I Need to Get Over You (Over You Series Book 1)

by K. D. Black

  I tune Hayden out, not because I know the things he’s telling me, but because it pisses me off that he clearly believes there’s no way I would ever know them. Hayden talks to me like I have no clue what a company is or does. He might as well be one of my first college professors going over the basics of business.

  Except, Hayden is much, much hotter than any college professor in anything but TV shows—and that’s the other reason my ears stop hearing his words. My eyes are too busy locking onto his and, under the pretense of listening, appreciating every inch of his strong jawline, perfectly-trimmed beard, fascinating eyes, and intense expression as he talks in his deep, chest-driven voice.

  “—so, do you think you would be a good fit for my company?”

  Wait, what, again? “Yes, I do. I may not have experience as an administrative assistant, but as I mentioned, I understand business and I learn quickly.” If he says “hm”...

  But he doesn’t, just gives me a once over. No doubt clouds his face, but he also doesn’t look pleased. In fact, he’s pretty expressionless. “What are your strengths?”

  “Attention to detail, leadership, multitasking, organization,” I list off. “Also, I like to have an unpredictable schedule. I find it keeps me on my toes and helps me focus.” Generic answers for an unoriginal question.

  “What can you offer the company that other candidates can’t?”

  “A college degree and more experience,” I say promptly. “Perhaps I don’t have experience at this particular job, but I have more experience in business as a whole.”

  Hayden asks one or two more questions, and I give easy and ready answers. Now that I’m actually in the interview, my nervousness has evaporated and I’m able to find that line between truth and what interviewers actually want to hear.

  “Thank you for interviewing for a position with AutoVS, Brooke. You’ll receive an email from either myself or my office within the next two days concerning the position.” He stands abruptly.

  I do too. He holds out his hand again, and I have to shake away the tingles that run up my arm as we shake. “Thank you, Mr. Nicholson. I look forward to hearing from you.”

  He just nods and sits, so I show myself out, feeling his steely gaze on my back the whole way out of the office. No “thank you for coming”, or “you’re welcome for the interview”, or anything.

  Well, I learned one thing from this interview. If I don’t get the job to be Mr. Tactless Asshole’s assistant, I won’t be nearly as disappointed as I thought.

  Chapter Four: Hayden

  My hands automatically raise the glass to my lips, then lower it and tilt it slightly. I cock my head at the red liquid inside. What wine is this? I actually don’t remember. A glance at the bar set into one side of the kitchen tells me nothing; no bottle sits anywhere visible.

  Completing the motion contemplation distracted me from, I take a sip. Definitely merlot, but I still have no clue what brand.

  Oh well. It’s red wine and it’ll make me sleepy. That’s all I require of it.

  My bare feet brush silently across the fine, deep purple, patterned rugs on the wooden floors of my penthouse. Sleek, modern fans whirl far overhead and complex light fixtures hang from the ceiling, but despite the pervasive darkness that has fallen over the city, only my kitchen light and wall lamps emit light. The dimness of my penthouse’s lights accentuate the bright lights of the high-rises on the horizon and sleepless streets far below.

  Even the light of the moon would be enough to shine through the floor-to-ceiling windows and illuminate the pile of applications on the glass table in front of the pale couch upon which I choose to seat myself.

  Two days. It’s a self-imposed deadline, but a deadline nonetheless, and it certainly isn’t much time to choose an administrative assistant from the qualified pool I was presented with today. The next board meeting is in three days, and I want to be able to flaunt my new assistant then.

  Sounds of paper shuffling fill the air as I rifle through the applications. When I find the one I want, I place it on top of the stack and tap the sides of the pile to make it orderly again.

  Without considering anything other than experience—personality, interviewing skills, my gut—this kid is the most qualified. Currently, he is an administrative assistant with a company I’ve actually heard of, and he dropped out of college to commit to the company with a full-time job. According to him when asked the “why do you want this job” question, he wants to learn business from the inside, not by going through college. That answer pleases me more than it should, because I did exactly that.

