by M. S. Parker
He nodded and held out a hand. “I’m Robson Findley. Come on. I’ll finish your interview myself.”
***
It was the quickest and weirdest interview of my life. Instead of asking me about my previous experience, he hammered me with more odd questions.
It’s your off night and you get called to order some flowers and candy sent to an unknown address. What do you do?
You’re meeting a friend for your employer and the friend hits on you. Do you tell your employer?
You’re visiting your employer and you hear some unusual noises coming from one of the rooms. What do you do?
It didn't take me long to realize that this wasn't going to work. I didn't interrupt though. I wanted to be able to tell Deacon I at least gave it a fair shot. I waited until there was a gap and then rose. “Mr. Findlay, I really appreciate the opportunity, but I don’t think this job would be right for me.”
“Yes?” He cocked his head, eyes shrewd, but not annoyed. “Just why is that?”
I didn’t have an exact reason I could give, and in a moment of utter desperation and stupidity, I blurted out, “I don’t like rich people.”
It sounded offensive enough that I assumed I'd be thrown out on my ass as soon as he called security. I lifted my chin, crossed my arms over my chest, and waited.
To my surprise, Findlay laughed. He dropped down into the chair behind his desk, tipped back his head and actually laughed. A few moments passed before he stopped, but when he looked at me, his eyes were still glinting with mirth. “Can I be blunt with you for a moment?”
I stared at him.
“Sometimes, I don't like them much either.”
The moment he said it, he blinked, almost as if startled he’d actually said it.
It was a look I was familiar with. I was always having people tell me things they wouldn't have told anyone else. I'd been told I have one of those faces. It’s not really all that great.
He cleared his throat and began shuffling papers on his desk. “As I was saying…”
He hadn’t been saying anything, but I didn’t call him on the lie, just watched as he regained his composure.
“I think you’re going to work out rather well, Ms. Gallagher. Assuming we find you the right match. And while I still need you to fill out the forms, I already have a couple of ideas for good matches.”
Hesitant, I eyed the forms. I still had some serious misgivings about this.
“Perhaps you should have an idea what it pays,” he said with a smile.
The figure he named made my jaw drop.
Hello college tuition.
Chapter 2
Toni
Fifth Avenue.
What the hell was I doing on Fifth Avenue?
Especially this part of Fifth Avenue.
Smoothing a hand down the trim black pants I’d selected to wear, I approached the door and tried not to look like I was hesitating. There was no doorman. That might have struck me as odd, except this massive building wasn’t some collection of ultra-cool, ultra-expensive condos.
It was one, ginormous family home.
I couldn’t even fathom how many millions of dollars a family home on Fifth Avenue must have cost. The buzz of traffic around here was noticeably less, and as I drew closer to the house, some lady decked all in white sailed by with her dog on a pink leash. There was a sparkle at its neck and I had the insane idea that the sparkle might be from diamonds. Real diamonds. But that couldn't be possible, could it?
My skin started to prickle. I looked up at the ditz who put the diamonds on a dog and found her sending me a sidelong look. When she caught me eying her, her nostrils flared as if she’d smelled something bad, and she whipped her head around.
Wow.
Mentally bracing myself, I marched up the steps between two stately lion statues and knocked.
I’d been paired with a woman by the name of Isadora Lang. I supposed if I paid more attention to the society pages, I would've known the name, but all I had was what Mr. Findley sent me yesterday afternoon.
Isadora was twenty years old and needing help a few days a week – my choice of days – to help her keep her life organized. She hadn't requested any off-hours availability or included a list of crazy demands. It really sounded like a dream job.
But I had a sinking feeling I was about to endure the same sort of treatment I’d received from the ditzy dog owner.
The door swung open and I flashed the suit-clad gentleman my best smile. He was wearing a suit that probably cost more than two months' rent and looked to be in his mid to late fifties.
“Hello. I’m Toni—”
A woman's voice interrupted me.
“Please tell me that’s her, Doug! I can’t figure out this damn newsletter!” She sounded nearly frantic, but not obnoxious.
The suited man gave me a pained look. “Are you with Exclusive?”
“I am.”
A moment later, a tall, curvy woman came bursting out from somewhere behind him. She had stylish black curls, large olive green eyes, porcelain skin, and an elegant, beautiful face. Absolutely gorgeous.
“In, now,” she said as she reached around the man and grabbed my wrist. I stared at her, shocked into silence as she pulled me into the house. “Thank God you're here. If I don’t get this straightened out, I’m doomed.”
Once I was inside, she let my hand go and turned to beam at the man in the black suit. “You can shut the door now, Doug,” she said, giving him the sweetest genuine smile I'd ever seen. “My new assistant and I have a lot of work to do.”
My head was spinning. I didn't think I’d ever seen anybody smile that brilliantly and mean it. When she turned that megawatt smile on me, I felt almost a little dazzled. Heaven help any man who found themselves in her sights.
