by Cecy Robson
“Don’t worry about it,” Wren says, pulling a cheese fry free off the tin plate. “I can step out.”
I stand with her, ready to explode. The last thing I want is for Wren to think I mistreat women in any way. But I’ve had enough of Ashleigh’s attitude and insubordination.
Wren, it seems, has had enough as well. The way she handles it however, is very different. She sashays past Ashleigh, who is practically singeing a hole through Wren’s face with her glare. “Don’t worry about it, Evan,” she replies sweetly, tossing me an impish grin. “You can whisper your secrets to me when I come back in.”
She shuts the door behind her. I chuckle, my face reddening for far different reasons than anger.
“I see,” Ashleigh replies. Her terse response takes me aback. “I’ve done everything for you. I’ve stayed late, worked weekends, and defended you every time anyone questioned your decisions.”
“I don’t need defending,” I reply, my tone so sharp it could scrape along stone.
“Just like you don’t need me,” she says, her voice oddly cold.
I lean back on my heels, recognizing what Wren grasped the moment she heard Ashleigh’s voice.
“I didn’t know,” I respond, not that it would have made a world of difference.
“No, you didn’t,” she agrees, crossing her arms. “Not that it matters. I wouldn’t let you touch me now if you begged me.”
“I wasn’t offering,” I assure her, causing the deep creases along her brow to multiply.
“Of course you weren’t. Not with the caliber of woman you have waiting for you outside.”
It’s as if the room is drained of sound and the earth grinds to a halt. Ashleigh has mistreated my staff and those who work directly beside me. But to insult Wren is the final blow.
“How dare you talk about her that way?”
It’s not simply the edge to my voice that causes her to straighten, it’s the air of protectiveness I insert behind each word. She rights herself and starts to speak. I don’t let her.
“I’m no longer in need of your services. The door is that way. Use it.”
The angry tears pooling her eyes suggest she did want me to beg for her affections, and is furious that I never bothered. How can she not realize I would never desire someone so vicious and cold?
“You’re going to be sorry,” she says.
“The only thing I’m sorry about is letting this drag on longer than it should.”
I’m not yelling although I mean every word. Ashleigh storms out the door, I catch it before she slams it closed. I should have security escort her out, like I did Remington and every employee I’ve fired. But while Ashleigh has been far from professional, I can’t ignore the pain lurking beneath all her fury.
Pain I caused by choosing another woman.
I watch her take her coat and purse from the cupboard behind her desk and stomp away.
The door leading out to the rows of cubicles and offices isn’t spared from her wrath. It doesn’t break, but the force she uses vibrates the glass enclosure, causing everyone to glance up. Given how unpopular Ashleigh is, I almost expect them to cheer at her departure. After witnessing Remington escorted out less than an hour ago however, only tension follows.
Shocked looks skim my way, though they don’t linger. Another person fired by me, another reminder that no job is secure.
My hands rest at my hips as I watch my employees return to their work. I want to assure them that they’re safe. Yet no one is if I fail.
CHAPTER 12
Evan
Wren inches beside me as the office phone rings. Already there are two lines placed on hold. “So, you canned Ashleigh, huh?” she says, angling her chin in the direction of the elevators.
I drag my hand through my hair as Ashleigh disappears, the stress of too many long hours hitting me at once. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I fixate on all the flashing buttons along the screen demanding attention. “She needed to go,” I say, willing myself not to rip the phone off the desk and smash it against the wall.
“Oh, that’s for damn sure,” Wren says, walking toward the desk. “I’m only sorry for what it did to you.”
I frown, my brow easing as I realize she understands far beyond what I told her. She motions to the phone. “You want me to get that?”
I start to tell her she doesn’t have to when she picks up the receiver and taps the first line.
“Evan Jonah’s office. This is Wren. How can I help you?” Her gaze shifts across the desk. “Uh, huh,” she says. She picks up a pen, then scrambles through two drawers before she finds a pad of legal paper. “Right, okay. Well, let me ask you this, John,” she adds, scribbling fast. “Is this something that he has to go to the lab for, or can you come up to see him?”
She reaches for the laptop on the desk. “What’s the passcode?” she whispers.
“What?” I know what she’s asking, I’m simply dumbfounded by how easily she took over. I take the pen and pad she offers and jot it down.
She sits, typing fast, her eyes darting across the screen until she taps the icon that opens my schedule. “Okay. If you come up now, he can see you until his next appointment at four-thirty. Does that work?” She smiles into the phone. “All right, see you in a few.”
She disconnects. “What are you doing?” I ask like an idiot.
Her wink is her only reply. She hits the next button. “Evan Jonah’s office, this is Wren,” she says. “Hi, Alex. How can I help you?”
Again she returns to my schedule, but something she hears causes her to straighten. “Look, Alex, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but if the boss says he wants to see you at nine in the morning, you need to be here at nine in the morning . . . No, no, that’s his only available spot tomorrow . . . What’s going on that you can’t be here? According to the notes you made this appointment a week ago . . . Oh, I see . . . Okay, hold on.” She puts him on hold, answers the others two lines ringing, asks each politely to wait, and then places them back on hold.