  I pull another application out of the stack, toss the rest on the table, and lean back.

  Brooke McColl is not the best candidate for the position. I know that. So why do I keep thinking about her?

  Tapping my fingers on my glass, I bite my lip. Right now, Brooke isn’t the best candidate, but she might have the most potential.

  What am I doing? I need to hire a quality assistant, and I don’t have time to drive the meaning of quality into someone with no experience.

  “Administrative assistant isn’t a complicated job.” My glass of wine doesn’t react to the information I mumble into the glass rim.

  If I hire this other kid, I’ll be going with the stapled application and resume in the stack on the table. If I hire Brooke, I’ll be going with my gut.

  For some reason, I just have a good feeling about this girl. Every word she spoke and every action she made during the interview was decisive, and I need someone who won’t let the sheer size and success of my company intimidate them on the job. Brooke wears business clothes well and easily, and I noticed another aspect of her appearance during the interview—her face looked mostly natural and not completed caked with makeup. When a businesswoman wears too much makeup, she just gives the appearance of trying too hard.

  Effortless, that’s the word. Given one word to describe Brooke’s interview, effortless would do nicely.

  Besides, Brooke is undeniably sexy. In my mind’s eye, I can already appreciate her stepping up to the table with a stack of papers, her thick chestnut hair fanning my arm as she leans forward to pick out the one I requested.

  Plus, if she doesn’t work out after a week or so, I can always fire her and hire someone else.

  A pang runs through my heart at the idea of firing her, but I dismiss it as I down the rest of my wine. Firing her just means I would have to either contact candidates I refused once to see if they are still available, or repeat the hiring process entirely. It would be irritating and time consuming, that’s all. No other reason.

  Satisfied with my choice, I place my glass on the table and cut off the lights. I’ll call Brooke tomorrow. After all, she said she can start tomorrow. If that’s changed, I can always just hire someone else.

  * * *

  The next day dawns, and the scenic vista of the rising fireball of the sun prying the buildings apart with bright rays presents a more beautiful piece of art than any picture could. Sometimes, I’m sure that only breakfast at dawn while sitting on my spacious balcony restores my patience enough to deal with each new day. Even the massive AutoVS skyscraper loses its impressiveness from this distance and height. Somehow, seeing the place this way also puts the day’s work into perspective and brings down the gravity of even the most pressing issues.

  The cool morning air rushes against my bare chest as I stand. Shedding my boxers takes less than a second on the way to the bathroom, then I step over the slated stonework around the shower and turn on the water. My own gray eyes stare me down from the glass walls surrounding the shower, and I can see the exposed wooden beams framing my dripping hair.

  Rustic chic, the perfect combination of old and new. I hired a famous designer to come plan out my entire penthouse in rustic chic the day I decided to live here, and I never regretted the exorbitant cost even for a second.

  Grabbing a towel from the hand-woven baskets under the sink, I dry myself and contemplate my collection of suits. St
yle and professionalism don’t have to mean compromising on comfort—as long as you can pay the price, and I can pay any price I wish.

  I choose a dark blue suit and a solid red tie. The color choice is bold, but I feel bold today. After all, I’m probably about to spend the day teaching a new employee how to do her job.

  Although actually, I ought to call my new assistant now if I expect her to come into work today.

  Dialing in the phone number on the application, I tuck my hand into my suit jacket’s pocket. If she doesn’t answer, I’m going to—

  “Hello?” a feminine voice answers after a single ring.

  “Brooke McColl?” I ask, just to make sure.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Hayden, calling about the administrative assistant position. I’d like to start a trial period starting today, and if you do well at the job for the first week, you can have the position permanently.”

  “Great, thank you. When should I come in?” Her voice sounds neutral, not excited as I expected.

  “Be at my office at ten AM. I’ll get you started then.”

