Chapter Two

Linus: Yes, I’d love to meet up. And guess what, I think I have your new hire with me. Act cool, but she’s perfect. Worked for Harold Danvers. Comes highly recommended.

While I waited for Linus and this prospective assistant to show up, I read his text over and over, excited over the prospect of having some help again. A temp has been running my schedule, and I’m two seconds from ringing the idiot’s neck.

It’s why I’m here, at this awful convention, because he thought it would be fun for me to check out the up-and-coming supplies right before I spoke with Gwendolyn Havershire. The meeting lasted ten minutes, because that’s all the moron scheduled. I basically shook her hand, gave her a card, and told her to email me directly.

Such a waste of a goddamn day.

Not to mention, I was verbally assaulted by an overeager office supply nut before I even stepped foot in the convention. I should have walked away when she asked me to take her picture, but because I’m a red-blooded male who saw a beautiful woman, I stopped. It wasn’t until she was waving her phone at me to take a picture that I realized what she wanted. I should have turned away the minute she started arguing with me, but hell, her long blonde locks and brilliant blue eyes grabbed my attention, and instead of walking away I stood there, outside of Office Supply Con, arguing with her as she spouted off insults at me.

It was entertaining. Especially when she stuck out her hand and naively introduced herself as Gwendolyn Havershire, the very person I was supposed to meet. Little did she know, Gwendolyn doesn’t hold a candle to the blonde beauty who was standing in front of me.

And then when she’d had enough and stormed off, I got a great view of her swaying ass as she made her way through the convention . . . map in hand.

If I wasn’t so terrified about her stabbing me in the neck with a retractable pen, I might have asked for her number. Might being the key word.

The only good part of this asinine outing is I get to see Linus, the one and only competent person I know with a possible new hire.

At least that’s what I thought until good old turd nugget, “Gwendolyn” steps forward. And from the panicked look in her eyes, I’m guessing she wasn’t expecting to see me.

This should be fun.

“Linus”—I take his hand in mine—“it’s nice to see you. Are you having a good time?”

“We are. We just got limited-edition planners from Daisy and Dot. You know how I like my organization.”

“I thrive off it,” I answer, glancing at “Gwen” who is doing everything in her power to avoid eye contact with me. Looking at the ceiling, the ground, the intricate red gingham pattern of the tablecloth. I take that moment to give her a full once-over. Dark wash skinny jeans, white tennis shoes, white T-shirt that frames her curvy body, a leather jacket wrapped around her waist, and a red, worn baseball cap on her head. It’s a cute outfit, not something to meet an employer in, but that’s not what’s stunning me right now. It’s her eyes hidden under red frames. Dark lashes flutter up, framing the brilliant blue of her irises and I realize right there, she’s too goddamn beautiful to be my assistant. Hiring her would be a huge mistake, I can feel it in my bones. That doesn’t mean I won’t have some fun though. “Take a seat. I got you and your friend a coffee and some mini cinnamon buns.”

“So thoughtful,” Linus says, taking a seat while his friend stays standing.

“What are you doing? Sit.” Linus pulls on her hand, forcing her into her chair with a thunk. Laughing nervously, Linus says, “Mr. Westin, this is the girl I was telling you about. Meet Charlee Cox.”

“Charlee Cox, huh?” I ask, tilting my head to observe her. “You look more like a Gwendolyn to me.” I rub the side of my jaw.

“Heh.” She smiles, but it’s an odd one, not a normal smile you would expect from a gorgeous girl like her. It’s more like her bottom teeth are jutting out and the corners of her mouth are driving down and under her chin.

Not good.

Not good at all.

Gaining her composure, she folds her hands on the table and says, “About that—”

“Wait, do you know each other?” Linus asks, looking between us.

Eyes stilled on Charlee, I tap my finger on the table and say, “No, but we did have a run-in this morning. Charlee . . .”

“Cox,” she fills in for me. “Like multiple penises. A bag of penises. Cock, but plural. All the penises.” Her face blushes bright red as she clears her throat. “Cox with an x, not C-O-C-K-S. Not actual—”

“I get it,” I say as she nods and slowly starts to become one with her chair, trying to mold into the wood and disappear.

“Charlee Cox asked me to take a photo of her under the banner outside of the convention. We got into a small disagreement where she called me . . .” I tap my chin for a few seconds. “Aah yes, a peon turd nugget.”

“You what?” Linus asks, looking horrified.

Nervously smiling, her lips practically shake as she speaks. “Well, you see, technically”—she holds up her finger to make a point—“I called you a turd nugget and then a peon. They were separate insults.”

