Barrett
Isabella has perfect timing down to a science. It’s ten seconds before eight when I look up and finally see her settling behind her desk.
I know that she put in a fair amount of overtime when she worked for Duke. She stayed past five most nights and even showed up in the office on the occasional Saturday or Sunday.
I can’t question her dedication to the company. Duke sent a string of memos to Human Resources commending his executive assistant. She doesn’t have one unfavorable mark on her record.
She’ll keep on track with that winning streak as long as she understands that certain things have changed since I took over as CEO.
“Isabella,” I call out to her.
Her head pops up, her dark hair floating around her shoulders. She straightened it since I saw her last night at the restaurant. I was tempted to ask her to stay when Ivan announced he was leaving, but I followed them both out the door of Axel NY.
She’s my assistant, and on top of that, she’s a decade younger than I am. I’ve always been drawn to women my age or older. I’ve never contemplated dating or fucking someone more than a year or two younger than me.
“What is it?” she questions with a perk of her dark brows.
Her makeup isn’t as dramatic this morning as it was last night. Today she looks fresh and young. She’s wearing a lavender wrap dress. Ivan would silently disapprove since his idea of business attire is a suit or skirt in black or dark blue paired with a shirt in a neutral color.
I much prefer Isabella’s idea of what’s office appropriate. My cock has no complaints either.
I adjust myself in my chair, hoping my dick will lose its enthusiasm before she walks into my office. I’m a gentleman. I was taught to rise to my feet when I greet a woman. I can’t do that now, or my executive assistant will see that what I want from her is more than a brief chat.
She strolls toward me, stopping at my office door. She leans a hip against the wooden doorjamb. If there were a master class in effortless seduction, Isabella Calvetti would be the professor.
Her hand falls to the front of her dress. Adjusting the neckline, she keeps her eyes trained on mine.
“I want to be clear about your hours,” I say, breaking her gaze. “You report to work at eight each day. You stay until I tell you that you can leave.”
A nod is the only response I get from her.
“If I need you here at seven or even six a.m., I’ll let you know the night before.”
I doubt like hell I’ll ever need that since I’ll never have my ass in this chair before seven-thirty, but I’m going for the reaction.
I don’t get anything, but a blink of her eyes.
I’d push on the coffee issue, but I need to put the brakes on the amount of caffeine I consume. I didn’t fall asleep until three this morning. I can’t blame a woman for that. I was home alone an hour after I said goodnight to Isabella.
I spent the next few hours pacing the floor while I picked my life apart.
“Is there anything else?” she asks with a sigh. “I have a busy day.”
Working for me, I should point out, but I let it slide because my calendar is crammed with meetings outside of the office that she booked for me.
I would take that as a hint that she hates me if her nipples weren’t furled into tight peaks under the flimsy fabric of her dress.
I wonder what her tits look like. What does she taste like?
Her fingers dance over the screen of her phone. When I don’t respond to her question, she finally looks up. “Since you’re skipping out on the ten o’clock meeting with Rusten and Misty from the bookstore, I’ve arranged for you to spend that hour with Curtis Mayview.”
Fuck that.
I reached my Curtis Mayview quota on the phone yesterday. He heads up our social media division. He wants an in-person meeting with me to go over his vision for the online future of a handful of our subsidiaries. I told him to put those ideas in an email and send them to Isabella.
“That’s not going to work,” I say firmly. “Curtis is sending you an email later today. I want you to sift through it and condense his thoughts into a half-page, bullet-pointed list.”
A shake of her head accompanies her soft laugh. “I received that email this morning. I’ll read it to you.”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “There’s no need. Go to your desk, summarize it and send it to me.”
She ignores everything I just said. “It’s right here. It’s short and sweet.”
“It is?” I’m skeptical, but there’s a chance that I misjudged Curtis.
She clears her throat. “Dear Bella, I need to see him in person today. Curtis.”
“Isabella.” I lean back in my chair. “Cancel that meeting. He needs to follow my direction.”
Her gaze drops to her phone. “You’ll meet him at Palla on Fifth at ten o’clock.”
“Cancel that meeting,” I repeat.
“His contract clearly states that he has an in-person meeting with the CEO twice per month,” she says matter-of-factly. “I can get Human Resources to forward you a copy of that if you’d like.”
“Dammit Duke,” I curse my predecessor under my breath.
“Curtis likes his coffee with one sugar and two splashes of cream.” She glances over her shoulder when her desk phone starts to ring.
“Why the hell would I care what he takes in his coffee?” Irritation taints my tone.
“Garent’s CEO supplies the coffee. That’s in his contract too.” A smug smile plays on her lips. “Make it a large. That will put him in a great mood. I need to answer that call.”
She sets off toward the ringing phone on her desk.
Why the hell does it feel like she just won the latest round in our silent battle of wills?
Chapter 17
Bella
“Look at you. You’re all nipples today.” Max points at the front of my dress. “What’s got you so excited?”
I glance down, wishing I had chosen a different bra this morning. “It’s cold in here.”
