But that would be stupid.
“It’s not possible.”I keep my words steady even as my heart stutters in my chest.“Everything is handled.I’ve prepared briefs for all active projects, delegated tasks, and set up daily reports.Christina will be covering for me, and she’s more than capable.”
“Christina isn’t you.”He says it flatly, like it’s a problem I should have solved already.
“Christina is an excellent assistant who?—”
“Christina doesn’t anticipate what I need before I need it,” he interrupts, his words clipped.He walks around the desk, and I catch the scent of his cologne, something woodsy and expensive that makes my mouth go dry.“Christina doesn’t speak in board meetings.Christina doesn’t know when to push back and when to execute without question.Christina doesn’t—” He stops, dragging a hand through his hair and messing it up in a way that should look disheveled but somehow just makes him look more attractive, which is frankly unfair.“I need you, Olivia.”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my pulse jumps at the emphasis.“You’ll survive.You always do.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”I ask, exasperation bleeding into my words.
“The point,” he says, “is that four weeks without you here will cost me time, efficiency, and patience I don’t have to spare.”
“That sounds like a compliment.”
“It’s a statement of fact.”
“Wrapped in flattery.”
“I don’t do flattery,” he says coolly.“I do honesty.And honestly, Olivia, you leaving for this long is terrible timing.”
I take a steadying breath, trying to remember that I’m a professional.That he’s my boss.That this tension I’m feeling is just stress.Work stress.Nothing more.
“It’s Christmas,” I point out.“Most people take time off.”
“Most people don’t run a fifty-billion-dollar company,” he counters smoothly.
“Most people also don’t make their executive assistant feel guilty for taking time off.”I cross my arms.“It’s a done deal, Alexander.The flights are booked, my family is expecting me, and I haven’t taken a single day off all year.You can’t change it now.”
He leans back against his desk, crossing his arms in a mirror of my posture, and the movement draws my attention to the way the vest pulls across his chest.I drag my gaze back to his face.
“Where are you going?”he asks.
“North Carolina.”
“Where in North Carolina?”
“Silverbell Hollow.”
“Never heard of it,” he says dismissively.
“Most people haven’t.”
“Who are you seeing?”His wall of questions is starting to feel like an interrogation.
“My family.”
“Who else?”There’s something sharper in his tone now.
“Friends.Neighbors.The mayor, probably.”
“Will there be men there?”
I stare at him.“It’s a town of eighty-five hundred people.Yes, statistically, some of them are men.”