“How late are you staying tonight?” she asks. “Your last appointment is at six, but I saw that stack of crap you have on your desk.”
“Likely until midnight,” I answer slowly, noting how nothing seems to escape her.
“Can you meet Alex at seven? His wife is expecting their first baby and they had to schedule an ultrasound.” She holds out a hand. “It will keep you later, but I’ll block out the time you were supposed to meet with him so you can sleep in.” She gives me the once over. “You look like you could use some sleep—not that you’re not hotter than Brock O’Hurn munching jalapenos in hell, I’m just saying, the rest will be good for you.”
“All right,” I say, trying to absorb what I’m seeing and what she said.
She returns to the call. “Hey, Alex. It’s Wren. Evan can see you at seven. Does that work?” She waits for his answer then laughs. “No, problem. Oh, and good luck at the ultrasound tomorrow, you’ll have to let Evan know how it goes.”
She disconnects, doing a double-take when she still sees me standing there. “Go eat,” she says. “John says he just needs the okay to switch Mechanicus Orcus—”
“Ork Mechanicus?” I interrupt.
“Sure,” she says laughing. “Anyway, he wants to try to switch the body armor to a lighter steel.” She shakes her finger at me. “That, I didn’t have an answer for. That’s all you.” She pauses. “You know what to do, right?”
I smirk. “Yes. But we need the current weight to feed it into the system.”
“Good. You can tell him that when he gets here, because he thinks it will work better on surface cells or something like that.”
She looks up when John walks in. “Hey, you must be John. I spoke with you on the phone. I’m Wren,” she says, offering her hand. “Evan can see you, but he’ll have to talk to you while he eats.”
John releases her hand slowly, glancing from Wren to me. “That’s not a problem,” he
replies.
He starts for my office, pausing when I don’t move. “Go,” she says, waving me on as she reaches for yet another call. “I’ve got this.”
“Who is that?” John asks as we I step into my office.
“Wren,” I reply as if that explains everything.
He doesn’t ask what happened to Ashleigh. “Oh, I like her,” he says.
He hands me a report, but I barely see it. All I can think about is how much I like Wren, too.
My meeting is more complex than I anticipated. While I developed the concept for Ork, John and his team are helping me perfect it. John is a brilliant engineer, though often harried and unable to keep up with his thoughts. Today, that’s a good thing and gives me time to eat my sandwich while we bounce ideas off each other until we’re satisfied.
He waves to Wren on his way back to the lab. She’s busy typing and doesn’t glance up when I approach. “How are you so familiar with this?” I ask.
“The software?” she asks, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Believe it or not, we use it at the dealership. I just never realized it was yours.” Her eyes round as her stare skips along the screen. “Although this is a better version than what I learned on. It’s faster, and it looks like you worked out all the bugs.”
“We try to address all complaints. There was one in particular that was especially heated and detailed.”
“That might have been me. But in my defense, I didn’t know you then and it was probably close to my monthly.”
I can’t help laughing. “There’s no need to apologize. But what I’m asking is, how is it you know what to do? Clearly, you have experience in this line of work.”
The ends of her hair brush along the top of the desk as she turns to regard me. “I graduated high school desperate for a job. Any job.” She makes a face. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve done for money.”
“I can imagine,” I say.
She shrugs, appearing embarrassed and equally anxious to forget. “Anyway, Colin, my boss at the dealership started me as a secretary. I worked my way up to rep while I attended college.” She taps another icon. “I majored in Women’s Studies. You can imagine how many doors that opened when I graduated.”
She laughs when I do. It’s the first time I see the Wren I adore, the one who doesn’t hold back. “It wasn’t the best idea I ever had,” she confesses. “But I wanted a college degree and that’s the only course of study that kept my interest. Either way, I turned out to be really good at selling cars so here I am.” She quiets. “Or was.”
As simply as that, the apprehension she demonstrated earlier returns. “What do you mean by that?”
She holds up a finger when the phone rings again. “Evan Jonah’s office, this is Wren.” She nods, listening closely. “One moment please while I check.” She looks up. “It’s Akira Brown from Finance.”
“Tell her she’s in charge and that I’ll meet with her at nine to discuss her promotion.”
“How can you meet her at nine? You’re supposed to sleep in,” she reminds me.
“I can’t sleep in. There’s too much to do.” I shove a hand into my pocket. “Besides, I’ll be in promptly at seven to meet my personal trainer.”
“Personal trainer?” She drags her gaze along my form, turning away when she notices me watching her and switching back to the call. “Akira, Evan will meet you at nine at his office. Oh, and congratulations on the promotion, girl.”
She hangs up, motioning to the office phone with a tilt of her head. “She seemed floored. Guess she wasn’t expecting that one.”
“Although many are qualified, it was rare for my predecessor to promote a woman as department head.”
“Are you serious?” At my nod she adds, “What an idiot.” She stands and brushes off her skirt. “So why did you promote Akira?”
“She works hard and is committed to helping my company succeed.”
“Then she sounds like the right choice,” she says, her voice dropping to just above a whisper.
