by Rye Hart
“When you’re done, you need to get dressed,” Hank said.
“A step ahead of you, since you’re not staring at my bare ass right now,” I said.
“Into something nice. You’re coming with me this morning.”
“Gotta help Paul,” I said, as I found Elsie’s rag.
I shut the closet door and handed off the towel to my sister.
“Thank you, Hank. I am going to go finish my book now. I’m about to start the chapter on human behavior entitled, ‘Love.’”
“When you master that concept, I’ll make us a pot of coffee, and you can explain it to me,” I said. “I'm sure you have some fascinating insights.”
“I will definitely let you know when I’m done,” Elsie said.
She sat down at her desk but waited until we left to begin typing. She didn't like to write with people around, it distracted her. I motioned for Hank to follow me out of the room, and said, “Love you, sis,” before closing the door behind her.
When we reached the hall, I turned back to Hank, a scowl on my face.
“So, where are we headed that requires me to dress nicely?” I asked.
“We’re going into town. It’s a surprise,” Hank said.
“Meaning if you tell me now, I probably wouldn’t agree to it.”
“Yep. Now get a move on it. I want you in one of those fancy hats of yours, a nicer pair of boots, and a button-down.”
“Am I performing somewhere?” I asked.
“Nope. Now go get dressed.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were heading into town. I was driving my truck, and Hank was grumbling about it in the back. I told him he wasn’t gonna sit up front and bitch in my ear the entire ride, and he didn’t believe I’d put him in the backseat.
Now, he was grumbling because I held up my end of the bargain.
“Take a left here.”
“Right. Right-right-right!”
“You missed it. Turn around. It was that street by the church.”
“You’re not worth a shit at giving directions,” I said.
“Payback for making me sit back here,” Hank said.
We pulled into a building that said P.A. or P.R. or some shit like that. I groaned as my head fell back, my truck rolling into a space. Fucking Hank. Of course, he would drag me to this bullshit. I didn’t think he was actually serious about hiring someone like this for me. I was fine. I was back at the farm. What the fuck did I need someone like this for?
“I’m not going inside,” I said.
“Yes, you are. We’re interviewing some people today,” Hank said.
“No, you’re interviewing people today. I’m going and getting breakfast.”
“You already had breakfast.”
“I had microwaved coffee. Hardly a breakfast,” I said.
“Your fault for sleeping in late.”
“Late? I woke up at nine, asshole.”
“Paul was out the fucking door by seven this morning,” he said.
“How the fuck would you know that?” I asked.
“Because I know Paul. He’s always out the damn door by seven in the morning. The man thrives on routine. Now get your ass inside, or I’ll drag you in by your ear. I’m sure someone would love a picture of that.”
“Asshole.”
“Come on,” he said.
I climbed out of the truck and made my way into the building, making sure Hank knew exactly how unhappy I was with the whole thing. Hank responded by opening doors for me like some kind of a big-dicked asshole, making me look like some sort of diva. We walked through the main lobby of this sprawling office space and stepped into an elevator. Hank pressed the button marked seven and away we went, rising up the massive metal encasing to meet whoever the hell Hank was gonna hire to fix me.
“So—what’s this person supposed to be doing for me?” I asked.
“I’m hiring you a P.A. today. An assistant, of sorts. They’re gonna help you get your schedule together, help you balance your touring and your farm. Help you manage time and get your shit together so you can be a presentable person to society.”
“I’m pretty presentable,” I said.
“You drink too much, and you can carry a tune in a bucket. Good for you. But it’s time that nice country man persona actually became the real deal. Your facade is cracking, and the tabloids are starting to notice. You can only use your wife as an excuse for so long, Drake. You need to get your shit together, for real.”
“Don't you fucking bring Shannon into this--” I growled.
Hank dug something out of his bag and slammed it against my chest. There was an article about me sprawled across the front page. ‘Daddy Needs More Beer,’ the headline read, and it had a picture of me tipping up a beer to my lips at the last concert I did.
“Oh, whatever. They’re just pissed because I’m raking in the dough,” I said.
“No one’s pissed in this article, Drake. But the way the media labels you will affect your career. You think you got it good now, just wait until you fall from whatever heaven you think this is. You’ll be the broke ranch owner trying to scrape together two dollars for your sister’s chewing gum habit if you don’t watch it.”
“You leave my fucking sister out of this, old man,” I said. “I’ll take care of her no matter what.”
“Yeah, but you won’t be able to afford Tammy if you play your cards wrong. That woman has helped your sister more than any of the rest of us combined. Including you. You wanna keep your sister’s caretaker around? Then you’ll fucking put on your best smile and sit through these damn interviews with me.”
