by Nicole Snow
Grandma grins, drops her hands to the desk, and sits up straighter.
“Ah, I knew she had good taste when I hired her. Now, Ward, what she does on her own time is none of my concern as long as she’s good here. It’s none of yours either,” she says in a motherly tone that’s like arguing against a wall.
“But—”
Grandma clears her throat before I get out a word.
“Truly, if the worst thing she’s ever done is force you to extract that giant stick from your rear, she’s okay in my book. You need to relax more, and get your priorities straight when you rescue a pretty girl from a walking pile of trash.”
Damn it all.
I stare at her, folding my arms. “That giant stick has done a lot for this place, Grandma. Nick does enough relaxing for ten of us.”
“Well, he could afford to relax a little less, couldn’t he?” Grandma laughs.
He could, but that’s not the point.
I can’t help the sigh rattling out of me.
“You’re not taking this seriously. We can’t afford scandals. Roland Osprey and his tabloid goons at The Chicago Tea are always pecking at Nick’s stupid flings, and what happened with the parentals years ago...say no more. We don’t need a new employee who creates her own trouble, especially right now with Ross Winthrope.”
Another blank look.
“You know Paige Holly is a Holly, right? As in Milah Holly. I looked it up.”
Her eyes bore into me like a medusa, only she’s the unmoving stone, immune to my logic. I slurp my coffee again and shrug.
“Okay, so I went snooping, but I didn’t have to go far. Her last name came from the credentials email.”
“You’re a Brandt,” Grandma says coldly. “Remember? What’s your real problem with Miss Holly?”
“...do you know who Milah Holly is? She’s Paige’s famous pop star cousin and made national news a few years ago for—”
“Yes, dear, pop stars do that.”
“Let me finish,” I snarl. “She made the news for almost dying of several drug overdoses. Then there was this attempted poisoning and a whole gaggle of armed thugs after her sister, the author, over Milah’s drugs. You still think this Holly isn’t going to create scandal when it’s in her blood? Should we set up a contract with Enguard Security just to keep everyone in one piece?”
Grandma clucks her tongue. “Oh, Ward, if her cousins are famous, that’s all the more reason to retain her. She understands how serious bad PR can be.”
And just like that, my headache becomes a migraine.
“Are you even listening to me?” I whisper.
“Ward...” Her face softens, that single harsh line carved in her head smoothing. “Your concerns are noted. I understand what you’re saying perfectly, but I’m going to overrule you and give her a chance. She’s bright, passionate, and exceptionally creative. She’ll prove herself in this firm, or she won’t. If she doesn’t, we’ll address it based on her merits in the office.”
“And the chaos she brings before you fire her?”
“Son, everyone has a bad night now and then. I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she says, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I had a couple wild nights in my twenties too. They involved too much drinking and a very handsome man who became my husband.”
Not the mental image I need. I curse under my breath.
She leans forward. “You don’t want to know how I met your grandpa.”
From that tone, I definitely don’t.
“Enough. Point taken.”
“Besides, it’d be poor taste to rescind the offer based on something that has nothing to do with her work ethic or ability. If she’s messy, I’ll clean it up. That’s what I always do around here, isn’t it?” Her face shines with whimsy.
“No. You design buildings millions of people can’t help but love. The lights wouldn’t stay on without you.”
She shrugs. “I guess. But I’m a cleaner, too.”
“Yeah, about that. How’s the Winthrope deal going? Still trying to promise him the moon?” I ask, happy to change the subject.
“Wonderfully. We’ve scheduled our final pitch. Ross Winthrope is a careful man, if a little old-fashioned. He has an eye for reliability and exquisite work. Even top firms from around the country can’t beat our track record when it comes to the look and functionality of a world-class hotel that’s also one of a kind.” A dreamy smile spreads across her face as she claps her hands.
Gah. I’m sure it’s exhilarating for her.
