by Kelly Myers
I walk through the doorway, adjusting my purse higher up on my shoulder, and find myself in a large, open area with around a dozen desks. The closest girl to me wears a pair of tortoiseshell glasses that look a little too big.
“Excuse me,” I say. “Can you tell me where HR is? I have an interview with-”
The words just kind of disappear, melt back down my throat, when I see Drew Carson standing in the nearest doorway.
And, I don’t know how it’s possible, but he’s even more gorgeous in person.
Chapter Eight
Drew
After I wish Leigh good luck, I put my phone away and wonder where her interview is and if I know the owner. Most likely. I wish I could put a good word in for her.
I tap my finger against my desk and get that restless feeling again. It’s like I have all this pent-up energy inside me and need to get it out. I need a goddamn hobby. Or, maybe I just need to get laid.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, ready for this day to just be over when I hear the click of high heels. There’s nothing sexier than high heels, and I look up and out through the glass partition, curious to see who it is because God knows it isn’t Becca. She wears some kind of hideous ballet flat day in and day out. She probably has ten different colors of the sexless shoes.
And, then I see her.
The first thing I notice is the blonde hair. I’m a sucker for blondes. Maybe because my hair is nearly black. I’m not really sure but it may have something to do with that angelic look. She’s tall, especially with those heels. Maybe 5’8’’? Which would put her neatly under my chin.
She’s wearing a short skirt that hits right above her knees and a little sweater that hugs in all the right places. I’m up and out of my chair before I even know what I’m doing. It’s like my body goes on autopilot and my target is the hot girl and nothing is going to get in my way.
When she looks from Becca and over to me, I can see she has blue eyes. Or, are they green? It’s hard to tell from here so I take a step closer. Then, I realize that Becca is whispering something and I have no idea what. Nor do I care. I’m too fascinated by this angel.
“...for an interview, Mr. Carson.”
I catch the last part of Becca’s mumbling and smile. “C’mon in,” I say. “I need a new assistant and have time to interview you.”
For a moment, she looks hesitant. But, then she walks over to me, holds out her hand and returns the smile. “I’m Ashley Monroe.”
I force myself to take her hand and I think we shake a moment too long. I like the feel of her hand in mine. Becca watches us so I let go and motion for Ashley to go into my office. Then, I close the door behind us and make my way to the other side of my desk.
“I’m Drew Carson,” I say and sit. “So, what brings you to Carson Industries, Ms. Monroe?”
“Well, I recently graduated with a degree in business and my friend’s father helped me get an interview here. He does consultant work for you.”
I’m so focused on her full, luscious lips that I don’t really hear what she’s saying. I look up from her mouth and into her eyes. Definitely blue. No, wait, blue-green. Kind of like the ocean. The color always seems to change.
I nod to whatever she just said and run a hand along my jaw. Normally, I’m always clean-shaven, but the scruff is kind of growing on me. “So, Ms. Monroe...how would you feel about being my assistant?”
Her eyes go wide. “I have to be honest, I don’t have much office experience yet, but I’m a fast learner. And, I’m very interested in what you do here and how I could contribute.”
“That’s good.” My gaze dips to the neckline of her sweater. She’s breathing fast and I can’t help but notice how her chest heaves up and down.
“Sorry,” she says and a hand flutters over her heart. “I was running up and down the halls, looking for your HR Department, so I’m still a little breathless.”
A rush of heat sweeps downward and I feel my groin tighten. Focus, Drew. Just finish this farce of an interview and hire the eye candy.
“It’s a large company. Don’t worry about it.” I prop my elbows on the desk and rest my chin on top of my laced fingers. “Can you start tomorrow?” I ask her.
“Um, sure,” she says, a confused look on her face. “You don’t need to know anything else?”
I’d love to know what you look like under those clothes, I think.
“Like what?” I ask, a lazy smile on my lips.
“Well, I just graduated from San Francisco State with a degree in business.”
I nod. I don’t give a shit if she has a degree in bagpiping.
“So, I think working here would be a great opportunity to learn so much more. To get real-world experience.”
“I’ve no doubt that you will learn quite a lot working here,” I concur. My mind is in the gutter and I need to pull it. “So, tomorrow, then?”
She gives a happy, little nod and I grin. “Welcome to Carson Industries.”
Ashley Monroe is just the distraction I need.
Chapter Nine
Ashley
As soon as I get back to my apartment, I call Laurel and tell her I got the job.
“Congrats! I knew you’d get it. Let’s meet for a drink and celebrate,” she says.
Half an hour later, Laurel and I sit at a cute, little martini bar near where we live. I order an espresso martini, my favorite, and she gets her usual Cosmopolitan.
“Tell your Dad I said thank you. That was so nice of him to get me in there.”
“He was glad to help. So, what are you going to be doing?”
I take a sip of my drink and Drew Carson’s piercing blue eyes flash through my mind. I’ve never seen eyes like his. They’re this deep midnight blue with a black rim around the edges. They suck you right in like a black hole.
“Um, well, I met the owner.”
“You met Drew Carson? Is he as hot in person as in his pictures?”
“Hotter,” I admit and fan my face with a hand.
