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Chapter 1
Sebastian
I always knew this moment would come. I just wasn’t expecting it to happen near the sandpaper at Fix-It Frank’s Hardware Store in Longdale, Colorado.
“What was that?” I ask, leaning towards my buddy Ethan, like I didn’t hear him the first time.
I heard what he said. I’m just stalling so I can figure out how to tactfully decline.
“My sister, Elianna.” Ethan grins. His stance shifts. “She needs a job. You need an executive assistant.” He shrugs. “It’s a match made in heaven.”
No. A match made in heaven would be my assistant, Britta, coming back instead of retiring to take care of her ill sister. I called Britta my assistant, but she was more like a drill-sergeant mom who knew how to keep me focused on what I want in life, all while telling me where to be and when to be there for the past dozen or so years.
I examine the sandpaper squares hanging on hooks in front of me as Ethan waits with bated breath. He’s . . . what would I call him? I can’t call him my best friend because that conjures up images of us braiding our hair and writing “BFFs 4-Ever” in our yearbooks.
We’ve never written in each other’s yearbooks, and we’ve never braided each other’s hair. Although in college, his was long enough to braid.
Ethan didn’t mind how quiet I was when we met at Columbia University, probably because he was too. And neither of us partied, which was another reason I didn’t have friends. I was on the basketball team as a freshman, but I still didn’t feel like I fit in with the guys, and when the opportunity to do an early internship in my major came up sophomore year, I chose that route instead of continuing with the team.
Which alienated me from several circles even more.
So, yeah, Ethan’s my best friend, if you don’t count my five younger brothers. He’s the only non-family member I keep in regular contact with for non-business reasons. Which is why it’s going to hurt to have to tell him no.
I grab several different grades of sandpaper and go down the aisle in search of wood glue. “Ethan, I don’t know.” I study the various glues.
“I don’t want to be a jerk and bring up the favor you owe me. But—” He folds his arms and stares me down.
“Then don’t be a jerk. Don’t bring it up,” I say, pressing a couple of tubes of glue to his chest. He’s finally asking me to pay up on that favor. What’s it been? Fifteen years?
I can try to keep an open mind. Maybe Ethan’s little sister is some kind of magical assistant wizard and will be brilliant.
“Dude, I’m not going to force you.” Ethan catches the glue in one hand and holds up the other in an “I surrender” motion. “But it seems like I can help you with your problem. You just told me how hard the search is going.”
He’s right. I’m desperate to find an assistant.
“I think I was just being picky before. No one is going to be Britta. I have to come to terms with that.”
That’s what I’m having the hardest time with, which is why this has taken weeks. And everyone at my company, Tate International, is paying dearly for my lack of an assistant. They’ve all had to pitch in and pick up the slack from losing Britta.
“So, any other prospects, then? Who do ya got?” Ethan asks while rooting his tongue between his teeth. We just ate wings, something we try to do every time he flies in from New York for business.
I let out a breath. “A lot of people with some experience, but not enough. And then there are the candidates who don’t seem to have a team-player attitude.”
“Britta didn’t have a team-player attitude.”
I offer a laugh. She was more schoolmarm than executive assistant. She did so much, most of which I didn’t fully realize until she was gone. “You’re right; she didn’t. But she didn’t have to because she’d been with me from the ground up. She practically ran the place.”
Ethan points a finger at me. “No.Youran the place. You’re the one who built Tate International into the company it is today. Yeah, Britta’s been a big part of that, but it’s you. And with her gone, you need to step up.”
My chest is singed with the hot truth. I know he’s right.
I nod. “Yeah.” Things are getting too real for comfort, so I change the subject.
“What about you? What’s happening with your company?” I ask him.
Ethan’s an actuary, and he heads his father’s firm in Manhattan. We have twinner fathers—mostly absent, nebulous beings we can’t seem to stop disappointing for whatever the reasondu jourmight be.
“Fine.” He waves me away. “But about Elianna. Now, I know you don’t know her very well, but she’s grown up a lot.”