“It’s not,” he quips. “What exactly are you looking at?”
My gaze darts to the screen of my laptop. “Nothing.”
I panic and try to close the internet browser by punching a few keys, but Max is too quick. He scoops the laptop in his hands and turns it until it’s facing him.
His eyes skim the screen. “Holy hard abs, Bella. Who the fuck is this?”
I jab a finger in the air at him. “You can’t talk like that here. Someone might hear you.”
He looks around. “There is literally no one on this floor but the two of us. Your co-workers must have gotten the memo that they can leave the building during their lunch break. Why didn’t you text me back?”
I should have read all the text messages Max sent me this morning, but I was busy answering a string of calls from nervous employees wondering if their jobs are in jeopardy. I couldn’t reassure any of them because I have no idea what my boss’s next move is.
“You didn’t even hear me when I called your name after I got off the elevator,” he goes on. “I see why. You were in a hot guy trance.”
I heard the ping of the elevator as the doors opened, but I assumed it was Karley. She shows up every Thursday in the early afternoon to water the plants in the building.
I reach for my laptop, but Max tugs it closer to him. “Who is this, Bella?”
Lying won’t work. Max can read me like a book. He’ll know if I tell him a fib, so I lay it all on the line and brace for the inevitable assault of questions coming my way. “That’s my boss.”
“Like hell it is.” He looks at the screen before he levels his eyes on my face. “This stunner in the board shorts is your new boss?”
I nod. “I thought I’d do a quick search online for him just for research, of course, and I stumbled on all of that.”
“You fell down the rabbit hole.” He winks at me. “See what I did there? You and your rabbit vibrator.”
&nb
sp; “Shut up.” I jump to my feet. “I don’t have that anymore.”
“You broke another vibrator?” He huffs out a laugh. “They come with instructions, don’t they? Maybe you need to give those a read before you get down to business.”
I cover my mouth with my hand to shield the uncontainable smile on my lips. “Stop talking, Max.”
“Why are there so many pictures of your hot boss online?” He scrolls a finger over the screen. “He looks just as good in a tux as he does out of one.”
I can’t argue with that.
Tugging the laptop from his hands, I snap the lid shut. “An ex-girlfriend of his took most of those pictures. I stumbled on her social media accounts and there he was.”
Skepticism knits his brow. “You must have been digging pretty deep to find that treasure trove. Did the ex tag him in all those pictures?”
“Something like that,” I say with a shrug.
It’s nothing like that. I found those pictures because I typed ‘who is Barrett Adler dating’ into Google.
I expected nothing to pop up, but instead of zero results there were thousands. Most of them were articles about his relationship with a former reality TV star.
Alyssa Wells went on national TV to find a husband. She struck out but met Barrett at a grocery store in Chicago a week after the final episode of her season aired. Every online gossip site was all over their relationship.
Max takes a step forward so he can peek into Barrett’s empty office. “I take it that Mr. Hunk of Burning Lust isn’t here right now?”
Barrett doesn’t need a nickname, so I stop that train on its tracks. “Mr. Adler is out at meetings all day.”
Max tosses his head back in laughter. “Listen to you being all professional.”
I set my laptop on my desk. “Exactly why are you here?”
Doing one full turn with his arms outstretched at his sides, he cocks a brow. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re the best friend in the world,” I say with a smile.
His bottom lip pouts out. “Bella, pay attention. Something is different about me.”
I study his face. It’s just as gorgeous as it was the last time I saw it. His hair hasn’t been trimmed in the past two weeks. No beard. No new face piercings. I didn’t expect any of those since he took out his eyebrow and nose ring years ago.
He’s wearing a black polo and dark gray dress pants. I’ve seen those before.
I could prolong this in the hope of not hurting his feelings, but Max and I aren’t skating on that thin of ice. We tell it like it is, so that’s what I do. “Nothing is different about you.”
He sighs through a wide smile. “Look down.”
I inch around my desk and take in the new shoes on his feet. Wingtip and expensive leather are both on Max’s must-haves in footwear.
“Those just came in today?” I point at his feet.
“Bright and early this morning.” He taps a toe on the polished concrete floor. “I’m giving them a test drive as we speak.”
“Those are keepers.” I tug on his hand. “They’re perfect for you.”
Lifting my hand to his lips he gives it a sweet kiss on the palm. “And that is perfect for you.”
“What’s perfect for me?”
“Your new internet obsession slash boss.” He squeezes my hand. “Get yourself some of that, Bella, and your vibrator problems will be a thing of the past.”
I tug my hand free, using it to slap him on his chest. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? I know you haven’t had that kind of fun in a while, so why not mix business with pleasure?”
“I have over a hundred thousand reasons why I can’t mix business with pleasure,” I point out. “I want to make my dreams come true. Working here is the quickest way to fund those dreams.”
“True, true,” he says with resignation. “Get back on your laptop and order a new rabbit because you’re going to need it if you keep stalking your hot-as-hell boss.”
