Iris’s POV
The next morning, bright and early, I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. Pawing at my nightstand, I squinted at the screen.
An unlisted number, which meant one thing.
“Hello, Branson,” I said, flopping onto my back.
“It sounds like I woke you up.”
I rubbed my eyes and huffed. “That’s because you did.”
“It’s nearly nine o’clock in the morning, Little. What are you still doing in bed?”
“You had me at that charity gala until after midnight. I didn’t fall asleep until two. I was wired.” Now, the reason I was wired was because my heart pounded every time my boss’s hand touched my elbow or my back, and when I got home, I was so full of nervous energy I ended up scrubbing my kitchen for an hour after stripping my dress and makeup off. But he didn’t have to know that.
When he answered, his voice was gruff. “Well, get up and get ready. I have a lunch meeting with an old client, and I want you there.”
“Dress code?”
“Business casual. The car will pick you up at eleven.”
“Anything I need to know about who we’re meeting?”
“Clara’s sending a dossier through now. Read it and get ready.”
The phone clicked off. I pulled it away from my face to stare at the screen, then stuck my tongue out at it. He didn’t get to wake me up after keeping me out all night, boss me around, then hang up on me.
Although, I guess that was my job now, so he could do whatever he wanted. Groaning, I rolled to the edge of my bed and threw the blankets off. My feet hit the floor, aching from their time in those fabulous heels last night. I stood and stretched my back out, then shuffled to the bathroom to do as I was told.
Now, I’d never been a lazy person. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to work-in fact, in the short amount of time I’d been in the position, I spent many hours educating myself on the people in Jared Branson’s social and professional circles, then made sure I was prepared for every event coming up on the schedule.
This included attending briefings at the Branson offices with Clara and other members of the team, as well as going back through the company’s archives to make sure I knew about brand relationships and campaigns that had been significant, depending on who would be attending each event.
So it wasn’t that I wanted a free ride. I was working more than I ever had before-although a lot of the work was enjoyable. For example, when I spent four hours getting my hair and nails done before last night’s gala and deciding on the exact perfect dress to purchase.
By the time I’d fixed my hair into an updo-it still had a lot of product in it from last night’s event, so I did the best I could-and slipped on some vintage cigarette pants and a button-down top, my phone buzzed to let me know the car was downstairs.
“Hi, Keith,” I said to the usual driver who held the door open. Peeking inside, I asked, “No boss today?”
“We’ll pick him up on the way.”
“Got it.”
My knee bounced as I clipped my seatbelt on, and I pulled out my compact to check my makeup once again. When we pulled out to start heading toward Manhattan, a flutter went through my belly.
I channeled my nervous energy into studying the document Clara had sent through. It didn’t take me long to become engrossed in it. We were meeting three men who were planning a Super Bowl commercial for the following year’s event, which our company was hoping to produce.
I jumped when the door next to me opened. Suddenly, the car was full of Jared. He sat next to me as Keith closed the door, his eyes coasting over my hair, makeup, and outfit.
“You made it,” he noted. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“Hello to you too, Mr. Branson,” I answered with a heavy dose of snark. “Of course I made it. I take my job seriously.”
His eyes were dark in the dimness of the back seat. He blinked slowly, nodding once. “You sounded exceptionally groggy, is all.” He paused. “Did something keep you up last night?”
Keith drove smoothly, but my heart still hammered. This was ridiculous. I wouldn’t be able to accompany my boss to all these events if I got tongue-tied every time he looked at me. Was he tall, attractive, and commanding? Yes. Did he make me wonder what it would feel like to be his, even for just a moment? Sure. I was human, after all.
But was I a complete idiot and about to give in to those urges? Absolutely not.
So, I covered my nerves with a snort. “As a matter of fact, something did,” I told him. “Or rather, some one.”
His body went still. “Oh?”
“A man, specifically.”
“A man.” He gritted out the words. The focus of his attention felt almost heavy. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and then he relaxed, as if by force of effort. “I wasn’t aware you were seeing anyone. That might get complicated. You remember that you signed an NDA?”
“The man that kept me up insisted on parading me around this charity event long after most of his clients had left, and then instead of letting me go home and go to bed, he drove there with me and insisted on debriefing me when it was well past midnight.”
The air in the limo, which had become stifling, lightened considerably. I met Keith’s inscrutable gaze in the rearview mirror, then turned to Branson and popped a brow.
He gave me a stony glare. “Get used to it, princess. We’ll debrief after every event.”
I hummed, and the car stopped. We’d arrived at the restaurant.
The lunch went well. I discovered that one of the men was an avid scuba diver and spent most of the meal talking to him about his various dives. I had just been reviewing one of the underwater campaigns that the Branson Advertising Agency had done for yet another perfume launch, and I’d gone down a research rabbit hole about diving. So I was able to pretend like I knew what I was talking about-at least enough to carry my side of the conversation.
Being a companion to Jared Branson, it turned out, was easy. People loved talking about themselves-and the powerful people who ran companies and signed deals with the likes of Jared Branson really loved talking about themselves-so all I had to do was persuade them that I hung on their every word. It was like dating, except I didn’t care about the outcome so there was no pressure.
The scuba diver, Dean Garrett, was about a decade older than me, in his mid-forties, but he looked fit and healthy. A strong hairline framed his handsome face, and he smiled at me with straight, white teeth. He looked like a man who threw his money around and was used to getting what he wanted.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.