Work & Play (Love at First Sight Book 2)

by Mia Madison

  Before he snidely asked if I could change a cartridge of toner without ruining my nails.

  Ten minutes with my new boss, and the new fantasy man of my dreams, and I was wondering if hate at first sight was a thing. It certainly felt like it.

  Then again, maybe hate was too strong a word.

  “Are you always this slow?” he growled. “You won’t last a week with me if you don’t pick up the damn pace. I have work to do.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to be working today. I thought—”

  “That it was an interview? It was. But you’re here, you’re dressed, and I highly doubt you have anywhere else to be. Keep up.”

  Or maybe hate was the perfect word. Hate and a healthy mixture of pure lust just to confuse the hell out of my body.

  Mr. Black had strolled through the building like he owned the place—which was partially true. But as I followed Mr. King around, I quickly noticed that he marched through the place like he had something to prove. The way he barked orders and how people stepped out of his way in sheer fear made me wonder if he ever served in the military. He was like a drill sergeant.

  “Are you even listening?” he asked as he stopped in front of a closed door. His frown deepened as he stared into my wide eyes and realized that I was, in fact, not listening. “Look—I agreed to take you on as an assistant as a favor to Arthur. But you’ll get no special treatment. If you can’t keep up with my needs I’ll fire your ass just as quickly as I'd fire anyone else’s.”

  I swallowed hard, forcing myself to hold his gaze as I asked, “How long do your assistants typically last?”

  This time, what appeared on his face was undoubtedly a smirk. A cocky, malicious smirk.

  “No more than a week,” he said easily, grinning when my eyes got even wider. His gaze traveled up and down my body and I felt my skin flush everywhere he looked. “But for you? I’d bet on three days.”

  He opened the door we were standing in front of and marched in, leaving me in the hall to panic. Before I really had a chance to mentally process just how much of an asshole my boss was, his stern voice barked out my name, summoning me inside.

  From one mistake to the next, I thought miserably as I stepped into his office and closed the door behind me.

  There was a part of me that wondered whether Charles laid it on so thick during the first few days of employment just to scare me off.

  After my first unexpected shift, I’d gone home and iced my feet in the bathtub, promising myself to wear flats every day until I was finally comfortable enough in my job to go back to heels. There was no way I was going to risk losing this job for fashion.

  Because even though I was only an assistant and my boss was a total asshole—the number he’d given me when discussing my pay was a hell of a lot more than what I’d been making at my previous job. More in the ‘pay all my bills and have extra money for shoes’ kind of way.

  Day two hadn’t been much better than day one, even in flats. Mr. King seemed irritated from the moment I stepped into his office that morning, almost like he had hoped that I’d be too afraid or worn out to show up again.

  As I fetched his dry cleaning on day three, I wondered how many men and women that approach had worked on over the years. I still didn’t know if Mr. King had any history in the military, but he did seem to have the ‘only the strong survive’ kind of mindset.

  The weirdest thing was just how determined I was to prove him wrong—to prove that I was strong enough to survive even him.

  But deep down, I knew it was more than that. I’d spent so much of my life leaning on others that now—completely on my own for the first time—I needed to prove it to myself as well.

  As the day drew to a close and I delivered everything Mr. King had asked for to his desk, I tried very hard to keep the smug smile from appearing on my lips as I asked, “Need anything else?”

  His hands froze on the keyboard and he slowly looked up at me, a frown marring his otherwise handsome face.

  No, no. He is obviously the devil. He is certainly not handsome.

  With a grunt, he looked away and resumed typing. I almost took it as my dismissal for the day, but when I started to turn around, his voice stopped me.

  “Guess you’re sticking around.”

  I froze and turned back, raising an eyebrow when I noticed his focus was back to me.

  “I didn’t take this job with the intention of leaving in three days. Sorry to disappoint.”

  I wasn’t sure what exactly I had said to cause it, but he smiled. The devil smiled.

  Well, half smiled. It was more like a devious smirk more than anything else, though I somehow got the feeling that he didn’t mean for it to be.

  After he tipped his head forward slightly and waved me off, I caught myself wondering how long it had been since Mr. King had a reason to legitimately smile.

  4

  At some point during my second week working for the man I fondly referred to as Satan, I wondered if he was ever going to lighten up.

  According to what I heard around the office during my crappy attempt at finding out more about Mr. King—it was doubtful. Though I did discover that there were multiple betting pools going for what day I’d make it to. Fabulous.

  Still, asking around had yet to reveal any details about the man himself. I was convinced that if I could learn more about him and come to understand him better, I’d increase my chances at sticking around for the long haul.

  But every person I asked either knew even less than I did or simply refused to speak ill of him. Even Fiona—the office gossip—had gotten tight-lipped when I said his name.

  It was clear the only way I was going to get to know Mr. King was from the source itself. Terrifying as the prospect was, I found myself lingering in his doorway with his lunch in one hand and mine in the other. I entered when he waved me forward, but I purposely slowed my steps until he finished his phone call.

