Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Plus, although her idea holds merit, it wouldn’t really help my problem. I’m the one who has to do my rituals. That’s the only way to calm my anxiety. It’s not as easy as just having someone do it for me.
If only it was her.
Just her presence alone has worked magic over me. It’s like she cast a spell, and the tension inside me dissipated.
Even now, when she caught me sorting, I didn’t feel the usual shame that falls over me.
The only thing I felt was tension as I waited for the ridicule, but when no damaging words followed and she sat beside me, I felt at peace for the first time in years.
If only I could bottle her up, then I’d always have her calming energies.
A crazy thought pops into my brain. One that I should immediately forget because it’s so asinine. But no matter how long I sit here, it just remains a constant thought.
She could do it.
She could be the person I hire. I’d let her think I’m hiring her to help me with my quirks, but in reality, I’d be hiring her to be near me. The thing is, I want her around. She soothes me and helps me. I just can’t tell her the real reason.
Not that she’d judge me, but I can’t run the risk of her saying no. Even in my own head, hiring someone for their presence alone sounds like a crazy idea. I’ll just ask her to be my assistant.
Our eyes lock, and I see it. Her blue irises glaze over, the lust permeating from her.
“You could do it.” The words are out before I’ve really contemplated all the consequences.
Her mouth opens and then closes. Her eyes blink rapidly all the while. She’s speechless, and I have to admit, she’s damn cute when caught off guard.
“What?”
I recline back, going for nonchalance. “You could work for me. I’d hire you to—” I take a deep breath, hating that I feel vulnerable, but I see no judgment in her eyes, so I press on, knowing she’s perfect. “Help me.”
“Work for you as what? Your assistant?” she asks, sounding skeptical.
I dissect the cynical tone she took on and realize my error. I’m about to say yes, but then something hits me—an assistant won’t work.
Shit.
I would need her with me at all times. To truly help me, she’ll need to be where I am when I need her the most. It’s moments like now, at night and in the early morning hours, when I feel myself spiraling.
An assistant wouldn’t be tied to my hip. They wouldn’t share my space. That would bring about too many questions. It could stir up unwanted stories. The next thing I know, I’m mixing business and pleasure and taking advantage of my employees. It would reduce her to no less than an escort, and I won’t do that to her. Or me.
“Yes. But no.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I would hire you to be my assistant. You’d be responsible for all the typical things an assistant would do, but I’d also need you around all the time for moments like this.”
“You want your assistant to stay in a hotel with you?” She raises her brow.
She’s right. That won’t work either. People will talk.
They will ask questions.
They’ll find out my secrets.
Things I’ve avoided for years will come to the surface.
I can’t have that.
I love the game, but I hate the spotlight in any capacity. I’m private for a reason. Nobody would believe that Aiden Slate, the man who avoids getting too close to anyone, would allow an assistant, much less a woman, to live with him unless she means something to him.
“You make a valid point. I can’t exactly have people thinking I’m fucking you, which is exactly what they’d think. You can see how bad that would look. For both of us.”
Her eyes grow wide, and her mouth drops open. “That would be worse for me,” she says, swallowing. “I’d be labeled as a gold digger. Or worse.”
“You’re right, and it sucks. People have nothing better to do than pull others down.” I run my hand through my hair. “As my assistant, your name would be run through the mud. You’ll be with me at times that will make it appear as though I’m sleeping with you. There’s no way to avoid those misconceptions.”
“So what are you suggesting?” she asks, eyes mere slits.
What am I suggesting? I’m not even sure what other angle could be played. How can I have her with me at all times without the finger pointing and speculation? If she were my girlfriend, everything would be so easy.
I inhale sharply, having hit the nail on the head.
That’s it. That’s the answer.
“I’ll say that you’re my girlfriend.”
She barks out a humorless laugh. “How will that work? If we were dating, wouldn’t people, you know, like your friends, know?”