Giving my head a shake, I smile. “I don’t need any help in that department. Barrett Adler will not be making any appearances in my fantasies.”
I wait for him to call me out on that lie. Instead, he leans forward, kisses my forehead, and drops his gaze to the floor. “Let’s walk over to Palla’s to get a coffee and a sandwich. It’s time to make the men of Manhattan wish they had a pair of these shoes.”
Chapter 18
Barrett
“Two plus two is six.”
I stop in place as the elevator’s doors slide shut behind me. There’s no way in hell that I just heard a child’s voice, is there?
“You’re wrongo bongo. Two plus two is seven.”
Another child’s voice and another wrong answer to one of the most basic math equations in existence.
“It’s four,” I say as I approach Isabella’s desk and the two small brunette-haired people sitting in her office chair.
“I’m four,” one of them says with a lift of her hand in the air. “I turned four one hundred and twenty-two days ago.”
The brown-eyed little girl has some grasp on numbers.
The boy sitting next to her is shaking his head so hard I wonder if he’s going to fall off the side of the chair.
“I was three one million, twelve twenty-two hours ago,” he blurts out. “So there.”
I have no idea if he’s talking to me or not since his gaze is stuck on the ceiling.
I glance into my office, but my assistant is nowhere in sight. I look back at the two pint-sized math geniuses to find them staring at me.
“Who are you?” The little boy spits out. “Are you a stranger?”
I volley his first question right back at him because I need an explanation and these two are my best bet for getting one. “Who are you?”
“I’m his sister.” The girl jerks a thumb into the side of the little guy’s head.
“I’m her brother.” He pokes a finger at her, just missing her left eye.
I’m lost.
“I’m back,” Isabella’s voice comes at me from the right.
I turn to see her on the approach with a juice box in each hand. Her pace slows the second she lifts her gaze and spots me.
“Why are you here? You’re supposed to be in meetings all afternoon.”
That’s not the greeting a CEO expects from his executive assistant, but I’m learning that Isabella has a certain attitude when it comes to me. I, on the other hand, have a certain question that I want an immediate answer to.
“What’s going on here?” I point in the general direction of her desk.
“It’s snack time.” The little boy runs a hand under his nose. “Mommy forgot to pack us a snack, so Bella went to get some juice.”
“In the break room,” she answers, brushing past me. “I ran there. I didn’t leave them out of my sight for long.”
I need zero explanation about her abilities as a childcare provider because she’s my fucking executive assistant and nowhere in her job description does it mention babysitting mop-haired toddlers in the middle of a Thursday afternoon.
She hands a juice box to each of the kids. “I have some animal crackers in the bottom drawer of my desk. Do you want those?”
I wait for her to turn her attention back to me, but she carries on like I’m not staring a hole in her back.
I’m fighting every urge inside of me to glance at her ass, but there are children in the room and I consider myself somewhat of a decent man.
Clearing my throat, I watch as she rounds her desk, bends over and slides open the bottom drawer.
I get a brief flash of the top of her breasts before she stands up again.
Jesus.
Animal crackers spill onto the top of her desk when she tugs on the package to open it.
The kids burst out in laughter. Isabella does the same, so I stalk into my office, shutting the door behind me. I have no idea what the hell is going on, but as soon as my assistant is alone, I want answer
s.
***
“Come in, Isabella,” I call out an hour later when she finally knocks on my office door.
I heard the screech of excitement from both kids when someone exited the elevator five minutes ago. I had no interest in getting up to see who came to claim them. They shouldn’t have been here in the first place. It’s an unwritten rule that anyone who can’t do basic math shouldn’t be in the building.
Garent Industries has yet to host a ‘bring your kid to work’ day.
It would cut into productivity and cost the company too much in potential revenue.
Ivan brought Duke to work every day and that was a fucking disaster.
My office door inches open slowly. She clears her throat before she speaks. “I come bearing a gift.”
“A gift?” I repeat in a neutral tone.
Her hand darts into view. She’s waving something in the air. I inch ahead on my chair and narrow my eyes to get a better look.
What the fuck?
Before I can order her inside my office, she pushes open the door and marches in with a smile on her face.
A bright, I-have-no-care-in-the-world, smile.
“Sit down,” I order, pointing at the two chairs facing my desk. “Take a seat now.”
The smile doesn’t fade as she plops herself in one of the chairs. Crossing her legs, her hand moves to close the slit at the front of her dress.
She’s not quick enough to steal my chance to get an unobstructed view of her thigh.
I lean back in my chair. “Explain to me what was going on out there.”
Her gaze darts over her shoulder briefly. “I was watching Ansel and Elara.”
Putting names to their cherub faces makes no difference to me. They’re kids. They belong in places where children play, not in the office of the executive assistant of the CEO of a Fortune 500 company.
“You were babysitting?” I ask the question, even though it’s rhetorical.
“I was watching over them,” she clarifies as though I don’t understand the definition of babysitting. “I do that every second Thursday afternoon. Duke loved having the kids in the office.”
Ruthless Page 7