The elevator doors opened onto a quiet level as heads turned our way. People were already gawking and snapping pictures, with women chattering while their cheeks blushed. I tipped my hat to them, and they smiled big for me.
I grinned at all of them as I followed Hank through the aisles. Always had to play my part in this little charade.
“Sit down right here. I’m gonna go talk to someone,” Hank said.
“Yes, Momma. I’ll be here when you get back,” I said.
Hank shot me a look before he walked off, trying to find whoever the hell was in charge of this gaggle of girls. Even though there was a crowd of them forming at the corner of the hallway, there was one girl that seemed wholly unimpressed
I turned my head and took her in as she sat at her desk. Her hands were on her knees, and her back was straight. She was scanning something on the screen as she tapped her long, slim fingers on her thigh. She was so prim and proper.
She also didn't seem to be tripping over herself to catch my attention, which I had to say, was unusual considering the circumstances.
My cock tightened in my pants, and I mentally cursed myself for it. Still, she was a stunner, I had to give her that. Her honey blonde hair was pulled back in a side-braid, resting over her shoulder. Her legs were long, and her frame was small, but with just a hint of feminine curves.
“All right, Drake. There are a few girls here who accepted the job posting. I’m going to sit down with them while you stay here, and when I come back, we’ll have you a P.A.”
“Who’s she?” I asked.
The girl in the chair turned and looked at me, her beautiful green eyes connecting with mine as she cocked her head. She was studying me, her eyes running up and down my body. I was waiting for her cheeks to blush, for that goofy smile to spread across her face under my gaze like I was used to. She gave me nothing, and my interest deepened. Hank’s voice broke through my thoughts.
“Delia Jakobson? She was one of the more qualified applicants, and the one I was planning to interview first.” Hank said.
“Then the only way I’m agreeing to any of this is if you hire her.”
The woman turned back to her computer screen, going back to studying whatever it was she was looking at before I had caught her attention.
I had a plan. Hank was determined to get me a personal assistant. Fine by me. That didn’t mean I couldn’t make
the girl quite after I gave her hell. The reason I wanted her was because she didn’t appear interested in me. I could trust that she wouldn't do everything in her power to get in my pants.
This Delia didn't look like the type to fuck around, which was good because I wouldn’t feel bad about giving her hell. We were going to be spending lots of time together, and all I wanted to do was have her decide in no uncertain terms that she couldn’t work for a man like me. That was my plan.
“Fine. I’ll go tell her boss that she’s our pick,” he said.
CHAPTER 4
Delia
I had all of my paperwork ready for the interview as the elevator doors dinged open. I could hear the other women in the office squealing and giggling amongst themselves as they gathered at the corner of the hallway. I wanted to make it a point not to bombard him, not to act like his fame altered me in any way. I knew it would set me apart.
I sat at my desk with my hands in my lap, reading the latest article on Drake Blackthorn. It was a review of his latest concert, where he had apparently climbed onto a giant speaker and picked a woman out of the crowd. That woman was pulled aside for an interview, and the things she was saying were interesting, to say the least. Tour busses and naked women, dicks hanging out and booze flowing freely, drugs being snorted, food being devoured, and the guys kicking most of the girls off the bus in the middle of nowhere.
It was a terrible article, and it made me wonder if he had read it yet.
As I lifted my eyes to take a breath from the article, I could hear the gaggle of women growing closer. I felt someone’s gaze on me and turned my eyes, finding none other than Drake Blackthorn himself staring at me. The miniature crowd of women surrounding him didn’t pull his attention in the slightest.
His eyes were hooked onto mine, and I shifted in my seat. I briefly wondered what he was thinking, but from the look in his eyes, I could tell he was puzzling over why I wasn’t fawning all over him.
I turned my eyes back to the article, picking up where I left off as I tried to clear my mind.
I had to admit, he was sexy, in an off-limits kind of way. He was nowhere near my type and way too cocky for his own good, but he had a pull about him that was unmistakable. I could see why women went crazy for him. He was tall and strong. His legs were spread wide, showing off the girth that pressed against his jeans. Even un-erect, it still hung past the middle seam of his pants
I side-glanced him, taking him in as he got to his feet. He began signing autographs as the women crowded around him.
I was here for a job and nothing more, but he was going to be hard to work with. A job like this would most certainly pay for the rest of my college degree. It might even leave enough to set me up with a nice savings account to go into the real world with, but would the aggravation be worth it?
I snapped out of my haze as my boss walked toward me.
