by K. D. Black
I Need to Get Over You
A Sexy Office Romance
K. D. Black
Contents
Chapter One:Brooke
Chapter Two: Hayden
Chapter Three: Brooke
Chapter Four: Hayden
Chapter Five: Brooke
Chapter Six: Hayden
Chapter Seven: Brooke
Chapter Eight: Hayden
Chapter Nine: Brooke
Chapter Ten: Hayden
Chapter Eleven: Brooke
Chapter Twelve: Hayden
Chapter Thirteen: Brooke
Chapter Fourteen: Hayden
Chapter Fifteen: Brooke
A Note From The Author
Afterword
© Copyright 2018 - All rights reserved.
It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.
Chapter One:Brooke
“Ouch! Mother fu…dging sandwiches in a bucket of soapy water!”
When the pain from my stubbed toe subsides and I’m able to stop hopping around like a tickled rabbit, I straighten up, eyes still watering a bit. The door of the examination room to my right is open, and two, wide-eyed women are sitting in chairs and staring at me.
Shock raises their eyebrows and widens their eyes. It’s absolutely comical and ordinarily I would stick around for a moment, explain myself, and possibly get a good laugh out of all three of us, but right now—
Right now I have an incredibly obnoxious, highly irritating, and extraordinarily adorable Miniature Pinscher to catch.
The puppy tears around the corner ahead, claws skittering on the hard floors, and disappears. I dash after him, slowing to take the corner and just managing not to slide face first into the hallway wall.
Ahead, I can see the reception room—and, horrifyingly, the double glass doors of the exit are opening, the bell we keep over the entrance ringing like a gong of doom.
I put on a burst of speed, spot the black-and-brown puppy sniffing a section of floor, and snatch him up just as he breaks for the door.
I huff a sigh of relief that turns into disgust as Ralph starts licking my face.
“Close one?” Terry, the receptionist, asks.
“Little bit,” I say, hugging the wriggling dog a little tighter to hide my own relieved shaking. If Ralph had made it out of the sanctuary of New Yorkie Animal Rescue into the bustling streets of New York City—
Well, no need to think about that. I caught him, he didn’t escape, everything is right in the world.
“Brooke, can I talk to you?” Ashley’s voice calls from her office as I start back to the dog cages.
Or not.
“Sure, one second,” I call toward her open door. I return the puppy to his cage, pause to scratch the ears of my favorite dog, Rose, then go to find out what the Executive Director of the shelter wants.
Her title of Executive Director makes her sound high and lofty, but Ashley is really an amazing, down-to-earth person who connects with all of the volunteers and employees of New Yorkie Animal Rescue and works hard to keep the place running. Her face usually glows with energy that infuses everyone in NYAR, but right now, she just looks tired.
“I’m sorry about Ralph. He keeps doing that thing where he sticks his paw through the cage door when you close it, and then it won’t latch properly,” I explain.
Ashley’s brows draw together over her brown eyes, then her expression clears. “We’ve all let Ralph escape once or twice; don’t worry about it. This is about something else.”
I wait, but she doesn’t keep speaking. “What is it, then?”
“Would you mind terribly if I didn’t pay you for the accounting work you’ve done this month?” She hastily backtracks, waving her hands. “That came out wrong. I mean, would you mind if I paid you next month for both months?”
“Of course not,” I say immediately, sitting in the old computer chair across from her desk. The room is filled with pictures of cats and dogs, piles of papers, stacks of boxes with products yet to be unpacked, and all sorts of other random things that don’t really have a place around the shelter.
“You probably want to know why.” Ashley rubs the palms of her hands into her eyes.
“Are things that bad?” I ask quietly, and neither of us can look at the other.
“Not yet, but they will be soon. One of our biggest donors just canceled her subscription, and we just need so many things. Maybe if we had money for more toys for the dogs, Ralph wouldn’t be amusing himself with escape attempts.”
“What about fundraising events? Or adoption events?” I suggest. The eyes of the dogs on the wall, once so adorable and playful, stare accusingly at me from their frames.
“Those cost money to stage,” Ashley points out. “A venue, decorations, transportation…” She leans back in her chair with a loud creak. “We’d struggle even to plan one, and if it wasn’t a success…”
Ashley leaves the sentence hanging. The dogs stare harder.
“Just keep my paycheck, Ashley. And don’t argue,” I tell her sternly, handing her an envelope, “because I’m also donating this. I was planning to anyway, even before this conversation.”
“You can’t keep doing this, Brooke,” Ashley begins, but I interrupt her.
“Sure I can. I’m financially secure, I have prospects ahead of me, and I want to do this.” I grin widely. “Anyway, this is pretty much my second home.”
Ashley smiles too and takes the envelope. “I suppose. You and everyone else who volunteers here are the only reason NYAR has stayed afloat this long.”
