by Opal Carew
“I can’t talk about it.”
“You won’t talk about it,” I correct. “You can talk about anything with me. You know that.” I stand, fed up with his bullshit.
Rob watches me gather my clothes. “I trust you with all of my secrets, Kirsten.”
He trusts me with all of his secrets. This secret isn’t his. “Will this affect you and me, alter our relationship in any way, hurt me?” The last part is whispered.
“No.” He leaps to his feet. “I would never hurt you.” He draws me against his warm naked body. “Never. If I thought this would harm you in any way, I’d tell you.”
I lean against him, think about his words. “But this will alter our relationship.”
Rob tilts his head to the left and to the right, as though debating with himself. “It could change our relationship, in a minor way,” he finally says. “It’s a situation I’m handling…with your help.”
A situation—the assistant situation? “It’s now under control?” I probe.
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t have a hidden wife or a child. And this isn’t one of the dozen or more other heartbreaking possibilities I’ve imagined either. It’s a work issue and I excel at managing those. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Rob gazes at me warily. “You aren’t pushing for more details?”
“You won’t give them to me.” There’s no point. I suspect this concerns confidentiality and my honorable executives takes that seriously. “I’ll figure this secret out.”
“You will.” His eyes glow with admiration. “By the end of tomorrow, I suspect you’ll know everything.”
“I’ll know by noon.” I lift my chin, accepting the challenge.
Rob laughs, his joy warming my soul.
Chapter 7
Less than ten hours later, we’re back in the building. Rob holds my hand as we stride toward his office, making no secret of our relationship.
Curious gazes track our progress. We’ll be the subjects of gossip. Everyone in the company will know we’re a couple by the end of the day.
Good. The other women will leave Rob alone. I squeeze his hand. There will be no assistant-wannabes flashing their tits or grabbing his groin. They’ll keep their greedy hands away from my exec, knowing he’s now mine.
Mrs. Bellows sits at her desk. A frown mars her pale face. Creases are etched between her gray eyebrows. She’s worried about something. Am I that something?
As we approach, she turns her head, sees us and smiles. Tension eases from my shoulders. She isn’t upset with our relationship. Months ago, an employee dating an executive was considered taboo and some of the assistants don’t approve of the change. I was concerned she might be one of these women.
“Mr. Reyes. Miss.” Mrs. Bellows, my friend, pauses, gazing at me, her forehead furrowing with thought. “Miss.”
I stare at her. We’ve known each other for years. I attended her youngest granddaughter’s christening.
And she’s forgotten my last name.
“Miss Court,” Rob quietly supplies, acting as though this isn’t a strange occurrence at all. “Mrs. Bellows, may I see you in my office?” He opens the door. His hand remains in mine, communicating that I’ll be part of this meeting too.
“Yes, sir.” She slips into the office, takes the guest chair farthest from the entrance.
Rob releases me and I sit beside her. He claims his leather captain’s chair on the other side of the desk, the glimmer in his eyes belying the sternness of his expression.
“How was your barbeque on Saturday?” he asks. “The weather was nice for it.”
“The weather was perfect.” Mrs. Bellows beams. “The grandbabies were asking for both of you, wondering where their Uncle Robert and Aunt Kirsten were. I told them you were busy.” Her gaze slides to me. “And now I know why.”
“Now you know.” Rob doesn’t contradict Mrs. Bellows’ false impression, doesn’t tell his assistant, my friend, that he had meetings all weekend. He allows her to think we spent the two days in bed.
Not that his contradiction should be necessary. Mrs. Bellows sees his schedule. She should know we worked our asses off, living at the office.
“Soon you’ll have much more time to spend with those grandbabies of yours.” Rob tilts his big body toward the older woman, his face soft with caring. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you, Margaret, when you retire. My days won’t be the same.”
“I’ll miss you too, Robert.” She pats his hands. “We’ve been through some adventures, you and I.”