“You’re up,” she said. “Your turn to interview with Hank.”
“Coming,” I said.
I gathered up my things and left Drake to his devices with his fans. Even though he had been staring me down like prey, it didn’t look like he noticed I had gotten up and left, which told me even more about his personality. He wanted quick fixes to what he needed. He wanted my attention, but when he couldn’t get it, he switched into a toddler mindset.
He went off and found the quickest source of attention he could find.
I walked into the conference room, and a middle-aged man was sitting at the desk. He was balding on the top of his head, and he looked tired. I could only imagine the exhaustion dealing with Drake Blackthorn on a daily basis brought with it. I sat in the chair across from him and placed the file folder in my lap, waiting for him to ask me his first question.
But instead, he began to rattle off a bunch of things he was going to require of me.
“Here’s what I need. I need someone who can handle Drake. Someone who doesn’t mind standing up to him and telling him what he needs to hear. What I need is someone to make Drake predictable. He’s an unpredictable man who is tanking his image with the media, and someone needs to help him clean up his act. He has a problem he won’t admit to, an attitude that can’t be adjusted, and I’m fresh out of options.”
“Sounds like a true southern gentleman,” I said, unable to hide the sarcasm in my voice.
Hank sighed and rubbed his temples. “Truthfully, he's not a bad guy. Deep down and all, he's been through a lot, and it's changed him. Not for the better, obviously. He's a drunk, but won't admit to it, and someone needs to help him manage his life, to get things under control before it ruins his career.”
I'd heard about Drake’s downward spiral after losing his wife and daughter, so I knew what Hank was talking about. Still, it didn't give him an excuse to treat people like shit.
“That sounds very challenging,” I said. Helping a man who'd been through so much, who was still dealing with the pain, wasn't going to be easy. It's also why I agreed to the interview. If I could help him, I could make a real difference. This is the type of help I wanted to provide for people, the reason I studied psychology in the first place.
“Every other woman I’ve interviewed wants to fall all over him, tell him what he wants to hear and inflate his ego. I can’t hire someone like that. He needs someone who isn’t afraid to pop the little bubble he’s created for himself. I’m not just looking for a personal assistant, I’m looking for someone who can help get him sober.”
“And you think I can do all of that?” I asked.
“To be honest, I haven’t gotten this far into the interview with anyone else yet. Don’t disappoint me now.”
“I don’t intend to,” I said.
“Good. I like that. Okay. Let’s start with your credentials.”
“I’ve been working with this company for three and a half years now. Always part-time, always from home. I specialize in time management and over-the-phone counseling.”
“Getting a degree?”
“Yes. From Vanderbilt.”
“What’s your degree?” he asked.
“Psychology with a focus on substance abuse counseling.”
“Sounds like the perfect person for this job.”
“I’ve never taken on a full-time client like this. If you want to hire me for the job, I’d like your permission to use it as a bargaining chip with my professors.”
“Why? You failing a class?” he asked.
“No. But I could use it for credit in a couple of my courses if I smooth talked them enough, which would free up my schedule to do all the things you’re requiring of me. I have online courses I’m finishing up, but I had two that required me to be on campus this year. I could get out of them with this job if I phrased it as a paid internship. That would free up my time to work with Mr. Blackthorn.”
“If it helps you with your own time management, I’ll write a personal request and sign it myself,” he said.
“Anything else you want to know?”
“Yes. How familiar are you with people who have autism?”
“Mr. Blackthorn doesn’t strike me as someone who has autism,” I said.
“Because he doesn’t. Are you familiar?” he asked again.
“I can’t say I have any close friends who struggle with it, but it’s something I can read up on and learn about.”
“Good,” he said. “When can you start?”
“As soon as you need me,” I said.
“I’ll need you to sign the NDA before we leave the office. Congratulations. You got the job. God help your poor soul.”
Sighing, I shook my head as I stood and took the hand Hank offered.
I left the room and went back to my desk, then closed out the article in front of me. I got the job. Holy shit, I’d actually scored the job. Drake was still enjoying the women that were gathered around him, oblivious to the fact that someone had been hired to whip his life back into shape. I wondered if he knew the type of light Hank was painting him in during these interviews.
Hank gave me the impression I would need to be strong to corral a man like Drake, but I knew I was up for the task. No one ran me over, not even my professors. Sometimes it bit me in the ass, but most of the time it worked in my favor. My mother, despite her difficulties, raised me to be a strong woman.
“Drake, I want to introduce you to your new P.A.”
I looked up at the sound of Hank’s voice as Drake’s form towered over me.