“That does not make it better,” Linus chastises. “Mr. Westin, I’m so sorry.”

I hold my hand up. “I’ve been called worse. But what I really enjoyed was her attempt to take on the persona of Gwendolyn Havershire and try to kick me out of the convention, even though I was late to my meeting with Mrs. Havershire as Charlee here was holding me back.”

Her face pales.

Her mouth falls open.

And it really does look like she might have a nervous breakdown.

“Why on earth would you do that?” Linus asks.

We both stare her down and even with the inquisition waiting for her answer, I thoughtfully observe her. She might look like she’s in a state of panic, but what really intrigues me—besides her red-framed glasses and the beautiful eyes that are hidden under them—is the way she gains her composure, stiffens her back, and straightens her shoulders, showing me she’s not about to take crap from anyone.

Putting on a good face, she smoothly says, “I thought this man was being rude about office supplies, and he needed to be set straight before ruining the day for others.”

“Oh God.” Linus slaps his hand to his forehead and shakes it, probably humiliated at this point.

But I don’t waver. I continue to stare at Charlee, observing, taking her in, waiting to see if she cracks.

Impressively, she doesn’t.

She holds strong, firm with her answer, and that’s when I know without doubt.

She’s the girl I need.

Unfortunately.

I might regret this, no, I’m pretty sure I’ll regret this, given the fact that my mind is warning me off from what I’m about to do, but sometimes my gut outweighs my mind and right now, my gut is winning—she’s the one I need.

Standing from the table, I button my suit jacket and say, “You’re hired.”

I doubt two words have ever shocked her more in her life.

“What?” Her jaw hits the table.

“What?” Linus asks at the same time while snapping his head up.

Ignoring them both, I adjust the collar of my shirt and then the cuffs of my sleeves. “Starting salary is two fifty. It’s low, but I have yet to see you prove yourself. We offer a very comprehensive benefits package that will be introduced to you on Monday. Be at the office eight sharp. Go to HR, they’ll be waiting for you.” I look at Linus. “Thank you, Linus. It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

Without another word, I take off, needing to get the hell out of this conference area and away from all things stationery.

“Thanks for meeting with me today.” Bram, my best friend, my frat brother, my soul mate, steeples his fingers together and takes a seat at the round kitchenette table in his apartment . . . that he shares with my sister.

This past year, Bram started dating my sister after apparently pursuing her for many years and when I say many, I mean ten. He was pining after her for ten long years and he finally made his move. It was a rocky start, and when I found out . . . boy, did I have words about it.

I looked my sister, Julia, straight in the eyes and I told her not to fuck anything up with Bram because he’s the best man I know, and I wouldn’t stand for her breaking his heart.

Not what you were expecting, were you? Thought I’d be the overbearing brother who threatens any man’s life who comes within twenty feet of my sister? Not this guy.

I was Team Bram. I couldn’t bear it if his heart was broken, not just because I love the guy and I’ve seen him naked more times than I care to admit, but because when he’s upset . . . he’s a whiny baby.

You can’t get the dude away from you.

A fucking cling-on, he has no ability to pick himself up, brush himself off, and move along. Instead, he is glued to the people he can rely on, which would be me and our other best friend, Roark.

“Will ya get on with it?” Roark asks, leaning back in his chair, a tumbler of milk in his hand.

Yeah, milk.

Roark McCool, sports agent to all the mega stars on the baseball field, basketball court, and football field, he used to bleed Guinness from his veins but ever since he met his girl, Sutton, he’s changed.

In a big way.

He’s still the surly Irishman with an accent thick enough that sometimes you can’t understand a damn word he says, but now instead of drinking a glass of whiskey in the morning, he’s apparently switched to milk.

“Before I get started, can I get you some more milk?” Bram asks, pointing to Roark’s half-empty glass.

He swirls the white liquid, downs the rest like a shot, and then slams the tumbler on the table. “Do you have chocolate syrup to go with it?”

Bram holds his finger to the sky. “You came to the right place.” Turning to me, Bram asks, “Can I get the big man a chocolate milk as well?”

Jesus Christ, when did this become our lives?

Just a year ago, we were guzzling beer down, our fingers coated in Dorito dust while we screamed at the television, rooting for our favorite teams. We might be sophisticated and rich-as-fuck businessmen, but when we’re together, taking a second to breathe from the fast lives we live, we slip back into our frat-boy roles.

Which I enjoy, but ever since two thirds of our group started dating and became doting boyfriends, our dynamic has changed.

We’re still there for each other, but instead of sharing a family sized bag of Doritos and clinking our beer bottles together, we’re apparently going to look over tux options that correspond with wedding flowers while drinking goddamn chocolate milk.

