by Lisa Wells
Thirty minutes later, she left the office, locking up tight. Stepping outside into the crisp air, she listened to the rustle of the wind blowing, the sound of a distant siren, and the gentle meow of a cat.
A smile lifted her lips. She adored cats. Aggie followed the mewls. Turning the corner of the building, she stopped short. What she discovered in the alleyway gave her an idea. A brilliant, Max-is-going-to-love-this idea.
Perched on top of the trash bin sat a tiny black kitten, talking to the world. Aggie slowly approached. If it had been sitting anywhere else, she wouldn’t have had her idea. But sitting on her and Max’s trash bin, it had to be fate. And as such, it had to have been fate that gave her the idea. “When was the last time you ate, precious?” She spoke softly in hopes the kitten wouldn’t have a fright and run.
The kitten stopped squawking and eyeballed her. Aggie held out her hand and waited for the kitten to move closer out of curiosity. When it did, she scooped the feline up and placed the bundle of fur inside her jacket pocket. “There you go. Warmer?”
The kitten wiggled.
“I bet you’re hungry. Let’s go get you some food.”
On her way home, she stopped at a pet store. Inside the store was a vet’s office. From the veterinarian, she discovered the kitten was a girl. She named her Olivia. Having never owned a pet, she had no idea what all she needed for a cat, so the store clerk helped her pick out food, bedding, litter box, collar, and a cage. Pet ownership was for the rich? Not that it mattered. Olivia would help Aggie pull off her latest plan.
When Aggie and Olivia arrived home, Meemaw shook her head. “You know we can’t have pets. It’ll cost us a hundred dollars a month more in rent. Cats are expensive.”
“Not a problem. This kitten isn’t for us. I’m going to take her to work. She’ll be our office mascot.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Friday morning, Max’s eyes were watering. Had been ever since he got to work. He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose. “Are you burning a new candle?”
Aggie glanced up from a desk drawer she’d been preoccupied with all morning. “No… Why?”
She looked innocent, but her voice…her voice held a hint of a lie. “My eyes are—” The soft sound of a cat’s meow cut him off. “What the hell was that?” He prayed he was wrong.
She gave him that smile of hers. The knee-buckler. Her eyes sparkled back at him like sunlight on diamonds. “Ummm.” She pulled a tiny bundle of fur out of her desk.
He held out his hand to stop her movement. “Don’t come near me. Stay put.”
She didn’t listen. She walked toward him while rubbing the head of the deathtrap. “Max, meet our mascot, Olivia. Olivia, meet the boss man, Max. He tends to be grumpy when he first meets you but then softens as the days go by.” She held the cat out for him to see.
Max sneezed. “What the fuck. You can’t bring a damn cat in our office and declare it a mascot.” As he spoke, his eyes were swelling shut and his throat tightening.
“See what I told you,” she said to the cat before placing it on his shoulder. And then to him, “Are you okay? You don’t look okay.”
He pointed to the cat which was now roaming down his arm. “Get it off of me. I’m allergic.”
“Allergic?” She nabbed Olivia and carried her back to her desk drawer. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
Max scowled in the direction of her voice. His eyes were watering so bad he could only see a blur. “You should have asked. If you’d asked, you’d known.” He fumbled until he found the Kleenex box, grabbed a tissue, and wiped at his eyes.
“I never ask. You know that about me.”
He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.
“Do I need to take you to the hospital? You’re not going to die on me, are you?”
“Just get Olivia out of here.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“But what about the meeting?”
“I’ll have to cancel.” David Long didn’t like change. He demanded things handled in a predetermined way. This would put the man over the edge. He’d advise Richard they should take their business elsewhere. “I’m sorry, but this time, Aggie, you’ve gone too far.” Of all the meetings for her to screw up. This one had the potential of making it all but impossible for him to lose his bet with Father. But, of course, she screwed it up. That’s what she did. “I have no choice but to fire you.”
“For real fire me?” Her voice came out high-pitched.
“For real fire you.” He wiped his eyes again. No boss worth his title would let this slide.
“We do have a contract, but if that’s what you think’s best.”
He sighed. He could hear tears in her voice. “I’ll pay you for the rest of your time. And you’ll still get your IRA fund.”
“No. No. It’s okay. I don’t blame you. Firing me is a perfectly fine solution to what I’ve done.” He heard the click of her heels as she walked back to her desk. Rubbing at his eyes again, he managed to see her as she slowly pulled her purse out of her desk drawer. “Although it’s not the only solution.”
“What’s the other?” he wheezed. Why hadn’t he ever mentioned to her he was allergic to cats? He normally covered the subject in job interviews.
She set her purse, with the kitten inside it, on her desk. “Perhaps my solution should wait. You look like I need a good criminal lawyer.” She stared at him much like a nurse stared at a critical patient. “Are you sure you’re not going to die on me? And if you’re not sure, could you maybe sign a waiver saying this wasn’t my fault?”