Laurel laughs and sips her drink.
“And, I’m his new assistant,” I announce.
“What?” She practically spits her drink out. “How did that happen?”
I tell her the story about getting lost and then running into him while asking for directions. “We went into his office and spoke for less than ten minutes. He barely asked me any questions and then hired me on the spot.”
Laurel eyes me over the rim of her glass and smirks. “Really?”
“What’s that look mean?”
She shrugs. “Nothing. I just think it’s interesting that he interviewed you himself. He’s a pretty busy guy so I’m thinking he saw something he liked.”
“Oh, my gosh, stop. He’s my boss. I would never…”
Would I?
“And, he would never,” I say. “We’re going to be working together and that means maintaining a professional demeanor at all times.”
“What fun is that? And, you’re blushing by the way.”
“No, I’m not. It’s just hot in here.” I look around and fan myself with a menu. “This drink is really strong. It’s probably the alcohol.”
“Or, maybe it’s your hot, billionaire boss getting you all flustered,” she teases.
What if she’s right? And every time I have to talk to him, I turn red and act like a besotted fool? How embarrassing.
“Can you imagine having billions of dollars?” she asks. “Buying anything you want and never having to worry about money again?”
“Sounds like a lot of pressure to me.”
“Pressure? Sounds like heaven to me.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong. It would be nice to not stress over bills, but when people know you have that much money, they all want something from you.”
“I would not even care. Go ahead and use me. I can go cry in my mansion,” she says.
“You’re crazy,” I say and laugh.
We hang out a little longer, but then I want to go home and prepare
for my first day at Carson Industries. I need to pick out the perfect outfit, take a shower, paint my nails and mentally prepare myself for the utter hotness that is Drew Carson.
And, I want to talk to Andy.
Later, after my shower, I send him a message and tell him that I got the job.
“Congratulations,” he writes back. “You need to celebrate now.”
“I already did,” I respond. “Met my bestie and had my favorite drink-- an espresso martini. It’s absolutely delish!”
“Sounds very girly,” he comments with a smiley emoji. “Maybe one day I can buy you one. But, me, I prefer Scotch. The older, the better.”
Scotch? I think and make a face. Isn’t that an old man’s drink? Maybe he’s more mature than I realize. Or, lying about his age.
I pull up his profile picture and study it closely. He’s got to be around 25-30, but what guy that age drinks Scotch? They usually prefer beer.
“What is Scotch, anyway?” I ask him. “And, I thought only rich, old men drank Scotch at their country club,” I write and add a laughing emoji.
It takes him a minute to respond and I wonder if I offended him or somehow hurt his feelings.
“It’s a type of whisky produced in Scotland,” he finally answers. “And, if having a refined taste makes me old then I guess I’m just a Grandpa.”
I laugh. Hmm, maybe he comes from Old Money or something and drinks Scotch with his Dad and Grandpa. Maybe he’s actually Scottish. For all I know, he could wear a kilt, too.
I tell him he’s funny and wish him a goodnight.
Morning comes fast and when my alarm goes off, I bounce out of bed. I take extra care with my hair and makeup. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, but I want to look my best. I use brown shadows to bring out the blue in my eyes and decide to wear my blonde hair loose and wavy.
I slip on a skirt that hits right above my knees and a cute matching jacket. Lastly, I slide my feet into a pair of stylish high heels and grab my purse.
Here we go, I think, and head out the door.
Chapter Ten
Drew
With a sour look on my face, I stare at my computer. It doesn’t look like today is going to be much better than yesterday.
First, traffic was ungodly. My normal ten minute commute straight down Broadway turned into a tangled, 60-minute mess. And, some idiot almost rear-ended me. That probably would’ve turned into another fist fight in the middle of rush hour. I didn’t have time to get my coffee and now my head pounds from the lack of caffeine.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Oh, and let’s not forget that Leigh now thinks of me as an old man. Which, technically, isn’t far off. Shit, in less than five years, I’ll be 50.
A new email lands in my inbox and I open my eyes. It’s from Dan McPherson and I open it up. “The Board of Directors at JD Unlimited just voted themselves an enormous bonus and James wants to update contracts to include a liberal severance pay for the management. He’s going to bankrupt the company before you can take it. Please, think hard on this, Drew, and advise how you would like to proceed.”
Sonofabitch. I scrub a hand along my jaw and glare at the email. How I’d like to proceed?
I’d like to hire a hitman and take James Douglas out. Or, better yet, murder him with my own two hands.
My extension rings and I swipe my phone up. “Yes?” I snap.
“I have Tabitha on line one for you,” Becca says.
As if this morning couldn’t get any worse now I have to talk to my ex-wife. “Put her though,” I say with a sigh.
I hear the calls connect and hope I sound halfway civil when I greet her. I don’t want to fight with her right now. “Hello, Tabitha.”
“Drew,” she says in that smooth as chocolate voice I know so well. “As you know, the charity event is next week and I’m wondering if you’ve done anything yet? Or am I the only one working on it?”
I roll my eyes and strive not to let her get under my skin. “I’m in the middle of a takeover so things have been extremely busy. But, I did just hire a new assistant so I’ll connect the two of you. I’m sure she’ll be able to help with anything you need.”
