by Maisey Yates
And Isaiah went back to his desk.
He had work to do. Which was why he had given Poppy the task of picking him a wife. But before he chased Faith down for those estimates, he was going to need some caffeine. He sent a quick text to that effect to Poppy.
There was a quick flash of three dots at the bottom of the message box, then they disappeared.
It popped up again, and disappeared again. Then finally there was a simple: of course.
He could only hope that when he got his coffee it wasn’t poisoned.
* * *
Three hours and three women later, Poppy was wishing she had gone with her original instinct and sent the middle finger emoji to Isaiah in response to his request for coffee.
This was too much. It would be crazy for anyone to have their assistant pick their wife—a harebrained scheme that no self-respecting personal assistant should have to cope with. But for her especially, it was a strange kind of emotional torture. She had to ask each woman questions about their compatibility with Isaiah. And then, she had to talk to them about Isaiah. Who she knew better than she knew any other man on the face of the earth. Who she knew possibly better than she knew anyone else. And all the while his words rang in her ears.
I’m your boss.
She was his employee.
And that was how he saw her. It shouldn’t surprise her that no-nonsense, rigid Isaiah thought of her primarily as his employee. She thought of him as her friend.
Her best friend. Practically family.
Except for the part of her that was in love with him and had sex dreams about him sometimes.
Though, were she to take an afternoon nap today, her only dreams about Isaiah would involve her sticking a pen through his chest.
Well, maybe not his chest. That would be fatal. Maybe his arm. But then, that would get ink and blood on his shirt. She would have to unbutton it and take it off him...
Okay. Maybe she was capable of having both dreams at the same time.
“Kittens are my hard line,” the sixth blonde of the day was saying to her. All the blondes were starting to run together like boxes of dye in the hair care aisle.
“I...” Poppy blinked, trying to get a handle on what that meant. “Like... Sexually... Or?”
The woman wrinkled her nose. “I mean, I need to be able to have a kitten. That’s nonnegotiable.”
Poppy was trying to imagine Isaiah Grayson with a kitten living in his house. He had barn cats. And he had myriad horses and animals at his ranch, but he did not have a kitten. Though, because he already had so many animals, it was likely that he would be okay with one more.
“I will... Make a note of that.”
“Oh,” the woman continued. “I can also tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue.”
Poppy closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to not run out of the room and hit Isaiah over the head with a wastebasket. “I assume I should mark that down under special skills.”
“Men like that,” the woman said.
Well, maybe that was why Poppy had such bad luck with men. She couldn’t do party tricks with her tongue. In fairness, she’d never tried.
“Good to know,” Poppy continued.
Poppy curled her hands into fists and tried to keep herself from... She didn’t even know what. Screaming. Running from the room.
One of these women who she interviewed today might very well be the woman Isaiah Grayson slept with for the rest of his life. The last woman he ever slept with. The one who made him completely and totally unavailable to Poppy forever.
The one who finally killed her fantasy stone-cold.
She had known that going in. She had. But suddenly it hit her with more vivid force.
I am your boss.
Her boss. Her boss. He was her boss. Not her friend. Not her lover. Never her lover.
Maybe he didn’t see his future wife as a new car he was buying. But he basically saw Poppy as a stapler. Efficient and useful only when needed.
“Well, I will be in touch,” Poppy stated crisply.
“Why are you interviewing all the women? Is this like a sister wives thing?”
Poppy almost choked. “No. I am Mr. Grayson’s assistant. Not his wife.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” Lola continued. “It’s always seemed efficient to me. Somebody to share the workload of kids and housework. Well, and sex.”
“Not. His. Wife.” Poppy said that through clenched teeth.
“He should consider that.”
She tightened her hold on her pen, and was surprised she didn’t end up snapping it in half. “Me as his wife?”
“Sister wives.”
“I’ll make a note,” Poppy said drily.
Her breath exited her body in a rush when Lola finally left, and Poppy’s head was swimming with rage.
She had thought she could do this. She had been wrong. She had been an idiot.
I am your boss.
He was her boss. Because she worked for him. Because she had worked for him for ten years. Ten years.
Why had she kept this job for so long? She had job experience. She also had a nest egg. The money was good, she couldn’t argue that, but she could also go get comparable pay at a large company in a city, and she now had the experience to do that. She didn’t have to stay isolated here in Copper Ridge. She didn’t have to stay with a man who didn’t appreciate her.
She didn’t have to stay trapped in this endless hell of wanting something she was never going to have.
No one was keeping her here. Nothing was keeping her here.
Nothing except the ridiculous idea that Isaiah had feelings for her that went beyond that of his assistant.
Friends could be friends in different cities. They didn’t have to live in each other’s pockets. Even if he had misspoken and he did see them as friends—and really, now that she was taking some breaths, she imagined that was closer to the truth—it was no excuse to continue to expose herself to him for twelve hours a day.