“We have.” He covers her hands with his, his are tanned and coarse and large, hers are tiny, pale, delicate. “I’m counting on you to get me through this next one. We have six months to prepare. Kirsten, our Miss Court.” Rob inclines his head toward me. “Is highly intelligent, as you well know, but it will still be a challenge to pass along your immense knowledge in that short time.”
“We can do it.” Mrs. Bellows sticks out her chin mulishly.
“We can,” I agree. I’ve never heard of such a long transition for an executive assistant position.
“You will do your absolute best.” Rob turns his attention to me. “Kirsten, I expect you to shadow Margaret everywhere she goes. If she answers the phone, you listen to the conversation. If she walks to the break room, you follow her. You’ve often told me that Margaret is the best. Learn from her. Copy her. An executive couldn’t ask for more in an assistant.”
Mrs. Bellows sits taller in her chair, pride fusing her spine straight.
“And in a friend,” he adds gruffly. “Don’t forget about me after you retire, Margaret. I expect the barbeque invitations to continue for both of us. Though they’ll now be combined. Kirsten and I will be arriving as a couple.”
Rob is wasting no time ensuring everyone knows this. His eagerness to claim me curls my toes, warms my heart.
“I’ll ensure you receive one invitation.” Mrs. Bellows glows, appearing as pleased as I am with our couple status.
“Good.” Rob uses one of my favorite responses. “You have quite a bit of training to do. I’ll allow the two of you to get started.”
He’s dismissing us, the bastard. Rob catches my gaze as I’m leaving and grins. He’s being deliberately provoking, knowing I can’t say anything, can’t tell him off.
And I love it. I love this mischievous side of him.
Mrs. Bellows returns to her position in front of Rob’s office. I drag one of her guest chairs around the desk and sit beside her. “You’re fine with this? With me shadowing you?” If she isn’t, I’ll turn the job offer down. I won’t hurt my friend.
“I’m thrilled you’ll be replacing me, Kirsten.” She gives me a side hug. “You’ll take good care of Mr. Reyes, make him happy.”
“I’ll try.” I’ll protect him as best I can.
Mrs. Bellows taps on her keyboard. The password prompt fills the screen. “Hmmm…” She stares at it, her fingers hovering over the keys.
“I forgot to mention one thing.” Rob barges out of his office, a sky-blue file folder tucked under one arm, a yellow post-it note in his right hand. “I don’t want any meetings to be booked for today.” He sticks the small square piece of paper on Mrs. Bellows’ phone.
I glance at it. The note says exactly that—don’t book any meetings for today. I frown. He told us that. He didn’t need to write it down also.
Plus, one glance at his schedule would tell us he hasn’t any meeting slots free.
“I’ll be in and out of the office all day.” Rob bends over Mrs. Bellows’ keyboard, types, presses enter. The password prompt disappears. “Send a message to my phone if you need me.”
“We will.” Mrs. Bellows dips her head.
“I’ll speak with you later, Miss Court.” He glances at me, his eyes filled with erotic promise.
“I look forward to that, Mr. Reyes.” I gaze back at him, not hiding my desire. I want him, need him, am counting down the hours until the workday is done and I can have him.
<
br /> Rob nods curtly, turns and strides away, a bounce in his step. He’s a good-looking man, his shoulders broad and his waist narrow, and he belongs to me.
“He loves you so much.” Mrs. Bellows scrolls through the new emails.
“What?” I blink. He loves me? “Did he tell you that?”
“He doesn’t have to tell me.” She chuckles. “When Mr. Reyes has a challenging day, he makes an unscheduled trip to the seventh floor. He returns minutes later, full of pep and lit up like a Christmas tree, and I know he’s seen you.”
I feel just as energized after one of our heated discussions. Is that love?
Mrs. Bellows sorts through the emails. She answers a couple of them right away. Many of them require additional research and are set aside, placed in the draft folder. A few of them only Rob can answer and are marked for his attention with a yellow star.