“I’m not going to die.” It would take hours before he was fine, but he would be fine. He opened his middle drawer and seized his inhaler, sprayed antihistamine in his lungs, and held it there for ten seconds. “What’s your other solution?” he asked once he released his breath.
She perched on his desk. “Cancelling a meeting with a difficult client won’t help you win him over.”
“No…shit.” Speaking was becoming more difficult. He reached around her ass and grabbed his bottle of water.
“I could take the meeting for you…”
“You what?” He slipped his suit jacket off and rolled up his sleeves.
“We’ve worked on this together, and I know Mr. Long. I know he’s unique and grouchy. But then, so are you. I bet I could charm him into a contract the same way I did you.”
“You didn’t charm me into anything.”
“If you say so.”
“David will refuse to meet with you. He’ll be insulted I sent in my second fiddle.”
“Since he’s Richard’s second fiddle, I’m not sure he has a reason to be offended.”
She had a point there. “You may be right.”
“If I can talk my way into a few minutes with him,” Aggie said, “I’ll change his mind. He’ll see I know as much about our proposal as you do.”
“I doubt you’ll get past his secretary.”
“But if I do, and if I get the contract, then you have to agree to unfire me and promise to never do it again. It’s getting pretty old.”
He clenched his hands. How had his well-organized life boiled down to this? To her? To Aggie the Horrible in charge of one of his most sought-after pain-in-the-ass clients? God. Why had he hired her? Her answers on his test should have been all the warning he needed.
“Fine.” He drank his water. “Go before my common sense returns and I change my mind.” The inhaler had helped. His breathing had eased. But as long as the cat stayed in the room, his eyes would continue to water and swell.
She clapped her hands like a child who’d been told she’d won a trip to Disney World. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”
Yeah, right. “No contract. No job. Take that damn cat home and change into something conservative while you’re there
.” The last thing he needed was for Mr. Long to wonder if he’d sent Aggie to seduce him into a contract offer. “He’s expecting me at his office in one hour. Don’t be late.”
…
Three hours later, Aggie waltzed back into Max’s office, holding a folder in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. “Call me boss lady.”
Max glanced up from his desk and gave her a heart-stealing smile. Like she could feel her heart slipping out of her body and floating over to him. Sweet baby Jesus. She’d been watching way too many rom-coms with Meemaw.
“He signed?”
Aggie nodded. “He did.” Although his eyes were still a little red, Max looked so much better than he had earlier. Thank God.
Max stood. “Wow. When you want to apply yourself, you are something special.” He turned and strolled to the couch and sat. “I’m not sure even I could have gotten him to sign the contract.”
She followed and held up the bottle of champagne and two flutes. “That’s why we’re celebrating.”
He took the bottle and the glasses from her. “How did you get him to speak to you?”
“He has a coffee press in his office. People serious about their coffee have coffee presses. We talked coffee beans. Where the best ones come from. And about the different cuppas a person can attend around town. I knew of one he hadn’t yet been to.”
“Cuppa?”
“It’s like wine tasting, but for coffee connoisseurs.”
He popped the cork on the champagne and poured. He raised his glass in the air. “To Aggie. A woman who has given me more than one gray hair in a short amount of time, but with whom I thoroughly enjoy working with and who is officially unfired.”
Her smile faltered. “Seriously?”
“You have far exceeded my expectations. I will actually hate to see you go when our contract is up.”
Here was her opening. A chance to make a mature choice. “Why does our contract have to end? Why not give me a new job title when your assistant comes back?” The immature choice would have been to continue to try and seduce him. Men were a dime a dozen. Fun jobs weren’t.
He pulled at his ear. “I’ll tell you what. If we can get through the next month with my not wanting to kill you, then we’ll talk.”
She laughed. “I’m growing on you, aren’t I?”
He rolled his eyes. “Like a fungus.”
“And to think…a few weeks ago, you thought of me as algae.”
“Which is worse? Algae or fungus?”
“I could tell you, but where’s the fun in that?” She drained her glass.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Monday morning, Aggie stood at her desk, and Max sat at his, as she picked his brain about business stuff. “So, you are predicting if you can get Richard and David to pick you for their secret project, then their top three competitors will also want to hire you?” Max surprised her this morning by explaining why he’d been so upset at the possibility of losing David Long’s respect.
“Exactly,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because, as your friend Bill so eloquently put it, the grass always looks greener on the other side of the fence.”
“I’m sure no one has ever referred to Bill as eloquent. Cocky maybe. Eloquent no.”
His face contorted. “Are you and Bill lovers?”
“Not anymore.”
A quiver ran down his sexy throat as he swallowed. The action set off a quiver inside her own body. One way farther south than her neck.
“Good. You can do better.”
That’s the second time he’d said that. “Just because Bill rides a motorcycle, has tattoos, and likes to hang out in scary-looking bars doesn’t mean he’s a loser.”
