But most frustrating of all was that I couldn’t think of a single person I’d met who would be better suited for the job. She had personality, a vibrancy, that was rare. People warmed to her-I’d seen it in the way her coworkers had worried when she was injured. There had even been a few muffled protests when Ophelia announced she’d fire her for the perfume stunt.
The woman was likable, damn her. And I needed that more desperately than I was willing to admit.
Cole hummed, and we both turned when the door opened. Tabitha, the junior lawyer who’d amended the contract, poked her head in. “They’re ready for us,” she said, then held the door open for Cole, Arthur, and me to step through. The hallway leading to the conference room narrowed and stretched before me. Every step felt like it jarred my body, and it was all I could do to keep my breathing steady and my movements smooth.
She sat on the other side of the conference table like a queen. Back straight, chin lifted, eyes steady. Her lips drew my gaze, red and lush. I wondered what they’d look like mussed, with that red lipstick smeared by my thumb. Wrapped around my?-
Blinking, I sat in front of her and braided my fingers together. “Well?”
Phil Phillips cleared his throat. “We’ll need the rest of the week to review the contract,” he said.
“No chance.” I leaned back, holding Iris’s gaze. “You walk out of here today without signing that contract, and your decision is made.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I could tell she was biting that sharp tongue of hers. I wanted to goad her into speaking.
Her lawyer inserted himself smoothly by saying, “This is highly unusual.”
I slid my gaze across to meet his. “I’ll give you as long as you’d like to review the contract in this room. Once you leave this floor, though, there won’t be going back. So decide now if you want to sign those pages or not, because I won’t be jerked around by you any longer.”
“I resent that,” Iris said softly, her words laced with venom.
I smiled at her but felt no humor. “Good for you. We’ll give you the room, and Clara will organize whatever you need. You have until five o’clock this evening. Sign the contract and the NDA or don’t. But that’s all the time you’ll have.”
I pushed back and left the room, feeling her gaze on my back the whole way. I made a beeline for my office, locked the door, and ducked into my private bathroom. Splashing some water over my face, I leaned over the sink and gulped down ragged breaths.
As my temper cooled and water dripped from my nose and chin into the white porcelain sink, I realized I was making a mistake. She was infuriating. Spending more time with her could only bring disaster.
But the alternative was paying her off and letting her win. Never seeing her again. Knowing that she was out there, with her red lips and her flashing eyes, laughing at me.
And that was worse.
I knew one thing: If she signed that contract, I would make her life hell.
And sign it she did. Four hours later, with a few minor revisions to the verbiage, Nikita Little inked her name on the contract and officially became an employee of the Branson Advertising Agency. Clara dropped the paperwork on my desk and met my gaze.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked quietly.
Clara was a genius executive assistant. She’d been with me for twelve years, and she, along with the half-dozen administrative staff she managed, was the one who made my life run as smoothly as she did. She had severe features framed with thick-rimmed glasses, but in moments like these, her eyes were softer. Concerned.
In a flash, I understood what Wilbur Monk meant. Clara’s approach was gentler, even though she was echoing what Cole had said earlier. But when she stood in front of my desk, I didn’t want to snap back in the face of her kindness. I wanted to be honest with her. I wanted to reassure her.
What would it be like to have someone in my life with whom I could have these kinds of conversations? Or deeper ones? My relationship with Clara was based on professional respect. She knew me, knew how I worked, so she knew when to be concerned and when to push.
But what if someone liked me just for me? What if they saw me, all the way down to my core? How would it feel to open up the part of me that had to stay locked in an iron box? Would I still be able to be the ruthless executive if I cared for someone else?
And, most importantly, what if I opened up, let them in, and then they tossed me aside when I needed them most?
The thought shut me down. Cold sluiced through my veins as I leaned back in my chair. I met my assistant’s gaze and dipped my chin. “She’ll toe the company line, or she’ll lose the cushy job she just earned herself and will have no recourse to sue. This is the best possible outcome.”
Clara didn’t seem convinced, but she nodded. “When would you like her to start?”
A sense of calm settled over me. I pushed back from my desk and stood, smiling. “Immediately.”
Iris’s POV
I studied one of the abstract paintings in the lobby next to the elevator, wondering if I’d just made a big mistake. But how could it be a mistake when I had health and dental insurance? How could it be a mistake when as soon as the sign-on bonus hit my account, I’d be able to secure a new apartment, pay my hospital bill, and maybe even clear my loan for the business management certificate?
Most of my problems had been solved with one swoop of the pen. I could afford to live, I could pay off my debts, and I would no longer be homeless.
Sure, I was still a placeholder in my job and my personal life, and my love life was in shambles, but at least I had a bit of stability. That was progress.
The artwork before me consisted of a gigantic canvas covered in dramatic dashes of color. Teal and sage green and navy and orange shouldn’t have looked good together but did. Something like this would look good above my velvet couch in whatever apartment I ended up moving to.
I smiled to myself. I’d have money to decorate! I might even be able to save up to buy somewhere. Probably not in Manhattan, but Connecticut, maybe? I could commute if I needed to, if it meant I could live a decent kind of life.
A different kind of existence stretched out before me. One where I wasn’t scrambling whenever a surprise bill showed up in my mailbox, or where I didn’t scrutinize prices at the grocery store.
Then I heard footsteps. Before I even turned, I knew they were his.
Jared Branson strode across the marble floor, eyes boring into me. He’d ditched his jacket and was in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His tie had disappeared at some point in the past few hours. It hit me, then, how attractive he was.
He walked with a prowling kind of grace, commanding, in control. His forearms were dusted with hair and as he came to a stop in front of me, he folded his arms and drummed long fingers on his opposite biceps. His eyes, under the white light in the lobby, looked cold. I had to tilt my chin up to meet his steady gaze, noticing the shadow of hair on his jaw that would darken until he shaved it again in the morning.
He smelled delicious. I was woozy.
“Going somewhere?” he drawled, arching a dark brow.
I straightened my shoulders and narrowed my eyes. “As soon as Clara confirms my start date, I’ll be going home.”
“No.”
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.