  “I’m taking lunch,” he barked into the receiver, cutting off whoever was speaking on the other end. “We’ll resume in half an hour.”

  The phone was dropped into the cradle and he reached out for his lunch, plopping it onto his desk and unwrapping the sandwich I’d gotten for him with a scowl.

  Just as I was considering postponing my plan to a day when he was in a better mood—like that ever happened—his hands froze and he looked up at me.

  “Why are you still here?”

  Ignoring the sharp blow to my pride, I raised my own sandwich in the air.

  “I’m on lunch.”

  Mr. King blinked multiple times, waiting for the elaboration that never came.

  “That doesn’t explain why you’re in my office.”

  “I-I thought maybe you’d like some company.”

  It took a hell of an effort, but I managed to propel my body forward and plopped down into the seat opposite his before he got the chance to throw me out. My cheeks were burning as I unwrapped my sandwich and took a bite, pausing mid-chew when I dared to glance up and found him watching me with an equal measure of curiosity and annoyance.

  “Just make yourself at home,” he drawled, rolling his eyes before gesturing to the door. “You couldn’t have at least closed that first?”

  I put down my food and rose from the chair, hoping that he didn’t intend to use the privacy to reprimand me. It was the primary reason why I hadn’t closed the door in the first place.

  To my surprise, he said nothing after I closed the door and sat back down. We ate in silence, but there was no way I could have missed the way he stared at me the entire time. It felt like his gaze was burning my skin.

  It was so eerily quiet in his office that when he finally spoke, I startled.

  “Do you frequently invite yourself to dine with others?”

  “Maybe,” I said after I finished swallowing my bite and washed it down with a sip of my soda. “Do people frequently invite themselves to dine with you?”

  “Never. Especially not employees.”


  “Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

  I continued to eat in a vain attempt to hide my nervousness, but Mr. King narrowed his eyes and continued to stare. It took longer than I wanted to admit for me to realize that he was waiting for me to look at him again, but when I finally got the message, I caught myself holding my breath.

  “You’re not what I expected, Miss Price.”

  Something about the way he said it and the look in his eyes spoke of fondness, but I didn’t have time to process it fully before he looked away and returned to eating like the odd moment hadn’t even happened. I finished my lunch in silence, waiting for him to do the same before I used the opportunity to badger him with questions.

  When my cell phone rang just as he took the last bite, I cursed the terrible timing.

  Mr. King raised his eyebrows and made a vague gesture toward the door. I forced a smile as I gathered my trash and started to leave.

  “Finley?”

  My hand hovered over the doorknob and I turned back to look at him.

  “Thank you for the company.”

  My smile was genuine and even the slight disappointment of him not returning it couldn’t wipe it from my lips. I gave him a curt nod before stepping out of the room and quickly digging my phone out of my pocket.

  “Hey, girl!” I greeted happily. “What’s up?”

  “Wedding planning hell,” Brooke groaned from the other end, the frustration in her voice evident.

  “Oh no. What happened?”

  “My mom decided that she couldn’t wait until the wedding and flew up unannounced two days ago. She’s renting a house for the next month, Finley. Right down the fucking street.”

  “Oh my God,” I said, trying and failing to cover up a laugh. “And how is dear Joshua faring? Has she grabbed his ass again?”

  “No. Well, not yet, anyways. She’s just trying to inject herself into the wedding planning even though it’s all pretty much finished. Joshua got a call this morning from the caterer asking if we were still on. She tried to cancel because her friend is apparently a fabulous up-and-coming Moroccan chef. She’s making me crazy.”

  I glanced at the clock and started making my way back to the break room to drop my stuff off before returning to work.

  “I’m sorry, Brooke. What do you need?”

  “Honestly? I just needed to vent to my maid of honor. Have you talked to your boss yet?”

  The reminder that the clock was ticking for me to ask for two days off my brand new job wasn’t what I needed for my current level of stress, but I couldn’t be mad at Brooke. I had yet to fully explain just how intense the job had been thus far. All she knew was that my boss was far from pleasant.

  “Not yet.”

  “Two weeks, Finley,” Brooke reminded me in a sing-song voice. “You better be there.”

  “I’ll find a way,” I promised.

  There was nothing that was going to stop me from being at my best friend’s wedding. Not Ben and certainly not Satan. If I had to, I’d try going through Arthur first.

  “I’ll be there, I promise. Even if I have to be unemployed again to do it.”

  “Finley, don’t be stupid,” Brooke chided, her voice serious. “If you have to—”

  “No, no, no. Everything will work out exactly how it’s supposed to, right? And you and Joshua have a spare bedroom. I could just crash there for a week or four years or whatever.”

  “Oh hell no, you better—”

  “Got to run! Talk soon?”

  “Finley!”

  “Kisses!”

  I ended the call and shoved my purse into my locker, grinning when my phone chimed with an incoming text.

  Brooke: You bitch.

  Finley: All day, every day.

  5

  It might have been a stretch, but I decided to take Mr. King’s thanks as an invitation to join him the next day for lunch.