“Ma'am – uh, I mean, Miss?”
“Call me Isadora, please. Just as Doug here. I don't like the whole 'Miss' thing.”
“All right.” I nodded, starting to find my footing. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”
Her smile turned a little sheepish and she bit her lower lip. “I have to admit, Toni…it is Toni, right? I’m hopeless. I thought I could figure out this whole newsletter thing, but…” She spread her hands out wide and shrugged, her expression making her look less like a beautiful young woman and more like a wide-eyed, innocent child.
“You want a newsletter.”
“No,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t want it. I need it. I told the committee I could do it. I’m good on computers, and I didn’t think it would be that hard.”
Despite myself, I was starting to like her. Sure, I couldn't imagine what was so difficult about making a newsletter, but she didn't seem like she was above it. Just clueless.
“So what’s the newsletter for?” I asked with a smile.
“Rich assholes.”
She delivered the answer without blinking an eye.
Behind me, Doug, in his perfect black suit, smothered a laugh and pretended it was a cough before hurrying away.
“You know what?” I gave her my own version of a brilliant smile. “I think we should start from the top.”
***
She’d led me into a large, airy sitting room.
There was no way I could call it a living room. It was too elegant, too posh, for that. The walls were a pale, soft yellow with the trim painted a gleaming white. In the middle of the room stood a low, round table that gleamed like gold. In the precise middle of that table, there was a vase of the most beautiful white roses I’d ever seen in my life, each petal perfection.
I'd always had a weakness for white roses.
There were any number of small chairs and couches scattered throughout the large, airy room, but Isadora had guided me to a round, fat chair, practically the size of a small pond, and big enough for both of us. Probably two more. A fifth if we wanted to snuggle.
That had been two hours ago and I was still sitting in that chair, comparing the list she’d given me w
ith the newsletter I was compiling. The last one had indeed been for rich assholes. Even I'd recognized those names.
This one seemed to be geared toward the opposite. Wary single moms loathe to accept anything from anybody.
I finished that one up just as she managed to compile a somewhat neat stack of information. I looked at it with a combination of trepidation and chagrin.
“I think what you need,” I said suddenly. “Is to learn how to say no.”
Immediately, I realized I probably shouldn't have said it. What if she was touchy and took it as judgmental? What if she was whiny?
But Isadora threw back her head and laughed. “I know, right? It’s always somebody needs to do it and nobody else wants to say yes.”
Looking away from that engaging smile, I focused on the notes in front of me. Handwritten notes, printed interviews, discs with yet more information, graphs, articles, pictures and a dozen other things that needed to be included in a dozen other newsletters.
Over the past few hours, I’d learned enough to realize I needed to stop making snap judgments. It was a flaw of mine. A flaw I hated in others, but there I was, doing it far too often.
It was sad.
I generally only did it with people like Isadora, the privileged and wealthy. My own kind of people, I gave the benefit of the doubt.
Isadora spoke up, interrupting my mental reverie. “What time did you say the first newsletter would go out?”
“About one this afternoon.”
All in all, that one had been the easiest to do. Cleverly and cleanly written, the author poked fun at more than a few of the well-known families here in the city.
Arching an eyebrow at her, I smiled. “You afraid we’re going to get mobbed? These streets are quiet. You’ll hear them coming long before they get here.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, one of them lives here.”
“Oh?” I gave her a questioning look. Mr. Findley hadn't said anything about a husband.
“Yep. My brother.”
She slid her legs off her side of the chair and rose, arching her arms back high over her head and stretching. It brought her shirt up over her belly, revealing a flat stomach with skin the right kind of pale. I was the other kind of pale, the kind that came with my red hair. My brothers used to say I could cause traffic accidents if I left too much skin exposed. I didn't even freckle in the sun. I just went all lobster crispy.
Then I processed what she said. “That could get…interesting.” If her brother was anything like mine, I could only imagine how he'd take it. “What do your folks think about this?”
For the first time, her bright smile dimmed. “They’re gone,” she said softly.
She moved from the couch to stand in front of the fireplace with its candle-scape insert in the hearth and the pictures that dotted the mantle. She took one down and turned, displaying it in front of her. It revealed a pretty little girl, a handsome young man who looked to be in his late teens. There were two adults, each of them looking to be in their mid-forties. All of them looked happy.
“They died in a car wreck when I was seven. This picture was taken just a couple of months before it happened.” She turned it back to her, lifting it to trace their faces with her hand. “My brother raised me. I barely remember them.”
I went to apologize, to say something. I didn’t even know what. I couldn't imagine my life without either of my parents, much less having lost both of them at the same time, and as a child.
Before I could figure out what I should say, she put the picture down and clapped her hands. “Hey, you know what? I’m starving. You wanna order some pizza?”
***
I'd decided this job could work.
I also thought I might even grow to like the somewhat ditzy, but decidedly adorable Isadora.
