“I—” She adjusts her glasses, sliding them further up her pert little nose. “I have to format them.”
“I’m sure they’re fine.” I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. The last thing I need is bad blood with Miles’s assistant. He’ll be pissed if she quits, and I’ve already got a stack of exit interviews from my own assistants citing irreconcilable differences.Whatever the hell that means. “I don’t care if they’re pretty. Just email them to me before you go.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”
What the hell? The refusal is so matter-of-fact it catches me off guard. Is she seriously denying me the notes from my own meeting?
If it weren’t so infuriating, I’d be impressed by her backbone. Aside from Miles and Beck, no one ever stands up to me. They just do what I ask.
With a smile.
Still, I’m not about to be denied. Not in my own boardroom. Not by this slip of a woman who’s probably not even qualified for the executive assistant position.
I’ll be pulling an all-nighter to prepare for the press meetings tomorrow, and while my memory is pretty damn good, having the notes in hand wouldn’t hurt. Besides, the more she resists, the more I’m convinced she’s hiding something. But what?
Only one way to find out.
“It’s Scarlett, right?” She nods, and I spread my hands wide, mimicking the placating gesture I’ve seen Miles use to calm disgruntled employees. “I think perhaps we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”
Understatement. She looks like she’d happily string me up by the balls, given the chance.
Which is why you need to channel a little of Miles’s charm.
I step around the table and extend my hand, but she makes no move to shake it.
“Mr. Hart—”
“Please, call me Nick.” I drop the hand she’s blatantly ignoring. I’m willing to try charm, but I’m not about to grovel in my own damn boardroom.
“Nick.” My name rolls off her tongue with just the hint of a drawl, like she’s testing it out. It doesn’t sound half bad.
Maybe there’s something to this whole charm bit after all.
“You’re new here, right?” We both know the answer, but it’s as good a jumping-off point as any.
She nods, eyes wary.
Fair enough. I’ve been called a lot of things, but trustworthy rarely makes the list.
“How do you like working at Triada?”
“So far, so good,” she says, weighing her words carefully. “I’ve only been here a month.”
“Miles is treating you well?” It’s a softball question, intended to warm her up a bit. Fact is, everyone loves Miles.
She smiles, a wide toothy grin lighting her face, and when she speaks, her voice is like honey—rich and smoky. “Miles is a fantastic manager. He’s warm, open-minded, and welcoming.”
Annoyance flickers in my gut as she lists all the ways my brother and I differ.
It’s not the first time we’ve been compared. I doubt it’ll be the last.
“I love working with him,” she adds, a slow flush creeping into her cheeks.
Christ. It sounds like she has a crush on him. Just what Miles needs—another admirer to boost his over-inflated ego.
“That’s right. You’re moving up in the world,” I say, fighting to keep the edge from my voice. “Congratulations. It’s not every day a person goes from the coffee cart to the executive suite.”
Her features go slack and then her brows knit together in consternation. “What exactly are you implying?”