She and Gramps built this company from the ground up before I was even born, and she’s always been the lightning in our storm and the shelter, too.
“And even knowing how much Winthrope values perfection, you’re willing to take a chance on a flake?” I ask. I can’t help one last try.
She flattens her hands on her desk. “If she’s a flake, then she’s the best damned flake I ever interviewed. She’s here for a reason. I can feel it, Ward. That’s how I’ve done it all these years, you know. Trusted instinct, and it’s gotten us rather far. Why stop now?”
I meet her eyes with no answer, slowly nod, and stand.
She’s hell-bent on bringing this girl in and I’ve got work to do.
For everyone’s sake, I’ll just have to hope she’s right about One Glass Holly. Grandma often makes decisions on the fly, and it’s never steered us wrong.
I go to the door. When I put my hand on the knob, she calls out.
“Wait.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve got to lighten up, Ward. Just the tiniest bit, or you’ll give yourself a heart attack,” she tells me.
“You should probably talk to your other grandson about that,” I growl. “He needs the lecture more than I do.”
“Oh, what now?” she asks.
“Nick was asleep at his desk when I came in. Dressed like he just got off the plane from Maui.”
Her chair creaks and she falls backward with a wild laugh. “You know Nick doesn’t have a serious bone in his body, and you’re one hundred percent bear. If I could ever get either one of you boys to find some balance, we’d be set. And Ward?”
“Yes, Grandma?”
“I’ll only say this once—you noticed an awful lot about that young woman.” She pauses, giving me just enough time to cringe. “Obviously, it’s against office policy and good ethics to pursue Miss Holly as a love interest, but I like you noticing lovely young women again. It’s good for your soul.”
Wonderful, because I don’t.
I turn to look at her, stone-faced as a bulldog. “She tumbled across the Art Institute and would’ve cracked her head open if I wasn’t there to catch her and chase off Prince Charming. Ignoring her wasn’t an option then, but you’d better believe I will the instant she sets foot in this office.”
3
A Familiar Handsome Face (Paige)
My first day is the best kind of day—exhausting but awesome.
My ankle is still wrapped up, but I make it through the day without hobbling. Mostly.
I’m not sure what I expected from a new gig paying this much. Orientation consists of Here’s your desk, your computer, and your ID. Now get to work.
I dive in with little instruction and aim to impress.
Between Beatrice and her grandsons, my new bosses, there are thousands of emails to sort and organize. I start up a cloud-based storage system for each person and route their messages and attachments accordingly. But it doesn’t take long to realize they still won’t be able to find anything this way, so inside each individual folder, I set up subfolders upon subfolders.
I tag. I crunch. I prioritize like a boss.
After that, I get busy reorganizing a pretty Byzantine physical filing system.
Judging by the disorganized state it’s in, I’d say it’s been a while since they’ve had a decent assistant.
Good news: I think I’m over my gorgeous curmudgeon of a stranger who rescued me Friday night and left without leavi
ng his number.
So maybe I’m a little sad he ghosted me with no chance for a second date—a real one—but who could blame him?
Friday was definitely not a life highlight. A man like Crankyface probably has a hundred better things to do than risk another evening white knighting me around.
Honestly, I spent way too much time thinking about it this weekend, but with a job like this, I won’t have time for that. Thank God.
At five thirty sharp, Beatrice Brandt stops by my desk with her lips pursed. She’s tall, imposing, and scares me with the faint hint I’ve done something wrong.
“Why are you still here, young lady? I haven’t assigned any special projects yet, and my grandsons aren’t around to keep you running either.” She tilts her head. “Don’t tell me Ward’s blowing up your Inbox already with a thousand demands?”
“No, ma’am, Mrs. Brandt! I’m just trying to get the email system sorted and all your filing caught up. Never liked leaving a job half done,” I say with an enthusiastic wink.
She waves a hand. “Filing. Pish posh. Shackling yourself to this desk over our filing system isn’t any cause to work past five in the evening. Get out of here. You’ll have reasons to be here half the night soon enough.”
