherbsin her little garden that she would sell. They were in fact dirt poor, but her parents had romanticized their lack of money, saying it was a great way to get in touch with the more important things in life, like nature and free love.
And by nature, they meant taking aphrodisiacs and fluttering around their worn-down mobile home without a care in the world, or one for their daughter, whom they called akilljoysince the age of five because she wanted order.
Her parents were now elderly but still lived a nomadic lifestyle. Blakely had bought them a much more comfortable mobile home and made sure their fridge was always fully stocked. They had new clothes, proper medical attention, and wanted for nothing.
After doing a little more admin, she had a light meal, which was basically a salad, took a seven-minute power nap, and woke up in time to freshen up before landing.
A car was already waiting for her to drive her to her hotel.
“Ms. Cohen. My name is Anthony, and I’m from the Briarbrook Estate. I’ll be your driver for the duration of your stay here in London.”
“Thank you, Anthony. And, please call me Blakely.”
The drive was thankfully short to the hotel room.
“I’ll see you at 7 a.m. tomorrow morning?”
“If I may be so bold, Ms. Cohen, I mean Blakely, perhaps it would be in your best favor to approach the marquises at a later hour. Perhaps 9 a.m., which is probably a time you are likely to find them awake, although it might not ring true for Lord Milton.”
“9 a.m.?” she asked, almost incredulous. That was nearly the morning gone already.
Anthony nodded, then added. “I’ll be here at 8:35, which will give us enough time to get the day started.”
“Thank you, Anthony. I appreciate it.”
Since it was already evening in London, she checked herself in at the hotel, hit the gym, ordered room service, which was just a chocolate milkshake and fries, and only because she had worked out, then forced herself to get some sleep.
But the minute she thought she had slid into a deep slumber, she found her mind flipping through their images in slow motion.
Simon Cunningham, with his dark blue eyes. Henry Bailey, with his daring green eyes. And Asher Milton and his devil-may-care eyes.
It woke her up immediately, and since sleep was now going to evade her completely, she made some tea and read her book.Eleven Best Habits of Self-improved People and How Not to Get Sidetracked.
Chapter Two
Dressed in one of the suit skirts and a white shirt she had packed, she slipped on her favorite pair of black stiletto pumps, all six inches of them, neatened down her already immaculately groomed hair, which was pulled into a tight bun, then shrugged into a feminine-cut blazer.
Her clothes looked boring, but she chose quality designer brands over everything else every time. Chanel skirt, shirt, blazer, and Louboutin heels.
She wore a Cartier watch, which she saved up for years and years and bought for herself on her twenty-fourth birthday. The only other piece of jewelry she wore was a pair of diamond stud earrings.
Her perfume was a subtle blend of rose, jasmine, and patchouli, and her makeup was artfully applied. She was nothing if not extremely well put together while still maintaining a look of utter professionalism.
It had been one of the prerequisites when she had applied for the job as a PA to an English aristocrat who ran a powerful real estate business in the States.
After Andrew personally offered her the job, she requested an increase in her already exponential salary because she was worth that much since she was going to sleep, eat, drink, and live her job twenty-four hours a day every week. Andrew hadn’t even hesitated before he agreed to her counteroffer.
Considering she’d been fresh out of college with zero work experience and her only selling point had been her wits, she had achieved quite a feat landing such a prestigious position. She’d never failed Andrew before, and she didn’t intend to start now either, despite his warning her she would have her work cut out for her with his three sons and getting them to come to what was essentially their stepmother’s birthday party.
Right. Challenge accepted.
Straightening her jacket, she collected her overnight suitcase, a plain black leather handbag, and her tablet, then headed to the lobby. The jet was on standby to deliver them back to New York, hopefully, all by lunchtime London time.
