by Nicole Snow
Really? It’s close to midnight.
I’ve got one foot—one—inside my door, and you’re texting me, barking orders? After you kissed me so hard my legs turned to jelly and then acted like it never happened?
Why the hell did I let that slide anyhow? That’s so not like me.
Neither is wanting to scream when my phone pings again.
BTW, don’t forget my coffee.
I punt my bag down, collapse on the couch, and prepare to answer without tearing his head off.
OMG, chill. Honestly, you’re stressing us all out. Please save what you need at work for tomorrow. I just got home. Also, I’ve never forgotten your coffee.
When I didn’t mean to, I add.
He responds a second later. But you have forgotten my coffee, Miss Holly.
I purse my lips. So we’ve regressed to Miss Holly after being on reckless kissing terms?
Nice.
You deserved it, I fire back.
And I won’t survive this week without coffee, he growls at me over text.
I can even hear his ragey griping in my head and laugh.
So why is that my problem? I ask.
Wardhole: You’re my assistant.
My fingers pound away.
Oh, silly me. A decision I regret more with each passing day. I don’t have to stick around.
His next message is almost out of character for a perma-grouch.
Don’t even joke about that. You’re keeping the lights on. I won’t get through this week without you either. Winthrope is a huge deal. Don’t disappoint Grandma.
Here comes that pesky part where I feel empathy for this beast of a man when I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t, I fire back. That’s why I’m still here, you know. But don’t take advantage of my respect for Beatrice.
I hold my breath until another message notification chimes.
Never. And I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you did. Grandma wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you, Paige.
Crud-rama.
When he’s nice, it’s ever so slightly harder to forget the beastly way he pinned me to the wall and kissed me like our plane started falling out of the sky. And I really don’t want to remember it since he acts like it never happened.
I also don’t want to dwell on what happened later, when he came back to me, removed my heels, and swapped them out for the big fuzzy shoes right in front of his brother.
I thought my heart might never beat normally again, playing this messed up Cinderella.
Then the next day he was back to being Wardhole incarnate without explanation.
Yeah.
I don’t have time for this drama, this confusion, this shit my enigma of a boss inflicts on me.
So I mute my phone to Do Not Disturb and go to bed.
The next day, it’s tempting as hell to play with his coffee. Make it sweet, or decaf, or flavored with jackfruit. But I’m a good girl and order his stupid artisan black drip.
He’s in his office when I drop off his coffee, looking magnificent as ever in his white button-down and fiery teal-blue eyes chiseled off a lump of pure turquoise.
“You’re here early,” I say.
“Someone needs to be and we both know it won’t be Nick,” he grumbles.
I place the coffee on his desk, ready to scram.
But before I can turn, he says, “Sit down.”
Oh, boy. What now? I take the chair across from his desk.
“You look exhausted,” he says, seemingly oblivious to him being the reason.
He’s left me no choice. I flash the I’m-gonna-kick-your-balls-off grin he hates so much.
“I am. I left at eleven and before I could get in my door, someone was texting me about work today.”
He doesn’t apologize, just levels a dead-eyed stare. “Go get me a tie. The closest color you can find to my eyes.”
“Come again?” I blink.
“My other one got splattered in a business meeting last week and it’s at the cleaners. I need a new tie,” he says, as if that explains everything.
Like I haven’t seen him wearing a dozen different ties before? Like there’s no backup? What?
You know what? I’m not sure I even want to know. If this new neurotic obsession gets me the hell away from him, cool.
My shoes click the floor when I stand.
“You’re wearing those things again?” He pauses and snorts. “Don’t you own a sensible pair of flats?”
“I thought the mandate that I stay heelless only applied when I’m physically in the office. I just got here from fetching someone’s coffee and haven’t swapped them out yet. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”
He doesn’t.
Of course, he doesn’t.
“Paige, I don’t care if you wear house shoes, slippers, or fucking clogs. I just care that they’re shoes you can walk in comfortably. Buy yourself a fresh pair on the company card while you’re out and try not to break your neck before you get to the check-out line.”
“How are my shoes your business?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Humor me.”
I don’t have to humor anything, you overbearing Warden, I think bitterly.
“Why is it my job to buy your ties? That’s a little more personal than coffee runs,” I snap.
“You’re my assistant and this is a business need.”
“I get the feeling this is a you need, actually,” I say, twirling my hair.
I think he tries to ignite me on the spot with this hot, annoyingly sexy, and totally not amused stare down.
“Teal silk tie. Got it. I’ll see you later,” I squeak, hating how good he is at winding me up. “I’m so glad your playboy brother doesn’t demand this kind of trivial crap.”
Whatever. At least I won’t be around to listen to how much everyone hates him and how quickly this place crashed since Beatrice got sick.
“You think Nick’s a playboy?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, but can’t hide the grin. Why do you care, Ward?
I shrug.
“He’s not unattractive, and he’s definitely easier to deal with. Plus, I hear he’s quite the ladies’ man.”