She’s warm and brilliant and I adore her already.
Can she tell how starstruck I am? Are my eyeballs still in my head?
“Will do,” I say with a salute that makes her smile.
“Come on. Get your desk cleaned up and I’ll walk out with you.”
Wow. I close the new travel binders I’ve set up for the senior team and stick them in the largest of the three drawers under my desk. I’ll finish them off and pass them out tomorrow. I stack my notepads and Post-it notes and grab my purse.
“I hear you’re impressed with my Arboretum Office,” she says.
No clue how she knows that, but it’s not exactly a secret. I think I only gushed about it to eight new coworkers this morning.
I nod. “It’s breathtaking, almost like working in a rainforest hideout. Is it true there’s even a waterfall?”
“You’ll find out in due time,” she answers with a wink.
“I love the way you were able to combine such high-end finishes with an amazing indoor green concept. A lot of times, green projects come out looking kind of clumsy or way too rustic. The Arboretum Office is upscale, modern, and lavish. Oh, and not to mention the solar power and oxygen cells!”
She grins. “I appreciate your eye for my art. The idea came to me designing another building for a client who wanted a Portland theme. The man was a restless financier who missed his home out west, and he wanted an upscale look with plenty of greenery to make it feel right. Since it worked out so well, I’ve tried to make all of our projects eco-friendly when possible. No one ever complains.”
We step into the elevator together.
“They shouldn’t. You do a stellar job,” I gush. “And I’m glad you pioneered a lot of corporate green designs. If it’s not made by God, then—”
“—it must be a Brandt,” she finishes. “That slogan was Ward’s idea. I thought he was out of his mind when he first pitched it, but now...it has a nice ring to it. How did you get to work today?”
I smile until my cheeks hurt.
“Oh, the El. It’s pretty far from my place, but I wasn’t sure about the parking situation here,” I tell her.
Translation: I didn’t want to pay for parking.
Sure, I’m comfortable, and I’ve been freelancing while I looked for the perfect job on top of my old job over the past year. I’ve done okay, but I’d be a lot poorer if I jumped at luxuries like paid parking in downtown Chicago.
The elevator dings open. She steps out and I follow behind her.
“Take the company car home,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Company car?”
She leads me out the luxe glass double doors with a nod.
Then she grabs my arm and points at a sleek black town car. “Those wheels belong to Brandt Ideas and they’re forever at your service. You should try it since you’ll be making plenty of rides with the C-level team. It’s only unavailable when my grandsons or I need it.”
“Really?” I’m not sure how kosher it is for an assistant to use the company driver—Sabrina always did, but then again Brina married her freaking boss—but it would beat walking several blocks on my busted ankle, then being crammed into an L-line car for twenty minutes and walking another dozen blocks once it stops. “Well, okay.”
She walks over to the flawless Lincoln with me. “Go ahead and climb in.”
I get in the back seat. Beatrice opens the front passenger side door. “This is our new EA, Paige. Take care of her please.”
The driver turns and smiles. She’s a brunette who looks almost younger than me, pretty, and definitely not what I expected to find behind the wheel.
“Nice to meet you!” she says.
Beatrice waves to us, steps away from the curb, and the car takes off.
“I’m Reese,” the driver says with a cheery look in the mirror.
“Paige,” I say. “Paige Holly.”
“Fresh meat, awesome. How was your first day?” she asks.
“It was good. I really love working with Mrs. Brandt. She’s an exceptional woman and I live, breathe, and eat art.”
“Lucky you. You’re also lucky the boys weren’t there to make life interesting since they were at a conference all day.” She laughs. “I’ll ask you how much you like the Warden in a week.”
“Warden?” I repeat, sinking into my seat.
“He’s earned the name after expecting everybody to pull long hours and has no chill for mistakes. Oh, then there’s his brother, Nick the Prick. He’s kinda...special,” Reese huffs with a labored tone that says she’s dealt with him plenty.