She was smart as hell, but couldn’t focus worth a damn. I found myself psychoanalyzing her all the time and asking strange little questions that were just a little too nosy, but I couldn’t stop myself. She was fascinating.
She didn’t seem to notice or care, and I was trying to work up the courage to ask yet more questions when we heard a door slam and loud male voices followed.
“Mr. Lang!”
“Okay, Doug. Who the fuck is this Toni person my sister hired? I thought I hired you all to watch over her, not let her bring strange guys into the house.”
“Guys?” I mouthed to Isadora.
But she didn’t notice. She had her face buried in her hands and was shaking her head, though I couldn't tell if she was upset or trying not to laugh.
A shadow appeared in the doorway and I instinctively stood. She caught my hand and looked up at me with a pleading expression on her face.
“Please don’t let him scare you off.”
Scare me off? I snorted. As if. I squeezed Isadora’s hand.
“I’m fine,” I assured her.
Then I turned towards the door and met the hard green eyes of a man who was seriously, seriously beautiful. His hair was the sort of black that would almost look blue in some light, and he had the sort of features that made heads turn.
He was also staring at me as though I was something he’d found on the bottom of his shoe. No amount of good looks could make up for that.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.
I almost snapped back at him, but, instead, I decided to go a different route and make him feel like the asshole he appeared to be.
“Hi.” I gave him a winning, but fake, smile. “I'm Toni. And you are?”
Chapter 3
Ash
I’m not a patient man.
I wasn't one by nature, and my life didn't allow for the time or luxury of patience. It didn't allow for time for much of anything.
So when I demanded to know who in the fuck Tony was, I wanted a damn answer right then.
I got one, too.
Granted, it wasn’t the answer I was expecting.
I’m Toni. And you are?
Bemused, I looked down at the small hand held out to me, and then lifted my eyes to stare into a pair of smoky blue eyes so gorgeous that I imagined I could lose myself in them. I let myself entertain that fanciful thought for maybe ten seconds, and then I cut it off. No point in going there.
“Again.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I narrowed my eyes at her. “Who the fuck are you?”
Nobody was supposed to be allowed inside, especially allowed inside with my little sister, unless I cleared it. Everyone on my staff knew that.
Some people were going to find themselves without a job today.
“I’m Toni,” she repeated.
She blinked at me, somehow managing to look completely innocent and confused, but I had the damnedest feeling she was laughing at me and that pissed me off even more.
“Toni Gallagher.” She offered with another smile that I was sure was fake. “Exclusive sent me. Isadora wanted an assistant, and I was the one best suited to her and the position.”
“I'm the one who decides who is best suited to work for my sister,” I said, walking towards her until we were only inches apart.
I waited.
I had a good fifteen inches on her, and I knew how to use my height – hell, my everything – to intimidate anyone.
She just peered up at me, raised an eyebrow and came back with the last thing I'd expected. “Do you really think you’re the best person to decide who should work for your sister? She is an adult.”
I gaped.
And Toni Gallagher just stared at me, head cocked to the side as she tapped a finger against lips slicked the color of merlot. I hated that shit, but I found myself craving a taste just then. And I didn't want it from a glass.
She continued, “I mean, do you even know what’s going on in her life?”
“I…what?”
Thrown off track, and still thinking about that damn intriguing mouth, I planted my hands on my hips and glared down at her. She shifted her weight, and braced her own hand on her hip.
“She needs somebody who knows what’s going on in her life now. What foundations and organizations does she belong to? What she's interested in. Do you know any of that?”
“Again,” I said, biting the word off as I glared at the tiny, irritating woman in front of me. She looked like the kind of person who'd break in a stiff wind, but I was quickly seeing that her appearance was deceiving. “I'm the one who decides who gets hired in this household.”
That tone of voice usually had only one of two responses – abject terror or abject humility. Often it was both. I was the heir to two of the oldest families in the country, and one of the richest bastards in said country. And I was a bastard in the figurative sense. I made no bones about it. I pushed until I got my way, but more often than not, I didn’t have to push, because people gave me what I wanted.
I was a Lang.
So it shocked the hell out of me when Toni pursed her lips and gave me a slow, thorough study, her eyes going from my head to my feet and back again. It took more self-control than I liked to keep from fidgeting under that intense gaze.
“Does this…” She waved her hand at me. “…really work?”
The question was so unexpected, I answered honestly, “Yes.”
“I thought so.” She shrugged. “It won’t work on me. I grew up with four older brothers who always thought I should do what they told me. It doesn't work with them and it won’t work with you.”
I had the strange and sudden thought that this had to be some sort of joke. People didn't talk to me like that. Certainly not people who wanted to be employed.
Then, without so much as a dismissive glance, she turned to Isadora. “I was thinking about how we can get all the information up at the top of your newsletter. Half the time, people only skim...”
I shot a look at Isadora.