“You’re attracted to my brother,” he thunders, then louder, “Stay away from him, Paige. He’s bad news and he knows better than to fraternize with employees.”
“Since I’m his assistant, it’s going to be hard. I have to spend a lot of time with my bosses, you know,” I tell him, biting back a smile.
He doesn’t say anything, but his face is firm as he knifes me with his eyes.
I start for the door again.
“Remember!” he calls after me. “It has to be the same color as my eyes.”
Sure it does when you’re an egomaniac.
“Teal-blue like the sea.” It comes out a little too fast. Oops.
Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, I tell myself. Inevitably, I do.
He’s grinning like a wolf. “You’ve noticed my eyes.”
Ugh, yeah, they’re hard to miss when they’re the bane of my existence and the center of my nonexistent sex life.
“No,” I fire back.
But Wardhole’s Cheshire-cat grin widens.
“It’s okay. Truth be told, sometimes I’ve noticed your—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Get out of here, Paige.”
“Everyone calls your brother frivolous, but he’s never asked for a silk tie the same color as his eyes,” I say, crossing my arms.
Ward sighs. “I lost my lucky tie, if you must know. Now go.”
My eyebrows go up.
How superstitious. I kind of like it because it almost makes him human.
I go to the door, put my hand on it, and turn to face him again. “What do you notice about me? You never finished that sentence, bossman.”
His eyes soften, and without saying a word, he winks at me.
Holy Toledo, this man drives me crazy.
One minute he’s al
l Wardhole, quills and all, and the next he’s Casa-freaking-nova.
I go downstairs and get in the town car.
“You’re leaving early today,” Reese says with a smile.
“I have to find the Warden a tie that matches his exact eye color.”
She laughs. “He’s got you wrapped around his finger, huh?”
My forehead creases. “Question. Is he making me do stuff another assistant wouldn’t do?”
“Umm—the last few EAs didn’t last long.” She’s quiet for a minute before looking back in the mirror. “So, Paige, you work in the office with the big shots. Be honest, is Granny Bea coming back? Because a lot of people are saying she’s not, and if this is how it’s going to be working for the Brandt Boys...I’m not sure I can handle it.”
Not you too!
I clear my throat.
“She’s coming back, Reese. We’re just not sure when. Don’t even dream about quitting. We can’t afford anyone leaving right now. I know it’s annoying, but it’s going to get better.”
Everything except the endless love-hate jousting with my boss, but I keep that part to myself.
Finding a tie to match his paradise blue-green eyes is no small feat, and I return to the office behind on actual work.
So maybe I keep wondering why this stupid “lucky tie” thing is suddenly so important.
I drop the Barney’s—the fifth and thank God final high-end store I went to—tie on my desk and check my schedule. I need to meet with Andrew in marketing like now. I grab a pad and pen and go to his office.
This is how my day goes. Meeting after meeting followed by calls and then another meeting. Every person I talk to asks about Beatrice, and more than one tells me they don’t expect she’ll return. A few openly warn me they won’t stick around if Beatrice doesn’t come back.
I work through lunch. It’s after five when I walk into Ward’s office holding the tie box. His chair is turned toward the window, and he’s drinking from a small glass.
Coffee again?
It takes a minute, but the pungent smell, the crystal glass, and the amber-gold color confirms it’s not his usual brew. When I realize what it is, I stop dead in my tracks, my lungs seizing.
“You...you freakin’ Ward-hole!” I spit.
He startles for a second, then looks at me.
“Really? At work? What is this? Some kind of demented Mad Men throwback to the fifties?”
He doesn’t say anything. He just leans over, opens his bottom drawer, pours a second glass, and places it in front of the chair on the other side of his desk.
I sit, but don’t move for the drink, wondering if this is some weird new test.
“You gave me so much hell over being drunk,” I hiss, thoroughly annoyed. “You tried to get me fired over one glass of wine, off the job, before my first day, and now you’re drinking at work?”
I run my hands down my face, feeling my skin stretch, trying so hard to process this latest crapfest.
He scoffs. “That wasn’t a single glass of wine.”
I wish my glare could choke him.
“Truth be told, I’m having a bad day,” he says slowly, twirling his glass, staring at the amber liquid.
His words hit me hard.
Just like that I go from pissed to scared. Ward cares about the reputation of Brandt Ideas. If he’s drinking at work, he has to have a reason.
He looks like he hasn’t slept in a month.
“Are you okay?” I ask slowly.
“I’m fine. I’m going to send you a memo in about an hour. I need you to revise it and send it on to the whole company.”
A lump forms in my chest.
“Oh, God. Is Beatrice—I mean, is your grandma—”
“She’s alive and well,” he says quietly, then smiles at me. “Thanks to you once again. However, this will be the biggest memo to go out at this company since my grandfather died.” He turns away from me and sighs. “I’m not ready for this.”
“What’s wrong, Ward?”