Max raised a brow. “Doesn’t mean he’s not, either.”
“And it doesn’t mean you’re better than him.”
“I didn’t say I was better than him. I said you can do better than him.”
“Whatever,” she huffed.
He sighed. “How’s Olivia?”
They were going in circles. “In jeopardy.”
Max stopped multitasking and gave her his full attention. “Why?”
“Meemaw says we have to take her to the pound.”
“Is she allergic to cats?”
“Our landlord charges extra for pets.”
“I see… How much?”
“A hundred freaking dollars a month.” How could a tiny cat be a threat to do a hundred dollars’ worth of damage to a place a month?
“How about if I—”
She recoiled. “We don’t accept charity.” Had she sounded like she wanted his money?
He nodded. “I respect that, but hear me out. I’ll get allergy shots. If they’re successful, I can be in the company of a cat and not implode. What if I pay you to house Olivia until I’m ready to bring her here?”
Had he pulled this idea out of his fine ass? A trick to get her to take the money? “You’re making her our office mascot?”
“I read an article over the weekend about how you’re right. Office mascots are the in thing to have.”
“You should never doubt me.” Most of the time, he really wasn’t a bad guy. “And thank you for not firing me.”
“You’re welcome.” He rolled his eyes playfully. “I think.”
And most of the time, she really liked him. A lot. “You know what? I think I’ll run again. Not with you, but on my own.” She’d watched the episode of Friends where Phoebe ran in Central Park with Rachel, and if that’s what she looked like when she ran, she definitely didn’t want Max witnessing her running again until she learned how to run like an adult.
“Why?”
“Because I have a theory.”
“Dare I ask?”
“I theorize you get your brilliant ideas while running, because running is so boring you have to find things to ponder or you’d go crazy.”
He laughed. “You could be right. I do some of my best business plotting during my long runs.”
“In that case, I’m going to go for a run after work and plot against you.”
…
Max was enjoying his and Aggie’s morning talk. It was like they’d finally settled in with each other and could let their walls partially down. “As long as you’re not plotting yet another way to make me want to fire you.” He’d been in business for years, and she’s the only employee he’d ever fired.
“I’ve never purposefully plotted a way to get myself fired where you’re concerned.”
The slight rise in her voice told him he’d hit a nerve. “Have you plotted to get other employers to fire you?”
“Oh. Well.” She grinned, kicking his heart into his throat. “That’s the result of strategic long-term thinking.”
“Getting fired is part of your long-term plan?”
“It’s complicated,” she said.
“I’m capable of complicated.”
After a long sigh, she continued. “Growing up, I watched Meemaw work a series of jobs she hated. I vowed I would never settle for a career I didn’t like. When I get into a new job, as soon as I know it’s not my forever job, I start sabotaging. Doing what it takes to get fired.”
“Why not quit?”
“Short answer. Where’s the fun in that?”
Her answer amused and worried him. The last thing he needed to do was fall for a woman who based life decisions on the level of fun they provided. “And the long answer?”
“My maturity level could use a boost. I enjoy plotting a little too much.”
How long would it take her to reach the level of maturity needed to soothe his worries that she’d blow up his life if they ever got involved? “While you’re plotting against me, could you plot a way for me to get more of the young upstart business?”
“Now that you mentioned it, I’ve been thinking. Treadwell Properties needs more of a social media presence. We can start with an Instagram account. There, we could share photos of your projects and mock-ups of your ideas for future projects. All the hip generation uses the app for promotion.”
“Is that something my assistant can do, or does that require a new position?”
“In the beginning, your assistant could handle the extra work. But eventually, you’d want to grow into a company with a hired social media specialist.”
“What is a social media specialist?”
“Someone who knows all the social media influencers and can network to get your company mentioned in their posts and videos.”
“I like that idea. What else?”
“You should come up with a manifesto for your company.”
“A manifesto?”
“It’s a shout out to what your company stands for. Apple has one. Google it. It’s great. I could help you come up with one for Treadwell Properties.”
She spent another forty-five minutes giving him a detailed plan of how her ideas would work.
When she finished, he stood. Drifted to the windows. Back to his desk. Over to where she now stood.
“What are you thinking?” She twirled a strand of hair while waiting for him to respond.
He grabbed both of her hands and squeezed. “Why in the world did you graduate bottom of your class?”
She frowned. “I—”
“Don’t answer. It doesn’t matter.” At this moment, he really didn’t care about her grades. Actions and ideas spoke louder than transcripts. “Your idea is exceedingly brilliant.”
She squealed, grabbed his cheeks, and kissed him.
He froze. He’d been envisioning kissing her. But in his visions, it hadn’t been when standing in his office while still her boss. It had been at the end of their eight weeks, in a romantic setting.
She dropped her hands and stepped back. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I—”
He wrapped a hand around her nape and pulled her back into his arms. “You’ve effectively blown the ‘will we or won’t we’ landmine between us; we might as well get the most from the explosion.”