“We are pretty great,” I agree, flipping my hair exaggeratedly as I stand, “but everyone knows you do everything. NYAR will make it through this. Don’t worry.”
Ashley actually looks a little reassured when I leave, which makes me feel guilty as hell.
NYAR has had plenty of rough times—non-profits, especially animal shelters, just have a hard time of it, especially in a place like New York. Fifteen to twenty other animal rescues just like NYAR dot the map of Manhattan. What makes us stand out? Why should people donate to and adopt from us instead of those rescues?
Of course, we do our best to raise awareness of our cause and find homes for the dogs and cats we have, but lately—earlier than just lately, actually—we just haven’t been able to keep up with costs.
Most of the volunteers don’t know how badly the rescue is struggling. I’ve been volunteering here since my first year of high school, and now I’m 26 and still just as in love with the place. I’ve seen its ups and downs.
Right now, NYAR is more down than it has ever been before, and I flat out lied to Ashley when I said the rescue would make it through this. I work the numbers so Ashley won’t have to make another hire. I know the situation.
Sighing, I head into the bathroom with its two stalls and single sink. The paper towels rack has been empty for a while, so when I splash water on my face, I just rub my hands on my shirt.
The little trickles of water running down my cheeks don’t hide the bags under my eyes, and I place my fingers under my brown eyes and pull the skin down gently just to see how bad they really are. Brushing my reddish chestnut hair out of my eyes, I comb it back, attempting to hide that I’ve spent seven hours around animals today
. If I show up to the apartment my father and I share with messy hair and an exhausted face, he’ll just stare down at me and ask how I got like this when all I have is a part-time job.
Using a section of my sleeve that is (hopefully) not covered in some sort of hair, I dry my face and head out of the shelter, smiling at Rick, the receptionist, on the way out. Unlocking my U-lock and depositing it in my backpack, I steer my bike away from the bike parking next to the alcoved doorway of the rescue. A quick fastening of my helmet, an expert mount of the bike on the move, and I’m weaving around my first jaywalking pedestrian in the bike lane.
Usually, I feel like the streets of New York City are trying to scorch me out of the state in August, but the weather has actually been nice for the past two days or so. After a week of mid-eighties and low nineties, today’s 78 degrees feels like a vice has released the city.
Of course, everyone and their fifteen kids are out today, enjoying the fresh air, so the usual crowds feel unusually large. Still, the number of people packed between the skyscrapers doesn’t feel oppressive—at least, not to me. I’ve lived here all my life, and people is just something you get used to if you live in the city.
Anyway, if I take my eyes off the road to daydream or notice anything but potential hazards even for a moment, I’ll probably end up in the hospital and possibly take someone’s grandmother with me. My bike sat gathering dust in a corner of our apartment for nearly a year before I started using it to commute. People, taxis, other cyclists—everyone has somewhere to be and no one wants to slow down for anyone else.
I pull up to the parking garage of my apartment building with only a dozen close calls and swipe my access card at the bike entrance. Two minutes later, I’m trying to make room for a family to pass me in the hallway of the 24th floor while I simultaneously hold my bike upright and unlock the door.
“Hey,” I say when I finally make it inside, barely even glancing at the living room sofa. The day I walk in and Darren McColl isn’t sitting on the sofa with his laptop, answering emails or doing some other work thing, is the day the Fortune 500 company AutoVS goes under. And with the way the automated transportation company has been growing, that’s not likely to happen.
“Hey,” he mumbles back, not even giving me the short glance I gave him.
I head into the kitchen with a sigh. It’s better than some greetings I’ve gotten.
The rumbling of my stomach impresses the need for quick-and-easy eats, so I just throw together a ham sandwich. I get two feet down the hall before my father calls after me.
“What?” I ask, poking my head back around the corner.
“Come eat in the living room. We never get a chance to talk anymore,” he says conversationally, closing his laptop and looking at me expectantly.
Surprised and more than a little suspicious, I retrace my steps and seat myself on the armchair, balancing the plate on my knee. “What’s up, Dad?” I ask, the words sounding more formal than they ought to.
“Just spent all day working. Thinking of going out for dinner,” he muses, scratching at his smooth jaw. “Want to come?”
I just stare. When he begins to look confused and expectant, I raise my sandwich. “I’m good.”
“Oh, right.”
Is he disappointed? He never has time to spend with me, which means—“Dad, what’s this really about?”
He raises his hands with a sigh. “Okay, you got me. I was just wondering, are you still looking for a full-time job?”
“Sort of,” I reply slowly.
“I just know of a position that opened up at AutoVS. Administrative assistant.”
Again, I just stare for a moment. “Administrative assistant. Any idiot straight out of high school can do that job.”
All my life, I’ve had two fathers. Both love me in their own way, but one tends to forget about family in favor of business. My mother had found that out when I was 12 years old, and rather than try to work things out with him, she had just left. Oh, she tried to keep custody of me, but she hadn’t been making enough money to support us both.