  “Great, thank you,” she says again. “I’ll be there at ten.”

  “Good.” I hang up the phone after a moment, unsure why I expected a reply. Usually, I prefer to get the last word in conversations, but I suppose I just wanted or expected her to say something more.

  Expectations have a way of bringing down even the most cautious businessmen, so I need to curb mine right now. This hire might work out— then again, it might not. I should assume I’ll be sitting through more interviews within a couple days.

  While my AutoVS car drives me to work, I contemplate the tasks ahead of me and decide which ones I can designate to Brooke. If today goes how I’m planning, I should have a good idea of how independently Brooke can work, how quickly she learns her position and how accurately she can follow instructions.

  I finish my plans and turn my attention to the streets, watching the hurrying pedestrians speed walking on the sidewalks. There’s a woman with chestnut hair waiting for a walk signal. Another woman has on a tight pencil skirt and jacket that look almost like what Brooke wore to the interview.

  I have to shake myself when I reach AutoVS HQ. I need to run my company and focus on breaking in this new administrative assistant, not fantasize about her body.

  Surprisingly, that body is waiting for me when I step out of the elevator. Brooke sits in one of the waiting chairs, daintily crossing one leg over the other while sipping a cup of coffee.

  “Good, you’re here,” I say approvingly. “I want you to start with a tour of the building. Go down to the front desk and ask for Layla, and she’ll show you around the building and introduce you to different departments.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Nicholson. Should I see you in your office when I’m done?”

  “Yes,” I call back over my shoulder because I’m already on the way to that office.

  About an hour later, a knock sounds on the door. “Come in.”

  “I’ve finished the tour, Sir,” Brooke says, stepping inside.

  “Good. Visit HR and get your login information so you can access company computers. I’m assuming you know which floor HR is on after the tour? 8th floor,” I answer my own question.

  “Right. Thank you, Mr. Nicholson.”

  When she comes back with login information, I give her a real task—making some phone calls from this floor’s desk. This takes longer than I expect, so I walk down the hallway for a quick check on what’s going on. It sounds like someone on the other line is just being difficult, and Brooke’s careful customer service voice and speech is handling it well enough, but I still make sure she sees me and knows she needs to get on top of this.

  “Trouble with those calls?” I ask, fully aware she knows what I heard.

  “Just one. I handled it,” she assures me.

  “Okay. Next, you can head down to the main floor and meet with Jen. She’s going to lead a group of visitors through the building. You can listen to her explain what we do here in more detail and also get a feel for the kind of people we need to impress at AutoVS.”

  “Got it. Thank you, Sir.”

  Her shoulders are stiff when she exits, and to think of it, the way she thanks me for every single little thing is a bit odd. Maybe she’ll loosen up a bit when she’s held the job for a while. There are a few key personality traits I believe any good administrative assistant must have, but today is just to get Brooke acclimated to AutoVS HQ.

  Soon, I’ll know whether Brooke has what it takes to be Hayden Nicholson’s assistant.

  Chapter Five: Brooke

  “I can’t do this.”

  A passing waiter glances at my table and slows. “Ma’am, if they’re too spicy, I can get you a basket with a milder sauce.”

  My stare of incomprehension melts into apology as I glance down at the half-eaten chicken wing I’m holding. “Oh no, the sauce is wonderful. Sorry, I was just talking out loud to myself.”

  “Oh, okay. Sorry about that!” He gives me a quick smile and continues on his way.

  Chicken wings and business clothes. Why did I think this was a good idea?

  Oh yeah. Because, if I didn’t find something hotter than my anger to eat for lunch today, I had been worried I might throw it across whichever restaurant I chose.

  Hayden. Nicholson. Just thinking those two words sours the delicious food in my mouth and dilutes the sauce.

  As a human being who generally adheres to social norms, I’ve had more than a couple jobs—and more than a couple bosses. Some, I liked. Others, not so much.

