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I pop some popcorn over the stove, douse it with butter and parmesan, and settle in with my current obsession: ‘90s Keanu Reeves movies.
I love me some Keanu. The man’s handsome and there’s nothing better thanA Walk in the Clouds.
Then why can’t I seem to get my new, uptight boss out of my head while I watch the main characters’ love story unfold amongst the vineyards?
Sebastian Tate just might be the death of me.
Chapter 8
Sebastian
I probably shouldn’t look at my watch as Elianna comes waltzing into the office at seven fifty-seven the next morning, wearing a bright green dress with big, white buttons all down the front. But I do look at my watch, and now she’s scowling at me as she places her stuff, including a huge water bottle covered with stickers, on her desk.
“Are you one of those people who thinks that being early is on time and being on time is actually late?”
I can’t help my laugh. “Actually, yes.”
She gives a quick nod. “Noted.”
“Did you get my text about the room I have for you here at the resort? We could go take a look at it this morning after we debrief.”
She grabs the computer I provided for her yesterday and sits across from me on the couch facing away from the door. It’s plush and overstuffed and looks a little like it could swallow her whole.
“That was super nice of you to offer that to me. But I think since I’ve already moved into my new place, I’ll just stay there for now.” Her smile is colorless, and she looks down at the laptop, her brows knit together as she clicks and types.
She’s giving up a free room? I know rent isn’t cheap, and from what Ethan alluded to, she isn’t exactly flush with cash right now. It’s her decision, and it’s fine. But even as my mouth opens and I don’t want to offend or say the wrong thing, I can’t seem to let it go.
“Are you sure? It would be a great opportunity for you.”
Her eyes narrow. “For me? Or for you? Is this about helping me or helping you because then I’d be more accessible to you?”
I swallow hard. “Well, both?” Is there something wrong with that? Why do I suddenly feel like a villain here?
The smile she offers me is warm and her gaze flicks over me. “It might be worth looking into sometime in the future, but for now I’ll keep my work life and my home life separate.”
So that’s what this is about? I know it’s said all the time, about leaving your work at work when you go home at night and stuff like that. And sometimes, I can see the benefits of that mindset. The problem is, I love my work. It’s a part of me, and it’s always on my mind, which probably isn’t healthy all the time. I know that. But I get some of my best ideas when I’m in my penthouse suite, unwinding after a long day, standing at the window and looking out at the lake far below, or watching a game and thinking about things. It really is what I enjoy doing.
“Well, let’s get started,” I say. “Did you get my email with the daily schedule?”
When she nods, I continue. “The days don’t go exactly like that, but I find it helps to block things out. I hope you can get used to our scheduling program soon.”
And just like that, we’re off, talking about expectations, and when she should schedule things. I hand her a new phone that I set up for her last night. A few minutes later, it rings, and she yelps and drops it on the floor.
“Sorry! I wasn’t expecting it to ring.”
“What were you expecting it to do?” I bite back a smile as she jumps down from the couch and plucks the phone off the carpet.
“It’s a great day at Tate International, Elianna speaking.” She plops back down on the couch. “How can I help you?”
Wow. Just wow. People are going to think they’ve called a preschool and not what I hope will soon be a Deca Arete company.
My irritation grows as she again jumps up from the couch, runs to my desk, throws open a drawer, and starts pawing through it.
“Hey,” I say as I stand and walk toward her. This is silly, but her rummaging through my things feels violating.
“Got it,” she whispers to me as she holds up a pen. “Uh-huh,” she says to whoever is on the other end of the phone call. “That makes sense. When are you available?”
She kneels on my office chair, then leans forward, her elbows slouching on the desk as she scribbles something on the notepad. “Please hold a moment. I’ll be back with you shortly.”
