Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 161434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
He’s ridiculous. I want him to hear the frown in my voice.
“Hmm...no,” I tell him. “I’m not interested in getting fired today.”
“We could go to the zoo. You seem like a zoo kind of girl,” he suggests, adjusting his tie.
What the hell does that even mean? It’s times like this when I wish I had an idiot boss translator.
“Did you just compare me to a wild animal?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes and lets out a strangled growl.
“Please. I don’t even want to know how your brain makes these jumps. If you don’t like the zoo or the pier, we could try the River Walk.”
I’ve had enough. I reach up and adjust the mirror so I can see his smirking face. I try not to stare at that chiseled jaw or let my eyes linger on firm lips meant for sin.
“So, bossman. This may surprise you, but...I’m on the clock. My duties begin and end with pickups and drop-offs. I’d really hate to involve Susan and her silly HR complaint form. Much less escalate anything to Bea.”
“Fuck, whatever.” For a moment, he’s silent.
I think I might’ve just saved my butt—until I look back in the mirror and see this slow, twisted expression that tells me something truly devious just entered his brain.
God help me.
“If it’s all work and no play, come to the convention with me. Take notes. That can’t possibly be inappropriate and lunch is usually decent.”
For a second, I’m paralyzed.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I’m not your assistant. Company driver doesn’t cover—”
“I know,” he says, cutting in. “The whole C-level team shares an EA, and we go through them like tissue paper. I don’t think the new girl will last. And since she’s not assigned to me today, I don’t have an assistant.”
His comment surprises me. Ward qualifies as Mr. Uptight any day, but I could see Nick being the one putting the moves on their assistants, making them hate life. I eye him suspiciously through the rearview mirror.
That smirk from hell etched on his face widens.
“Also, I spent some time earlier this week reviewing your job description. The position says 'other duties where needed,' whenever you’re not driving senior staff.” He pauses for deadly effect. “I need notes, Miss Halle. You’re drafted.”
I. Want. To. Scream.
Instead, I put on a neutral face and ask an innocent question. “Do you really need someone to take notes, or are you just being annoying?”
“Notes,” he rumbles, folding his arms. “Pissing you off is a bonus.”
Yikes. It’s easy to forget this man can look like a portrait of scary-hot when he wants to.
“I...I think I’m supposed to pick Ward up and get him to a meeting later,” I say slowly. It’s a half lie.
I vaguely remember having something on my calendar, but I don’t grab my phone to check.
“Send him an Uber,” he snaps.
“Not happening. You can’t send Ward to meet a client in an Uber! Geez, even I know that.” I also know I’d get some seriously uncomfortable questions about why I wasn’t available to, y’know, do my job.
“I’ll send him another town car from a service. Relax.”
His eyes are sea-green walls. Impenetrable and totally uncaring that he just said the next worst thing to 'calm down.' My toes scrunch up in my shoes as I choke down that scream aching to fly out.
“If I come to this thing, will you make me regret it?” I ask, accepting my defeat.
“I don’t see how you could. You’re with me. Lucky you.” I almost see a little toothpaste-commercial sparkle in his teeth when he grins.
Yep. He’s definitely pissing me off.
“With you around, I’m not sure Lady Luck called my number,” I say with a muffled groan.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Miss Halle.”
“Always.”
“Look. I’ll be the first to admit these conferences are glorified naptimes. That’s why I don’t want to go alone.” He cracks his knuckles. “Still, it has to be more fun for you than driving my stick-in-the-ass brother around.”
“I’m not sure about that. I like driving. And I really don’t mind Ward that much,” I say, giving a nod for emphasis.
“You’re so full of shit. You’d rather drive the guy the entire office calls Warden around rather than go to a conference with me?”
He looks wounded. Disbelieving. Shaken, not stirred.
I smile. “Are you jealous, Mr. Brandt?”
Danger. I need a leash for my tongue right now.
Get it together. You’re straight-up flirting now. With your hot billionaire dick of a boss who’d chew you up in one bite. Nothing good comes from that. Ever.
“Not jealous,” he snarls. His crankyface expression says otherwise. “I just refuse to believe it.”
Ah-ha. He’s being honest again.
It’s an answer only the famous egomaniac Nick Brandt could ever give.
* * *
At the conference, the bossman blends in with the other businessmen.
Sort of.
He’s still a heartthrob with messy hair and slayer eyes here, but he actually seems professional. Serious.