She truly is his second-in-command, deciding what he sees or doesn’t see, answering on his behalf, controlling who has access to him. Every once in a while, she’ll open her top drawer, consult the collection of post-it notes from him, but, for the most part, she has autonomy.
This could be my role in six months, should I want it when Mrs. Bellows retires. And I can’t think of a reason right now why I wouldn’t. The pay is better, the responsibility more. I’d work all day with the executive I care for, might even love.
We scroll through all of the new messages. I expect us to return to the emails in the draft folder. We don’t. Mrs. Bellows tackles the paper correspondence next, sorting it into similarly themed piles, except no action is taken on any of them. The piles remain on the desk.
I open my mouth to suggest we deal with them. Then I realize how arrogant that is and shut my mouth. Mrs. Bellows has been filling this role for decades. She has a system and I shouldn’t interfere with it.
The phone rings. Mrs. Bellows answers. My mind drifts as she talks with Mr. Zanetti, the company’s CIO. Could Rob love me? He trusts me, desires me, likes me. We’re moving in together. He’d bought me the pendant. I feel the outline of it under my suit jacket. He—
“Mr. Reyes’ schedule is free,” Mrs. Bellows’ response pierces my daydreaming. “But.” She glances at the post-it note on her phone. “He’s not available for any meetings today.”
His schedule isn’t free. I glance at her screen. The slots shown are completely open. My gaze lifts to the date. Because she’s looking at the wrong year.
I reach over and change the date.
“Oh.” Mrs. Bellows’ eyes widen. “No, I was mistaken. Mr. Reyes’ schedule is full.”
She wasn’t the only person who’d been mistaken. I stare at the screen, revisiting all of the comments I’d unknowingly made this weekend, the assumptions I crafted about Rob, about his need to control everything.
These were all false. Rob didn’t double book his meetings for the next month. Mrs. Bellows did. And when I gave him a rough time, he said nothing, shouldering all of the blame.
I know why he took full responsibility. That’s the type of man he is. But why would he hide Mrs. Bellows’ involvement, especially from me, a woman he claims he trust? It was a simple one-time error, one anyone could make.
Unless it wasn’t a one-time error. Could this be an ongoing problem, part of the ‘assistant situation’ Powers referred to? I feel a tinge of guilt thinking this. Mrs. Bellows is my friend. She has trained many of the executive assistants in the company.
But she’s also suffered from a stroke, hasn’t been the same since then, forgot my last name, opened Rob’s schedule to the wrong year. I glance at Mrs. Bellows. She’s completely absorbed in her conversation with Mr. Zanetti.
I have to know. Acting on a hunch, I open the draft folder. It contains thousands of emails. Some of them are three months old.
That’s when she had her stroke. I quickly return to the schedule, not wanting Mrs. Bellows to see the unanswered emails, protecting her as Rob does.
Because that’s what he’s been doing—protecting her. For months, he’s been silently dealing with this, with an assistant who not only can’t do her job but also creates more work for him.
Mrs. Bellows is a proud woman and Assistant to the CFO is a powerful position. Many people would do anything to secure it, as proven by the aggressive applicants to the Assistant to the Assistant role. If those employees found out that she was incompetent, they’d force Rob to demote her, push him to send her back to general office support or place her on long-term disability.
Mrs. Bellows would be humiliated, hurt, feel betrayed.
Rob is risking his career to prevent this. He hasn’t been able to talk to anyone, can’t admit to Powers, his boss, that there’s a ‘situation’. He trusts me with this secret, trusts me to keep her safe, to not say anything to anyone because voicing the problem makes it real, undeniable.
As Mrs. Bellows talks on the phone, I send Rob a message.
Seconds pass.
My lips twitch.
I can’t resist teasing him.
I swallow my laughter. He has a great ass. Saving it is no hardship.