“Everything. Still, the only thing to do is move forward, hopefully with a functional buzz to take the edge off. That’s partly why I needed the tie.” He points to my glass. “Bottom’s up.”
I put the drink to my lips and try to gulp it down, but it’s wretched.
It tastes like a scorpion just crawled into my mouth, stinging and intense. I roll my nose up and swallow.
I think it does damage going down. How did Brina and I ever do tequila shots?
I’m not sure if it’s this stuff or I’ve just lost the edge from my college days.
Ward watches me intently.
“Have another,” he says, refilling my glass.
Not his usual command. It’s more—curious, I think?
Humoring him, I repeat the dreadful process, putting the hellfire to my mouth and pulling in as much poison as I can, feeling my insides shrivel on the way down.
“Jesus.” He hangs his head and then straightens up like a bolt. “It really was one glass of wine. You were telling me the truth.”
My lips twist.
“I told you! But why do you suddenly believe me?”
“Because you clearly can’t drink for shit.”
He leans forward, snatches the scotch away, and puts it in the bottom drawer. “You’re dismissed.”
What the actual frick?
I hate this job. Mostly because nothing makes sense.
I’m only still here because I feel sorry for this jackass in front of me and can’t stand disappointing Beatrice Nightingale Brandt. He’s got another thing coming if he thinks he can treat me like some kind of toy for his head games, though.
“Well, what was that about?” I demand. “I deserve an explanation.”
“Just go. I have work to do.”
The tie box is still in my lap. I stand up and throw it at him, careful to let it tumble across the edge of his desk.
“You, sir, are a snarlysaurus and a ginormous Wardhole.” I really want to punctuate this sentence with my two-week notice. “You’re lucky I care about your grandmother, or you’d be down an assistant, effective immediately.”
His eyebrows dart up in surprise.
Why am I taking Trista’s midnight calls for this jackass again?
How is this even the same man from a week ago? A month ago?
When I look at him, it’s hard to find the hero who came dashing to my rescue, much less the demon kisser who wrecked my better instincts.
He stands, eyeing me slowly. “Paige.”
“No, just listen. The closest thing I could find to the color of your devil eyes is in the box. The business day’s over. I’m so tired and worn out I feel a cold coming on, I’m hungry, I haven’t had my hands in clay for over a month, I have a fresh pair of heels waiting at home, and...and I’m leaving.”
I push a broken rasp back into my mouth.
“The memo—” he starts, but I cut him off mid-growl.
“I’ll revise it and send it from home. You’re welcome.”
Dick.
He may be under a mudslide of stress, but it’s hard to find pity. All I want to do is throw him, if I was like ten times stronger and had a prayer of moving his slab of a body.
I take a deep breath on my way to the door.
Empathy, Paige. Empathy. Even madmen with sorcery blue eyes deserve it.
Right.
8
Office Morgue (Ward)
I check my Inbox for the hundredth time this hour, hoping to stamp out any fires in response to Paige’s email.
There are a few emails to answer, all right, which keeps me occupied since I can’t sleep.
Not with two nuclear bombs exploding on my head.
Grandma up and leaving the company, plus the realization that I tried to get Paige fired because she had a single glass of wine and can’t walk in heels, are too fucking much.
Who am I kidding?
Even seeing her since the day I kissed her into the wall at the hospital—and she k
issed me back—has been a boulder on my back. I’ve kept my distance, constantly reminding myself that getting mixed up with her would be a fast track to scandal.
Only, that isn’t true, is it?
After playing hero, then ghosting her because I was too stupid to believe her one glass excuse, then kissing her and pretending like it didn’t happen...
I don’t know why this woman hasn’t quit and sued me.
I’m especially confused why she hasn’t plucked my eyeballs out of my head, or at least lashed me across the face with her palm.
She’s a better person than I’ll ever be, thank hell.
Because if she quits now, we’ll be screwed seven ways from Sunday.
Because of all the times Grandma could’ve decided to retire, she chose now.
Now.
When everything she and Grandpa worked their whole lives for is on the line.
If this deal doesn’t go through, it’s going to be ratcheted into my conscience forever. An ink stain on my soul.
No one expects Nick to be the problem solver. That’s my job.
He gets to be the funny man, the less broody one, the guy who comes rushing in to help save the day at the last second.
I oversleep by an hour the next morning. I don’t want to go in and deal with the storm of questions I’m sure to be barraged with today.
I purposely had Paige revise and send the email yesterday to buy myself time, but it can’t be put off any longer. Today, I’m facing destiny and all its dragon teeth.
By the time I make it downstairs to the Lincoln, Reese has been waiting roughly an hour. “I’m sorry, Reese. Slow morning.”
“I get paid either way.”
We’re almost to the office when I notice she hasn’t said anything else.
“You’re quiet today. None of your usual crap?”
She forces a smile. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“I’m just tired.” She fakes a yawn.
“You read the email?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Relax, Reese. Nothing’s going to change.”
She nods dully and pulls up to the doorman.
The office is quieter than a tomb.