He was her business life. He was her social life. He was her fantasy life. That was too much for one man. Too much.
She walked into his office, breathing hard, and he looked up from his computer screen, his gray eyes assessing. He made her blood run hotter. Made her hands shake and her stomach turn over. She wanted him. Even now. She wanted to launch herself across the empty space and fling herself into his arms.
No. It had to stop.
“I quit,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a glorious triumph.
But then they hit.
Hit him, hit her. And she knew she could take them back. Maybe she should.
No. She shouldn’t.
“You quit?”
“It should not be in my job description to find you a wife. This is ludicrous. I just spent the last twenty minutes talking to a woman who was trying to get me to add the fact that she could tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue onto that ridiculous, awful form of yours underneath her ‘skills.’”
He frowned. “Well, that is a skill that might have interesting applications...”
“I know that,” she said. “But why am I sitting around having a discussion with a woman that is obviously about your penis?”
Her cheeks heated, and her hands shook. She could not believe she had just... Talked about his penis. In front of him.
“I didn’t realize that would be a problem.”
“Of course you didn’t. Because you don’t realize anything. You don’t care about anything except the bottom line. That’s all you ever see. You want a wife to help run your home. To help organize your life. By those standards I have been your damned wife for the past ten years, Isaiah Grayson. Isn’t that what you’re after? A personal assistant for your house. A me clone who can cook your dinner and...and...do wife things.”
He frowned, leaning back in his chair.
He didn’t speak, so she just kept going. “I quit,” she repeated. “And you have to find your own wife. I’m not working with you anymore. I’m not dealing with you anymore. You said you were my boss. Well, you’re not now. Not anymore.”
“Poppy,” he said, his large, masculine hands pressing flat on his desk as he pushed himself into a standing position. She looked away from his hands. They were as problematic as the rest of him. “Be reasonable.”
“No! I’m not going to be reasonable. This situation is so unreasonable it isn’t remotely fair of you to ask me to be reasonable within it.”
They just stayed there for a moment, regarding each other, and then she slowly turned away, her breath coming in slow, harsh bursts.
“Wait,” he said.
She stopped, but she didn’t turn. She could feel his stare, resting right between her shoulder blades, digging in between them. “You’re right. What I am looking for is a personal version of you. I hadn’t thought about it that way until just now. But I am looking for a PA. In all areas of my life.”
An odd sensation crept up the back of her neck, goose bumps breaking out over her arms. Still, she fought the urge to turn.
“Poppy,” he said slowly. “I think you should marry me.”
Three
When Poppy turned around to face him, her expression was still. Placid. He wasn’t good at reading most people, but he knew Poppy. She was expressive. She had a bright smile and a stormy frown, and the absence of either was...concerning.
“Excuse me?”
“You said yourself that what I need is someone like you. I agree. I’ve never been a man who aims for second best. So why would I aim for second best in this instance? You’re the best personal assistant I’ve ever had.”
“I doubt you had a personal assistant before you had me,” she said.
“That’s irrelevant,” he said, waving a hand. “I like the way we work together. I don’t see why we couldn’t make it something more. We’re good partners, Poppy.”
Finally, her face moved. But only just the slightest bit. “We’re good partners,” she echoed, the words hollow.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “We are. We always have been. You’ve managed to make seamless transitions at every turn. From when we worked at a larger construction firm, to when we were starting our own. When we expanded, to when we merged with Jonathan Bear. You’ve followed me every step of the way, and I’ve been successful in part because of the confidence I have that you’re handling all the details that I need you to.”
“And you think I could just... Do that at your house too?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“There’s one little problem,” Poppy said, her cheeks suddenly turning a dark pink. She stood there just staring for a moment, and the color in her face deepened. It took her a long while to speak. “The problem being that a wife doesn’t just manage your kitchen. That is a housekeeper.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“A wife is supposed to...” She looked down, a pink blush continuing to bleed over her dark skin. “You don’t feel that way about me.”
“Feel what way? You know my desire to get married has nothing to do with love and romance.”
“Sex.” The word was like a mini explosion in the room. “Being a wife does have something to do with sex.”
She was right about that, and when he had made his impromptu proposal a moment earlier, he hadn’t been thinking of that. But now that he was...
He took a leisurely visual tour of her, similar to the one he had taken earlier. But this time, he didn’t just appreciate her beauty in an abstract sense. This time, he allowed it to be a slightly more heated exploration.
Her skin looked smooth. He had noticed how lovely it was earlier. But there was more than that. Her breasts looked about the right size to fit neatly into his hands, and she had an extremely enticing curve to her hips. Her skirts were never short enough to show very much of her leg, but she had nice ankles.
He could easily imagine getting down on his knees and taking those high heels off her feet. And biting one of her ankles.
