Janice’s coffee spewed over her desk. “Youwhat?” she squawked. “Oh, dear God, to have been a fly on the wall.”
He frowned. “It’s not funny. He kissed me. Someone else could be assaulted if they’re not quick enough to come up with a story.”
“Do you want to file a police report?”
Hayden sighed. “I debated, but it’s a ‘he said, he said.’ Those cases are hard enough to prove. Billions of dollars make him the winner in most situations. I’ll end up being hurt more.”
All business now, Janice nodded briskly. “I’ll take care of it. Not only will I blacklist him from my agency, but I’ll put out the word to all the others not to accept him as a client. Are you all right?”
“Yeah. It might’ve gone further, but I held my own.”
“Good. That dirty prick,” she cursed, then studied him, and Hayden wondered what was going on behind her intense gaze. “I got an email yesterday from the son of a friend of mine who runs another agency. He has someone who’s looking for a personal assistant.”
“Okay. Why do I sense there are issues?”
“It’s a different situation than you’re used to.”
Hayden folded his arms and cocked a brow. “Go on.”
“Well…call him a reluctant CEO. Are you into sports?”
He snickered. “In or out of bed?”
“Bad boy.” She cackled. “Football, Hayden. Football. The Kings, to be exact. The owner and CEO, Randolph Winters, died in a plane crash in New Jersey three months ago.”
He nodded. “I remember hearing about it. He was with his pregnant girlfriend and his assistant.”
“That’s the one. He has a son, Armand, who’s taking over, and from the talk I’m hearing, he’s unqualified.”
“So? What does it matter? Sounds like a richy rich who plans on playing at being an owner. Nothing new.”
A grin spread across her face. “That’s where you come in, my darling. Being unprepared, he hasn’t a clue what to do. The scuttlebutt is, he’s in way,wayover his head, totally unprepared, and kind of a bumbler. More interested in his rose garden than acquiring talent. He needs someone to keep him in line and tell him where to go and how to get there. That one won’t give you any trouble—no repeats of Charles Morgan.”
He sighed, feeling older than his thirty-seven years. “Does this Armand need an assistant or a babysitter?”
“Maybe a little of both. But think about it—you could help yourself. Armand Winters is bound to lean on you, as his second, so to speak. He might not have much going for him in the management department, but he’s got one thing you want.”
“And what’s that?”
Her eyes gleamed. “Hundreds of millions of lovely dollars.”
But Hayden wasn’t impressed. “I’m used to that. Boris was a billionaire. Didn’t help me one bit.”
Janice, of course, had an answer for him. She had answers for everything, which was why she was the top recruiter for top assistants. “Armand Winters isn’t seventy-five years old.” She paused. “Or straight.”
Shock rippled through him. “Are you serious? After I just told you that Morgan wanted me under his desk as well as in front of it, you’re suggesting I sleep with Winters?”
“No, of course not, but would it kill you to keep your options open? You’re good-looking, bright, ambitious. Morgan is a bastard who’s used to getting his way. Armand Winters seems to be a sweet person, and he’s single.” She leaned in closer. “It couldn’t hurt to turn on that sexy smile and bat those pretty green eyes.”
“You are something else.” He shook his head. “I don’t fuck where I work. If I get the interview and the job, it’s strictly business. I’ll do what I can to help him, but only as it relates to the Kings.”
She narrowed her eyes and gave a brisk nod. “Okay. Whatever works for you. From what I hear, Armand Winters is only doing this to prove his father wrong.”
Despite his annoyance, Hayden was curious. “Wrong about what?”
“That because Armand is gay, he can’t run the team. Trevor—that’s my friend’s son who also runs an HR agency and is looking for a PA for Armand—said that for as long as he’s known Armand—they went to prep school and college together—Armand has lived under the shadow of his father’s less than kind behavior. Randolph Winters constantly made disparaging remarks about Armand’s qualifications to run an NFL sports team, calling him weak, foolish.” She met his eyes. “Limp-wristed.”
Having heard some of those whispers throughout his life, Hayden winced. But where Armand Winters seemed to have buckled under the name-calling, it had only made Hayden stronger, though ultimately more foolish.
