In response to Russell’s question, Armi raised his chin in defiance. “Yes. I’m taking over ownership of the Kings. Why? You don’t think I can do it?” Russell had been the one person he’d thought he could count on to help guide him. If Russell turned on him too, Armi might have to walk away.
“That’s not what I’m saying at all. I believe with work you can. But you need help. Not only from me. I’ve selected some candidates for personal assistants who can help smooth out the everyday busy work and let you concentrate on the important stuff.”
“I appreciate it, but I’ve also been thinking about an assistant. My friend Trevor runs an excellent agency and—”
“No need for that. I’ll take care of everything for you.” Russell put a hand on his back and steered him toward the conference room. His touch startled Armi, and confused, he pulled away. Russell gazed at him steadily as they stood before the closed door. “You can trust me, Armand. I hope you know I have your best interests at heart. I always have.”
Was Russell telling him something? In all the years they’d known each other, Armi had never picked up any hint that Russell might be attracted to men, but there was a glint in his eye Armi couldn’t deny spoke of something different.
An odd sensation curled in his gut, one he chose to listen to.
Be careful.
It hadn’t failed him when he’d decided to go home with Hayden, and he’d had the most pleasurable experience of his life.
“Thanks, but I’ll hire my own assistant.”
Chapter Three
Hayden drew in a deep breath and rang the bell of the town house on East 65th Street. Two interviews down. Two job offers for what would amount to being nothing more than a glorified office housekeeper. Hopefully this one would pan out. The past week of job hunting was wearing on his nerves.
Was it really so hard to find a super CEO who was overworked and needed a superb personal assistant dedicated to his job? Apparently so.
A woman in her midfifties, hair drawn back in a tight bun and dressed in a black-and-white uniform, answered.
“May I help you?”
“Hayden Porter to see Charles Morgan.”
Without a smile, she pulled the door open. “Please come in and follow me.”
The townhome was elegant and decorated befitting someone who managed a multibillion-dollar hedge fund. Hayden spotted several museum-quality paintings on the wall, and the furniture looked like it came from Sotheby’s auction house.
He was brought to a family room, where a fireplace dominated the twenty-foot space. Shining wooden floors stretched out before him. Various cabinets held antiques behind glass doors. There was more money in artwork in this one room than he’d probably earn in a lifetime. Hayden stayed in the center of the room, and under his feet was a thick, gloriously patterned Turkish carpet. “Mr. Morgan will be with you shortly.”
Having worked with these types for years, it should have surprised Hayden that Morgan wasn’t holding their interview in the library or his office, but he’d grown used to the idiosyncrasies of the very rich. After only a few minutes, the door opened and Charles Morgan appeared in a bathrobe and silk pajama pants. The housekeeper hovered by the open door.
“Hayden Porter? I’m Charles Morgan. How are you?”
“I’m well, sir. How are you?” He took Morgan’s outstretched hand and received a firm, warm handshake.
“Sit, please. Come to the couch. I’ll have Claire bring us something to drink. Scotch?”
“No, thank you.”
“I insist. I don’t drink alone.”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.” He had no intention of touching alcohol on an interview. Waiting for Morgan to continue, Hayden forced himself to keep still. While outwardly he presented a calm presence, inside he was a jangling mess of nerves.
Morgan turned his head. “Claire? Two on the rocks, then close the door behind you.”
“Of course, sir.” She fixed their drinks, placed them on coasters before them, and withdrew. The door clicked shut.
“So. I’ve heard good things about you, and Janice only deals with the best. As do I.”
Morgan was a good-looking man, his face smooth and pampered with facials and Botox, and his brows, like his chest, were waxed to perfection. Steady brown eyes never left Hayden’s face, and a slight smile kicked up the corner of his lips.
Hayden got an interested vibe from Morgan, but they were in a boss-employee situation, and that was a line Hayden never crossed. He knew many assistants who gave truly personal service to their employer—from spreadsheets to bedsheets—but luckily, Hayden had never been put in that position.