I reach for her hand, ignoring how the glass front exposes us to rows of cubicles that make up the floor, but she edges away. It’s only when I see her lift her purse from the desk that I realize she’s leaving.
“Wait, where are you going?”
Her smile seems forced. “I have a job interview to get to. Don’t worry,” she adds quickly, motioning out to the floor. “Nicole over there says she’ll transfer her calls here and cover you.”
Nicole waves and stands, alerting us that she’s ready to replace Wren.
“She already covers several managers,” I explain.
“Oh,” Wren replies. “She didn’t mention that, and I didn’t think to ask. I was more worried about leaving you hanging.”
“Hello, Mr. Jonah,” Nicole says, rushing to take a seat. “Is there anything pending I need to be aware of, or something you’d like me to do?”
“No.” I huff, holding out my hand. “I mean, yes. Wren, may I see you in my office?”
She digs through her purse, keeping her attention away. “I can’t. I have fifteen minutes to get to my interview, and driving will take twenty.”
I place my hand on her lower back and lead her into my office. “We’re going to need longer than that.”
The door shuts as my hands grasp her hips, my thumbs grazing along her curves. Her palms glide to my chest. For a moment, I think she’ll return my embrace and allow me to kiss her. But she doesn’t move, meeting my face with that same disheartened expression. “You have a job interview?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she answers quietly. “At another Ford dealership a few miles outside the city.”
“What happened to the one you had?” My arms drop as I feel her withdraw. I follow her across the room, recognizing something is very wrong.
She turns, her hands clasped in front of her. “It’s gone.”
“What?”
She sits back against the conference table, appearing lost in her thoughts. “Someone crashed a truck through the dealership and then set it on fire. Me and a few of the workers have spent the last few days cleaning up. My brothers came in to help repair all the structural damage, but the owners have called it quits.”
Her attention falls to her feet. “My boss isn’t the healthiest guy you’ll ever meet. He told us yesterday that it’s better for him to get his money back from the insurance and sell the building.” She sighs. “I can’t blame him, you know? He’ll end up with more than he had, lose the stress that comes from owning and running a business, and actually enjoy his retirement.”
There are a million things I can say, like “I’m sorry” and “What a horrible situation to live through”. Mostly, I want to tell her not to worry, that I’ll take of her. I don’t, of course. While I want to, and it’s what I did for my previous lovers, Wren isn’t a woman who wants to be cared for.
That doesn’t mean I’m not willing to help. “Work for me.”
She lifts her head. “What?”
I lose the space between us. “I need an assistant, one I can trust and don’t have to train.” I reach for her hands. “You know what you’re doing, and I already trust you. Work for me.”
Her stare falls to our hands. “Evan, if I wanted a secretary’s pay, I wouldn’t have worked my ass off to be a rep and make more.”
“How much do you make?” I ask, smirking.
“You can’t afford me,” she tells me, keeping her focus on our hands.
“Try me.”
She lifts her head. “It depends on what I sell, but I sell a lot.”
“Ashleigh made two-hundred thousand a year. You can have her salary, if it’s not enough, I’ll raise it.”
I have her attention. “Your secretaries make two-hundred thousand a year?”
“No. Ashleigh’s case is unique because she worked as the administrative assistant for the CEO of iCronos, the position I’m offering you.”
“Evan, I can’t.”
“Why?” I ask. “My
company is facing a tremendous financial crisis. With the right people at my side, it has the potential to take the world by storm. But I don’t have enough of the right people, and very few I trust. I trust you. Say you’ll work for me.”
I expect questions or possibly a negotiation of salary. I don’t expect her sadness, yet it comes.
“You say you trust me?” I nod. “Evan, you don’t even know me.”
My thumb skims the back of her hand. “What I know is enough. You’re brilliant and exactly who I need.”
The manner in which she shakes her head, alerts me to more of her sadness. “I want to help you,” she replies. “I really do. But there are things you should know about me. None are good and will make you take back your offer.” She huffs. “Not that I’ll blame you.”
“Is that what you think?” She doesn’t reply. “Then you owe it to me to tell me, allow me to decide for myself.”
It takes her a moment to speak. “We think my ex-boyfriend is the one who set the car on fire and wrecked the dealership.”
I’ll admit, I’m not prepared to hear this and my expression evidently reveals as much.
Her cheeks flush with obvious embarrassment. “Bryant isn’t a good guy and far from stable,” she explains. “But he’s worse than I thought and has ties to the mafia.”
“I don’t see how this connects him to you or what happened at the dealership.”
“He used the same model truck I drive to crash through the building and into my office. He also destroyed that collage of pictures I showed you and wrote ‘whore’ across the desk.” She averts her gaze. “Curran says Bryant still considers me his and is trying to prove he can still hurt me.”
“What do you mean ‘still’?”
Her blanching face causes my anger to return. “Like I told you, it wasn’t a good relationship.”
My feelings for her and desire to keep her safe tempt me to press for more details. But the fragility she demonstrates holds me in place. It’s brief, but it’s there. This is a man who clearly caused her pain. I won’t cause her more. “Does Curran know he’s hurt you beyond this incident?”