  After all, there were really only two opportunities where I got him alone enough to ask for the time off for Brooke’s wedding. And I’d been around enough at the end of the work day to know that asking then would likely end with me being fired on the spot.

  But it was Friday. The weekend was coming and pretty much everyone was in a good mood.

  Everyone except Mr. King. Typical.

  “You’re pushy,” he noted as I sat down to join him again for lunch. “I don’t like it.”

  “I’m not pushy. I’m just—”

  “It’s my job to be pushy,” he interrupted before pointing at me. “It’s your job to be subservient.”

  “What do you call me delivering your lunch?”

  “Your job.”

  “Bingo.”

  How I managed to win that argument was beyond me, but Mr. King gaped at me for a long moment before his expression of incredulity faded back to his normal scowl.

  I’d eaten a huge breakfast and chosen a salad for lunch on purpose. Less food meant more time for talking.

  “How’s your day going?”

  “Don’t speak.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m trying to eat,” he said pointedly, looking up at me through narrowed eyes and practically daring me to defy him.

  Well, I did say that I’d give up my job to attend Brooke’s wedding if I had to. Might as well go for it.

  “Big plans this weekend? Anything exciting?”

  The look on Mr. King’s face nearly made me double over with laughter. I had never seen a man look so completely exasperated, but it certainly lent credence to when he said no one ever had lunch with him.

  No one probably had dinner with him either. My eyes immediately flashed to his left hand, noting the lack of a ring.

  “You are insufferable,” he growled.

  “But not what you expected,” I pointed out, reminding him of his words the day prior. “I’m not like any assistant you’ve had before, Mr. King.”

  He mumbled something with a grunt before taking a huge bite of his sandwich. I waited for him to take a sip of his drink before I asked, “What was that?”

  “Charles,” he stressed, rolling his eyes before returning them to his food. “Since you insist on inviting yourself to lunch with me and attempting to pry into my weekend plans, you might as well call me by my name.”

  “Charles,” I said slowly, testing the name on my tongue and smiling when he looked up at me sharply. “Fair enough. But only during lunch. Don’t want to come off as unprofessional.”

  “You’re already doing a fine job of that.”

  “Yet I’m still here.”

  His eyes narrowed, but there was something lurking behind them that made a huge gong ring in my head. I didn’t understand him—not even close—but I suddenly understood this. The strange interactions between us and why I hadn’t been fired yet.

  “You like me,” I said surely, nearly laughing when he dropped his sandwich and looked up at me with as close to a deer-in-headlights look as a man like him could manage. “You do! You know I work hard and you like this weird banter thing we do. You don’t want to fire me any more than I want to quit.”

  That seemed to surprise him. “You don’t want to quit?”

  I shrugged. “I did at first, but I really had no idea what I was getting into. Now that I’ve gotten a handle on it... no. I don’t want to quit.”

  As soon as I spoke the words, I realized how true they were. Sure, my marketing degree wasn’t doing me a damn bit of good in my current position, but a part of me did like working for Charles. Even if I did like to teasingly think of him as Satan.

  “Did it ever occur to you that the reason I want to keep you around isn’t for your work ethic?”

  There were plenty of ways he could have clarified his true meaning, but his tone said it loud and clear. I felt myself flush as I looked into his eyes and immediately recognized the heat of desire there.

  “I hadn’t considered that, no. But I know it’s not true.”

  Charles cocked his head to the side as his lips
curled into a smirk. “Oh really?”

  “If you just wanted eye candy, you could’ve promoted Fiona. But you’d rather have someone with half a brain who will bust their ass for you.”

  The silence between us was deafening and all the response I needed. Fiona might have been a gossip—but she was a damn good secretary. Plus she was already familiar with Mr. King and what he needed. She would’ve likely slotted right into the role of assistant.

  But sweet as she was, Fiona wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. And I doubt she would have been willing to forgo heels in order to run the ridiculous amount of errands he needed to be done on a day-to-day basis.

  But even if I was right, Charles clearly had no desire to admit it. He regarded me for a long moment before looking away and opening the top drawer on his desk. I waited for a moment until a printed list was laid in front of me on the desk.

  “What’s this?”

  “Things I need done before you leave for the day,” he said solemnly. “I advise getting started as soon as possible.”

  No shit, I thought as I glanced down at the long list, wondering how I’d managed to balance everything on it with the list I already had. I’d definitely be staying late.

  “I’m due for a conference call in ten minutes.”

  He didn’t say anything else, but the dismissal in his tone was obvious. I swallowed the lump in my throat and gathered my things, leaving without another word. I hesitated at the door in case he was going to say something in parting like he had the day before, but a single glance back at him told me that I’d be waiting in vain.

  So I left, cursing to myself when I realized I’d taken one step forward and three back.

  And I still had to ask for time off.

  6

  Fiona stopped by my cubicle at five on the dot to wish me a good weekend and I politely thanked her even though mine was off to a sour start.

  I took solace in the fact that I’d get paid more for the overtime, but when I finally finished the list Charles had given me at lunch, it was closing in on nine o’clock and I was so exhausted that I couldn’t bring myself to be happy about the extra money.