“Do I need to worry?” I venture.
“Nah, don’t lose any sleep over it. The Warden keeps to himself if you’re hunkered down at work, and Nick, the worst that might happen is he’ll mistake you for a dude for months before he finally bothers to pay attention.”
“Come again?”
“Never mind, it’s...a long story,” she says with a strangled laugh. “Like I said, special.”
I blink, wondering what kind of men the Brandt boys are.
“Nick is really harmless, though. Just ignore his dumb jokes and punch him if he flirts. He doesn’t really mean it. He’s just set in his ways. The Warden, on the other hand, can be a real bosshole if you get on his bad side.”
“Uh-oh,” I mutter.
“You’ll be fine! He is a senior partner, just like his brother, but remember this. Beatrice makes it clear to everybody that she’s still queen bee. So, if Ward ever gives you hell, don’t be afraid to get Granny on his butt.”
I giggle. “Does she know you call her Granny?”
Reese laughs. “I’ve done it to her face a few times. She’s a sweetheart. Trust me, everybody loves Granny Bea, and the boys aren’t that terrible if you give them a chance.”
For my sake, I hope she’s right.
Now, I’m too curious.
I pull a pizza from the oven, pour a glass of iced mint tea, and sit down to do some serious Google-fu on my new employers. After what Reese told me about the Warden and Nick the Prick, I want to have an idea of who I’m working for, and what landmines might be up ahead.
I hate being caught off guard.
Biting off a messy chunk of pizza, I search Nick Brandt’s name first.
There’s kind of...a lot. Mostly what looks like tabloid pieces either drooling over him or scorning him for bad behavior on exotic beaches, especially from the local muck pool, The Chicago Tea.
A photo pops up with a guy who looks thirtyish. He’s hot, but more pretty-rich-boy hot. Not really my type.
He’s wearing a wetsuit and a lei on some stunning Hawaiian beach. His longish dark hair is soaked and matted to his face. He beams a million-dollar smile, holding a surfboard above his head.
>
Reese is right.
This guy looks harmless, but going down the side of my screen there’s a long list of Instagram influencers, glam models, and actresses he’s dumped. The guy is a player to the core, but I’m not looking for an office fling. I’ll be fine.
I take another bite of the pizza and somehow get the spiciest piece of sausage on the damn pie and a smattering of crushed red pepper at the same time. I wash it down with a heaping swig of tea and Google “Ward Brandt.”
A handsome face slowly appears on my screen.
A familiar handsome face.
Oh, crap on a cracker!
It’s a good thing I don’t have to twist my head to do a double take, or I think I’d need a neck brace.
Strong jawline.
Cut chin.
Mocha-brown hair—cacao-dark even—and liquid eyes that shift from teal-green to dusky blue, depending on the light.
Feral dusting of a beard designed to knock out the knees of every woman ever, haloing a smirk that looks like he knows your darkest secrets.
Holy hell, no. No.
The worst part is, I haven’t even swallowed yet. I start choking on my last bite, panic, and blow pizza and tea across my laptop.
Gross!
I have to focus on breathing to stay upright and not keel over.
When the shock wears off and I can move, I grab the cell off my desk and call Brina. Of course, she’s off with her perfect husband, living her blissful life, so she doesn’t answer.
God, Brina. Pick up.
Pick. Up.
I need you.
Call me ASAP. 911! I text, hitting send.
When my phone doesn’t ping back instantaneously, I call her again.
She picks up finally, thank God.
“Paige? Are you okay? I was just about to call you.”
“No—yes—I...I don’t know. I effed up. Bad.”
“Shhh,” she whispers. “Can you calm down and tell me what happened?”
“It’s the new job. Um, I think I’m about to get fired. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I’m a massive idiot.”
“Brandt Ideas, you mean? How? You just started. There has to be a fix unless you like...set the place on fire...” She pauses.