“I’m not training your new assistant, Drew. You need to handle the specific details yourself. In case you’ve forgotten, this is a big event with an elite guest list. If you want people to donate huge sums of money then you need to impress them and make sure everything is first class all the way. From the venue to the appetizers to the alcohol to the donations.”
I hate when she talks down to me. Like I’m still some hick from the Midwest who has no idea how to interact in a social situation with uppity rich assholes. Hell, I know better than anyone because I am a rich asshole. “We’ve already sent out the invitations and secured the venue so you can check those off your list,” I say, my tone a little smug.
“Thank you, I’ll be sure to do that. But, I’m calling about the auction items. You are supposed to be getting a number of them and, knowing you, I doubt that’s happened.”
Shit. Of course, she’s right. I have at least a dozen things I’m supposed to get and I haven’t secured one of them yet.
“I’m working on it,” I say, and jot down “get auction items” on a post-it.
“Well, work a little faster, darling. The event is next week and high-value item donations need to go through quite a bit of red tape. It doesn’t happen overnight.”
I bite back a nasty response. Overnight? Hell, if I ask for something, it normally happens in minutes. How we stayed married for three whole years is anyone’s guess. A bloody miracle. But, Tabitha Banks and her prestigious family come from old money and have deep roots in San Francisco society. Her father, Miles Banks, and I met after I helped merge his bank with another and he took me under his wing.
Yes, he owns banks.
And, when I was younger and new to the city, that impressed the hell out of me.
One night I was eating ramen noodles and the next I was out with Miles Banks enjoying the finest cuisine the city had to offer. Then, it wasn’t long before I was enjoying his daughter.
The first time I met Tabitha Banks was at some social gathering, and I thought she was quite the high-society snob. With her jet-black hair and silver-gray eyes, she was beautiful, but aloof. She ignored me the majority of the night and I concluded that she was too cool for my blood.
Then, when I was leaving, she cornered me in the coatroom and gave me a handjob. We slept together two nights later and I discovered she could turn on the heat when she wanted. But, mostly, she preferred to be a passive-aggressive Ice Queen.
The kind of lavish lifestyle the Banks family led appealed to me and I vowed I’d become a millionaire just like them. I chased success, pursued it relentlessly, until it was mine.
And, now I have more money than they do. It’s a very satisfying feeling.
“Right. I’m on it,” I say, and stick the post-it on the edge of my computer.
“I’ll expect you to email me a confirmed list of items by the end of the week,” she says.
“Yes, dear.” I can almost hear her lips purse and I smirk. She fucking hates when I say that. Sometimes, I still like to rile her up.
“Don’t be a dick, Drew. Just do what you’re told. Oh, and maybe get a haircut before the event. Last time I saw you, it was looking a little unkempt.”
She hangs up and I slam the phone down. I run a hand through my hair. Maybe it is a little longer than usual, but it’s not shaggy or anything. She really knows how to push my buttons.
A light knock sounds on my door.
“What?” I demand. My voice sounds short and sharp even to my own ears. Tabitha has a way of bringing out the worst in me.
The door opens slowly and Ashley Monroe steps into view. A tentative smile curves her mouth. “Good morning, Mr. Carson.”
I hate being called Mr. Carson, I think. It makes me feel old. Like a grandpa. I feel a surge of annoyance and glance down at my platinum
Rolex Daytona and frown.
“You’re late,” I say.
Her dark brows shoot up. “Oh, I’m sorry. Becca said- I mean, I thought I started at 8:30.”
“You start at 7:30. You should’ve asked me not Becca.”
She nods. “Sorry, Mr. Carson.”
Every time she says “Mr. Carson” it grates on my nerves. I shake my head, run a frustrated hand through my hair again. Maybe it is a little too long. “It’s fine. Look, I don’t have time to go through anything with you right now so have Becca teach you whatever she thinks is important.”
She blinks those pretty blue-green eyes of hers and seems surprised. “Okay.”
Suddenly, I feel like an ogre. Why am I being so rude? It’s her first day. My gaze runs down her body. Again, the short skirt and high heels. I let out a long, frustrated breath. “Can you-” I hesitate.
Get out? I want to say. Leave me alone. Stop looking at me with those big, sea-blue eyes?
“Can I...what?” she asks.
Can you take off your clothes and walk over here in your pretty high heels?
I swallow hard. “Just get me a coffee?”
“Sure,” she says.
“Black,” I say as she turns around and walks out.
And, I can’t help but check out her ass in that too-tight skirt.
I wish I could say the day gets better, but it doesn’t.
There’s so much I should be doing, but every other second, I find myself looking out the glass window partition and staring at Ashley Monroe.
What the hell was I thinking when I hired her? She’s nothing but a distraction. Obviously, my dick hired her because right now my mind is full of regrets. And, that is the stupid part about this whole situation.
Ashley Monroe is my assistant and off-limits.
I don’t sleep with the women who work in my office. It’s important to me that Carson Industries maintains a sterling reputation and I highly value a good work ethic and competence and above all else, I hate drama and my employees know to leave their personal problems and all histrionics at the door.