That worked for him.
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” he said.
Poppy’s mouth dropped open and then snapped shut. “We’ve never even... We’ve never even kissed, Isaiah. We’ve never even almost kissed.”
“Yes. Because you’re my assistant.”
“Your assistant. And you’re my foster sister’s ex-fiancé.”
Isaiah gritted his teeth, an involuntary spike of anger elevating his blood pressure. Poppy knew better than to talk about Rosalind. And hell, she had nothing to do with Poppy. Not in his mind, not anymore.
Yes, she was the reason Poppy had come to work for him in the first place, but Poppy had been with him for so long her presence wasn’t connected with the other woman in any way.
He wasn’t heartbroken. He never had been, not really. He was angry. She’d made a fool of him. She’d caused him to take his focus off his business. She’d nearly destroyed not only his work, but his brother’s. And what would eventually be their sister’s too.
All of it, all the success they had now had nearly been taken out by his own idiocy. By the single time he’d allowed his heart to control him.
He would never do that again.
“Rosalind doesn’t have anything to do with this,” he said.
“She’s in my life,” Poppy pointed out.
“That’s a detail we can discuss later.” Or not at all. He didn’t see why they were coming close to discussing it now.
“You don’t want to marry me,” Poppy said.
“Are you questioning my decision-making, Poppy? How long have you known me? If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s an indecisive man. And I think you know that.”
“You’re a dick,” Poppy said in exasperation. “How dare you... Have me interviewing these women all day... And then... Is this some kind of sick test?”
“You threatened to quit. I don’t want you to quit. I would rather have you in all of my life than in none of my life.”
“I didn’t threaten to quit our friendship.”
“I mostly see you at work,” he said.
“And you value what I do at work more than what you get out of our friendship, is that it?”
That was another question he didn’t know how to answer. Because he had a feeling the honest answer would earn him a spiked heel to the forehead. “I’m not sure how the two are separate,” he said, thinking he was being quite diplomatic. “Considering we spend most of our time together at work, and my enjoyment of your company often dovetails with the fact that you’re so efficient.”
Poppy let out a howl that would not have been out of place coming from an enraged chipmunk. “You are... You are...”
Well, if her objection to the marriage was that they had never kissed, and never almost kissed, and he didn’t want to hear her talk anymore—and all those things were true—he could only see one solution to the entire situation.
He made his way over to where Poppy was standing like a brittle rose and wrapped his arms around her waist. He dragged her to him, holding her in place as he stared down at her.
“Consider this your almost-kiss,” he said.
Her brown eyes went wide, and she stared up at him, her soft lips falling open.
And then his heart was suddenly beating faster, the unsettled feeling in his gut transforming into something else. Heat. Desire. He had never looked at Poppy this way, ever.
And now he wondered if that had been deliberate. Now he wondered if he had been purposefully ignoring how beautiful she was because of all the reasons she had just mentioned for why they shouldn’t get married.
The fact she was his assistant. The fact t
hat she was Rosalind’s foster sister.
“Isaiah...”
He moved one hand up to cup her cheek and brought his face down closer to hers. She smelled delicate, like flowers and uncertainty. And he found himself drawn to her even more.
“And this will be your kiss.”
He brought his lips down onto hers, expecting... He didn’t know what.
Usually, sexual attraction was a straightforward thing for him. That was one of the many things he liked about sex. There was no guesswork. It was honest. There was never anything shocking about it. If he saw a woman he thought was beautiful, he approached her. He never wondered if he would enjoy kissing her. Because he always wanted to kiss her before he did. But Poppy...
In the split second before their mouths touched, he wondered. Wondered what it would be like to kiss this woman he had known for so long. Who he had seen as essential to his life, but never as a sexual person.
And then, all his thoughts burned away. Because she tasted better than anything he could remember and her lips just felt right.
It felt equally right to slide his fingertips along the edge of her soft jawline and tilt her face up farther so he could angle his head in deep and gain access. It felt equally right to wrap both arms around her waist and press her body as tightly to his as he possibly could. To feel the soft swell of her breasts against his chest.
And he waited, for a moment, to see if she was going to stick her claws into him. To see if she was going to pull away or resist.
She did neither. Instead, she sighed, slowly, softly. Sweetly. She opened her mouth to his.
He took advantage of that, sliding his tongue between her lips and taking a taste.
He felt it, straight down to his cock, a lightning bolt of pleasure he’d had no idea was coming.
Suddenly, he was in the middle of a violent storm when only a moment ago the sky had been clear.
He had never experienced anything like it. The idea that Poppy—this woman who had been a constant in his world—was a hidden temptress rocked him down to his soul. He had no idea such a thing was possible.
In his world, chemistry had always been both straightforward and instant. That it could simply exist beneath the surface like this seemed impossible.