Business-above-family father is eagerly leaning forward on the couch with that light in his eyes, and suddenly I’m regretting not trying harder to find a full-time job so I could have moved to my own apartment.
“This isn’t just any administrative assistant job. You would be the assistant of Hayden Nicholson, the CEO of AutoVS.” Dad looks like he’s just offered me a piece of candy.
“Great. No thanks.” I take a big bite of my sandwich. The part-time job I have right now as a Market Research Analyst will never make me enough to live alone, but it pays my half of the rent just fine. I did take this job knowing it would be impossible for me to ever hold the position full-time, even in the long run, but I’m gaining valuable work experience while living a stable life. There’s no need for me to change my career path and take a job as an administrative assistant, even for the full-time work.
Dad gives up any indirect approach. “Okay, here’s the deal. The board of directors isn’t too happy with Hayden right now. Some of us—myself included—have doubts about his commitment to the company. Unfortunately, that’s only about a fourth of us. We need reasons to convince the other board members that a new CEO would better promote and grow AutoVS.”
The inner workings of my mind scrape and stutter in an effort to find any other reason my dad would be telling me this than the reason I already knew was the right one. “You want me to be Hayden’s assistant and find some reasons.”
Dad rubs his hands together. “Exactly. A CEO that doesn’t deserve the position steps down, and someone who works to clean up his mistakes time and time again steps up.” He sees the emphatic no forming on my lips and continues hastily. “Just think! If I get to the top of AutoVS, we’ll be at the top of New York City. We’ll have a beautiful penthouse, you’ll get a car, and you won’t even have to work.”
“Holy sh—crap, Dad, is that what you think I want?” I’ve gone from mildly impatient to thoroughly pissed off in the blink of an eye.
“No, no, of course not,” he backtracks quickly. “What about your rescue? Animal rescues always need donations.”
And just like that, the sun suddenly rises to scatter the stormy gray clouds and rain-soaked horizons. “Yeah,” I start cautiously. “NYAR hasn’t been… great, recently.” Suddenly, I make up my mind and my determination dispels the caution. “Tell you what. If you promise to donate a large amount to NYAR when you get the job, and then a sum every month as long as I want, then I’ll take this job and keep my ears open.”
My father smiles widely. “Perfect! I have an application for you to fill out, and Hayden is holding personal interviews tomorrow.”
“Okay, that works—wait, I have to pass an interview?”
Chapter Two: Hayden
The sky is so blue today. Not an unusual occurrence, especially with the view I have from my lofty office near the top floor of the AutoVS skyscraper. Still, a particularly deep, beautiful shade of blue colors the Manhattan skyline today.
Normally, I don’t notice the sky. My interests and responsibilities have a rather more grounded nature. But right now, the interviewer sitting in front of me is asking the most boring questions possible that anyone with access to internet could just look up, so I’m finding the sky a bit more interesting than usual.
I mean, come on. Asking about my company’s history? A simple search would tell her that Hayden Nicholson and Brett Joyner co-founded Vees nine years ago, connecting drivers with passengers throughout the country, then funneled the company’s resources into automated research and development, rebranding to AutoVS a few years later.
“Sorry, can you repeat that last question?” I ask. My patience is wearing thin, and the words come out brusque, but I don’t care.
“Of course, Mr. Nicholson. Your company is still growing rapidly. Can you give us an idea of where AutoVS is headed next?”
I sigh, remember I’m not supposed to do that in an interview, and
turn it into a sound of reflection instead. “Well, we’re constantly looking to develop new models that cater to growing needs and new opportunities. AutoVS’ self-driving cars and trucks transport people and goods all over the country, but there are many more applications for our technology.”
The interviewer begins to speak, but I cut her off as politely as possible. “I enjoyed our conversation and sharing information about my company, but I need to prepare for a meeting.” Standing to add finality to my words, I outstretch my hand.
The woman stands too. I know she wants to argue—well, politely disagree and ask her question anyway—but she followed my quick glance to the clock on my desk and knows her time is up. “Of course. Thank you for the interview.”
I show the woman out, shut the door behind her, and sigh heavily. Normally, I have a bit more patience for this kind of thing. Not sure what’s gotten into me today.
Actually, I do know. It’s these damn interviews I have to hold tomorrow.
AutoVS employs many administrative assistants, but none of them are my personal administrative assistant. I have occasionally employed one in the past, but mostly I don’t see a need to have someone there who does nothing but constantly remind me of things. I have a calendar app on my phone for that.
Still, I know one or two members of the board of directors don’t have the highest opinion of me at the moment. Hiring an assistant should mollify them, or at least put these delusions that I’ve lost the drive that carried AutoVS this far out of their heads.
Maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe one of the applicants will have experience as an assistant manager with a decent company, and I won’t have to settle for someone I’ll have to train. I don’t have the time or patience to hold new employees’ hands. Either they can do the job or they can’t.