Giving in, I say, “Yeah, I’ll take one.” Because, why not at this point? It’s not like we’re ever going go back to the old days. Might as well enjoy our evolving friendship.

“That a boy.” Bram walks over to the kitchen and starts pouring large glasses of milk. “If only I had ice cream, I’d make us milkshakes. Ughh,” he groans. “Missed opportunity. That’s okay, we’ll make do with what we have.” He fiddles around the kitchen. “Linus told me you hired a new assistant. Starts tomorrow.”

“Ya did?” Roark asks, looking shocked. “I thought you were destined to having that eejit setting up your schedule in the worst way possible.”

I rub my forehead with frustration. “Don’t even get me started with the temp. He set up a meeting for me yesterday to talk with Gwendolyn Havershire . . . for ten minutes at a fucking office supply convention. I wanted to murder him. And I couldn’t cancel, so I went.”

“That’s where you met your assistant though, right?” Bram asks, plopping a string of chocolate syrup into each glass.

“Yes. She was hanging out with Linus. Used to work for Harold Danvers.”

“Oh shit, I’ve worked with her a few times,” Roark says. “I remember being super impressed. She’s just getting a job now?”

“I guess so.” I shrug. “I didn’t really ask her many questions.”

“You hired her based off Harold’s recommendation?” Bram asks, stirring each glass and then placing a red and white striped paper straw inside.

“The fact that she worked for Harold had me interested, but it was how she called me a turd nugget that really set me on fire to hire her.”

Roark laughs while Bram hands us each a glass of milk with confusion in his brow. “What do you mean she called you a turd nugget? How dare she insult my little Rathy bear.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” I sip my chocolate milk and hate to admit but, damn, this hits the spot. I hide my reaction though, because I don’t want the boys to know I’m apparently going soft as well.

I explain to them how I “met” Charlee, our little dispute at the entrance of the convention, and her very mature name-calling.

“Sounds like my kind of gal,” Roark says, sucking down his milk faster than the rest of us.

“The best part of it all was that she didn’t back down. Yeah, she called me names and she lied about being Mrs. Havershire—”

“Which was a bold move,” Bram says, “but admirable given her love for office supplies and that you were being a piss parade and ruining it for her.”

“Exactly. She didn’t cower, she didn’t duck away, she held strong and stood her ground. That’s what I want in an assistant. Someone who isn’t going to take any crap but still be nice while turning you down. Plus, her organization precedes her. Hell, she was licking her lips at the prospect of getting a new planner, and that has Maria Kondo written all over it.”

“I roll my T-shirts differently because of Maria,” Bram says thoughtfully. “So much more drawer space.”

Roark gives Bram an annoyed look and then turns to me. “She starts tomorrow. That’s good.” A smarmy grin spreads across his face. “Is she pretty?”

“Why do you care?” I ask. “You have a girl.”

“I’m aware. I’m asking for your own sake. Want to make sure you don’t get yourself into trouble again.”

I work my jaw side to side, my temper flaring.

Yes, I might have fucked my assistant before. And yes, it turned into a relationship and then yes, she ended up breaking my goddamn heart and leaving me without a competent worker. But, I swore I would never do that again.

Ever.

Charlee Cox might be gorgeous, and she might have the perfect hips to grab on to when fucking, but she’s also completely off-limits. I’m more mature now, I’ve learned from my mistakes, and that is one mistake I will never, ever make again.

“She’s average,” I say, a bold-faced lie and both my friends catch it before they throw their heads back and laugh.

Fuckers.

I sip my chocolate milk while they continue to laugh.

Bram is the first to calm down.

“Average. Okay. That means he already wants to fuck her.”

“Easily,” Roark agrees. “Dude, is that why you hired her?”

“Fuck. Off. You know I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I hired her because she comes highly recommended and held her ground when I challenged her. I liked that.”

“And you probably liked her boobs too.”

“Don’t be a fucking moron,” I say to Roark, even though, yeah, they were perky, but that doesn’t mean anything.

Off. Limits.

“Are you going to test her out, be a dick like you are to all of your assistants until they prove themselves?”

“It’s the only way I know how to test them.”

“Or,” Bram says, “you can be nice and make them feel like they’re appreciated. That’s how I got Linus to be so loyal.”

I shake my head. “That’s not me and you know it. If I was nice to her right off the bat, everyone in the office would already think I was fucking her.”

“Valid point.” Roark taps the table. “Consistency is key.”

“So this poor girl is going to be run through the gauntlet starting tomorrow?” Bram asks. I nod. “Look out, Charlee, you have no idea what you just signed up for.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.