by Leslie North
All day he’d waited for Rosalie’s response. His secretary had been given explicit instructions. Four dozen yellow roses to be delivered right to Rosalie’s desk at the Aspen office. "You’re really good with words.” He'd winked at Jenny. “Make sure there'd something nice on the card. Romantic. Meaningful. I’m no good with that stuff.”
He flipped on his intercom with a grunt. “Jenny!" he barked. “Call the florist in Aspen! Make sure those flowers were delivered."
His secretary's tinny voice buzzed through the speaker. “Already done, Mr. McClellan,” she chirped. “They confirmed delivery this morning. A woman named Anna Wilbur signed the receipt.”
Connor nodded, grimacing. Anna was Rosalie’s office assistant. He was pretty sure they were good friends too. No way the flowers had gone missing.
Which left only one other viable explanation.
Rosalie was ignoring him.
With a growl, he flipped off the switch. He did not need this right now. Rosalie should have responded immediately. Efficient, neat, and with a prompt reply, the way he liked to run his office. He expected his employees to follow the same strict schedule. It was why his business ran so well. No one cut corners; no one slacked off.
And to win Ed Coney back to McClellan? He needed Rosalie in top condition.
Is that it? Is she sick?
He grabbed his suit jacket from the hook on his door. No, that wouldn’t do. Not with the Coney business on the line. Word on the street was that the old man had found himself a new wife, one he doted on even more than the first. One of Connor's informants had even used the word “soulmates."
Connor had laughed. No one could be successful in both their business and personal life. Coney's second wife was no more than a trophy wife; he was sure of it.
Either way though, he would need Rosalie to nail this deal. If she was sick, the deal would be in jeopardy.
When Connor’s door banged against the wall, Jenny jumped at her desk. "Call my pilot. I'm heading to Aspen a day early."
He'd bring Rosalie up to speed on the Ventura Enterprises proposal. If she was sick, he'd force-feed her ginger ale, vitamin C—whatever it would take. Nothing would come between him and this meeting.
Not even her inexplicable silence.
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The Billionaire’s Pregnant Assistant here.