Jenella Whyte, Rob’s top manager, drops off the checks to be signed. We transfer them to Rob’s office, setting them on a corner of his desk.
I sit by Mrs. Bellows’ side as she answers the phone, looks at emails, deals with drop-in guests wanting to see our executive.
Rob wanders by our desk after his lunch meeting, leaves a plate heaped with sandwiches in front of me, drifts his fingertips over the back of my hand, his touch felt down to my toes, and then leaves for his one o’clock update with the external auditors. Mrs. Bellows and I divide the sandwiches, continue to work as we eat.
When the system logs her out, I sign her back in. When she looks at Rob’s schedule, I ensure she’s gazing at the right date. We deliver invoices for the analysts to pay. Kenneth Ling, an extremely keen new hire, stops us to talk. Mrs. Bellows forgets the invoices on a filing cabinet. I retrieve them and remind her about our delivery.
It’s a full-time job keeping Mrs. Bellows focused, yet Rob somehow managed for three months solo.
I wait until she receives a personal phone call from her daughter to reach out to him.
He must be bored in his meeting. His reply is immediate.
I grin.
Those three months must have been as frustrating as hell.
That damn no fraternization policy had stopped him. He knew we’d fuck and then we’d both have to resign. He made this sacrifice for me also.
My chest warms.
Shit. I thought that but didn’t mean to send it. Shit. Shit. Shit. I scroll through the options on my phone. There must be some way to recall the message. Oh fuck. I can’t find it.
I glance at Mrs. Bellows. She continues to chat on the phone. If her memory were whole, she’d know where the recall button might be, but that stroke fucked up everything and now she’s no help.
Smiley face. That will solve this.
He’ll know it’s a joke…won’t he?
Though it wasn’t a joke, not at all.
Rob’s not responding. Sweat trickles down my spine. It’s too soon for this. Oh God. I’ve ruined everything. I know it.
An achingly familiar form strides toward us. Fuck. I press random buttons on my phone. I have to fix this.
“Miss Court,
may I see you in my office?” Rob’s voice is hoarse with emotion.
Is that emotion anger? Disappointment? I slink into his office. “You’re supposed to be in a meeting with Mr. Powers right now.” I don’t have the courage to meet his gaze.
“This is more important.” He closes the door, the click ominous. “Did you mean it?”
Yes, I did. “Didn’t you see the smiley face? That normally implies a message is a joke.”
Rob cups my chin, lifts my gaze to his. His eyes are dark. “Hmmm…”
He isn’t buying my ‘it was a joke’ defense.
“And what if I did mean it?” I go on the offensive, placing my hands on my hips, summoning up a protective dose of righteous anger. “Would you have a problem with me loving you? We’re living together. You shouldn’t live with someone you don’t love. I—”
Rob covers my lips with his, stopping my nonsensical tirade, filling my mouth with his tongue, his taste. His hands slide to my cheeks, his grip on me firm yet gentle. I moan, open wider to him, clasping his shoulders.
He walks me backward until my ass hits the wall and then presses into me, his body hard, unyielding, aroused, the ridge in his pants unmistakable and reassuring. I didn’t kill his desire for me with my reckless declaration. He continues to want me.
And I want him. We kiss until the edges between us blur, until I no longer know where he ends and I begin. I suck on his tongue. He grinds against me.
His phone hums. He doesn’t answer it. Then my phone hums.
“Fuck. It’s Powers.” Rob withdraws his phone from his inside jacket pocket. “If I don’t answer, he’ll send Grant, his bulldog other half, after us.”
“Then answer.” I feel him on my lips, in my mouth.
Rob nods. “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he barks into the phone. There’s a pause. “When have I ever wasted your time and didn’t have a good reason for it?”
He ends the call, gazes at me.
I gaze back. “So…” I shift my weight from my right foot to my left.
“So, you love me.” A boyish grin spreads across my executive’s face, lighting his eyes with gold.