  I don’t just dislike Hayden Nicholson. I’ve been on the job half a day, and I’m already beginning to actively hate Hayden Nicholson.

  “Can I get you some more water?” my waitress asks, holding the water container aloft.

  “Can you get me a new boss?” I ask without thinking. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologize immediately. “Some water would be great.”

  She smiles as she tips the container and expertly fills my glass to within about half an inch from the top. “No worries, honey. We’ve all been there.”

  But I don’t have to stay there, I remind myself. Get in good with Hayden, get the information I need, get out. Three steps that can be quick and simple, depending on me. Well, more like depending on my ability to not get myself fired.

  I’ve had the micromanaging boss before, but Hayden takes the word to a new level. Every time I begin a new task, I turn to find him behind me, watching my process and offering his opinions on every little thing. Except, not opinions, because I could ignore opinions. I’m fairly certain if I refuse to do things the way he wants instead of the way I want, he’ll fire me.

  I’m getting the tasks done, and I’m getting them done quickly and correctly, but I’m not doing them his way. Hayden is one of those, to use a classic saying, “my way or the highway” people.

  And he’s so… overbearing. Every time he orders me to do something, he just turns away and walks away or begins talking to someone else immediately after, like there’s no way I could possibly have questions or offer any useful information if he continues to talk to me.

  When he wants to talk to me, he has to pull me aside or call me over that instant. When his interaction with me is complete, his dismissal of me is so final and abrupt that my head spins.

  And he never, ever says “thank you” or “you’re welcome”. Ever.

  “This sucks,” I mutter after I ensure no waiters will assume I’m aiming my comment at my food. I don’t mind the job itself—I just hate the boss, and I can’t ignore him because he’s the reason I took the job.

  My mouth burns badly now after consuming four extra-hot wings in a row, but since I bought them, I’m determined to finish them.

  Perhaps that’s what I need: a little determination. Since I put myself into this situation, I just need to remember why—New Yorkie Animal Rescue. If I can just control my temper and work hard for maybe even just a few days, I’ll b
e able to go to Ashley with the good news that the rescue will be fine. Just imagining the sudden relief, happiness, and delight on Ashley’s face brings a smile to my own. No one deserves some good news more than the devoted Executive Director.

  And just like that, I found it: the solution to my Hayden problem. I’ll work as hard as I can, learn everything before I need to learn it, and just consider Hayden’s presence a challenge. I have a shelter to save, and the only obstacle between me and my goal is the incredibly handsome billionaire CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

  Piece. Of. Cake.

  Satisfied, I polish off my last wing, pay for my food, and head back to AutoVS HQ, solidifying my plan of attack. Not that I intend to actually attack Hayden. Although, sometimes I do imagine my hand connecting with his conceited face….

  But that’s beside the point. To my mind, there are two ways I achieve my goal. For the first, I impress Hayden so much that he entrusts important information to me. Second, I just go with the time-honored downfall of men—feminine charm. I’ve seen the way his eyes linger on the purposefully low neckline of my blouse, and I’ve felt his eyes on my back—or rather, my ass—as I go about my tasks in my tight pencil skirt.

  How many women have tried to seduce this man, though? His face is fairly well-known, he’s strikingly gorgeous, and he has more money than most people will make in a lifetime. He probably has to fend off advances from overeager, gold-digging women multiple times a day.

  In a way, I’m just like those other women. Like… a secret agent version, which means I get a pass and shouldn’t feel bad about what I’m attempting to do.

  If I begin to have doubts, I can always go to NYAR and look into the wide, innocent eyes of the puppies and kittens. They have a way of making me willing to go to hell and back for them.

  “Brooke, where were you? I need you to scan some documents and email them to the manager of the R&D department,” Hayden’s impatient voice admonishes me the second I step out of the elevator on the floor of his office. “By the way, your office should be furnished by tomorrow afternoon.”