“They were yellow, but yes. I was hoping to get good seats to the shitshow that is your never-ending search for the mythical perfect assistant. Day one is always my favorite,” he says with a grin as he takes a sip of his coffee.
“I really hate you,” I tell him as I scowl into the mirror. Honestly, with how often I am in a bad mood, I am surprised I don’t have frown lines. Luckily, being Basque and Sicilian, I have good genetics in the aging department. My eyes are the color of dark chocolate except when something actually has the ability to excite me. Then they lighten to a deep sunburst honey color. My jawline has always been pronounced. My hairline is flawlesseven at the age of 38, with no receding in sight. I’m in shape. I’m disciplined. And I hold others to these standards as well.
“I love you too,” he says. “So what time is she supposed to be here? Or are we taking bets? Because the last one was what…an hour late? Although do you remember that one…what was her name? Emily? The one with the Uma Therman haircut who showed up forty-five minutes early and spilled your coffee on your shoes and then cried. She was fun.”
“Don’t you have work to be doing? Your assistant should be here any minute now, right?” I snap as I glare at my alleged best friend in the mirror.
“Nah, she’s going to be late today,” he says casually.
“Did she call in?” I mutter.
“Nah. She’s still sleeping. I fucked her into a coma last night, and I think it’s safe to say walking will be a challenge today.”
“Jesus…” I shake my head, and he just laughs.
“What? She might be an idiot, but she’s great in bed. Eager and always horny. She’s got the drive of a seventeen-year-old boy, I swear to God,” he brags.
“You sure you can keep up?” I jab.
“Bet,” he snaps back, and I almost smile.
Just then, the soft sound of a female throat clearing interrupts our less than savory conversation. I turn around to see Annelise standing in the doorway. She’s wearing a black fitted dress that cuts off just below her knees, dips low enough to give a little tease of her breasts and tasteful black heels. Her long blonde hair is pulled up in a wavy ponytail, and her makeup is understated.
“Shit,” Diego mutters, stepping around her. Once he is behind her, he gives me agoddamnlook before I shoot him a glare and he disappears into his own office.
“You’re early,” I say.
“It’s my first day,” she tells me, and her velvety voice crawls its way up every nerve in my body.
Fucking hell, Graves. You’re going to have to pull it together if you’re going to see her every day.
“Right,” I nod. Then I make a singular come-here motion. “Don’t just stand there.”
“Of course, Mr. Graves,” she says as she steps into the room.
I look her over and let silence hang in the air for a moment before clicking my tongue. “Did you read the terms of employment?”
“I agreed to the six-month contract, yes. With the sign-on bonus, of course.”
The sign-on bonus. It was a last-second addition to the original terms. It’s not that I was desperate for her to accept the job. I’ve never been desperate a day in my adult life. But I also refuse to let her walk away, even if that does mean a little…persuasion.
“You’ll see the money in your account on your first payday,” I tell her.
“Yes, sir,” she nods. “And when…will that be? Sir.” Her voice is rushed. Urgent. She needs the money. I look at her expression, and while she’s good at controlling it, I can tell there’s anxiety behind it. She isn’t greedy. She’s desperate.
That will work to my advantage.
“Payroll clears the bank Friday mornings,” I answer, and her expression falters ever so slightly. “But if today goes well, it can be expedited.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stop in front of her and my eyes trail from her own eyes, down the bridge of her perfect nose, past her lips that curl even when she’s not smiling, over the roundness of her breasts that are honestly held back a little too tightly in that dress, over her hips and down to her feet.
“From now on, dresses and skirts only. No pants. No exceptions. Dresses should never be below the knees; tops should be form-fitted. This is Vegas, Annelise. Don’t be afraid of a plunging neckline.”
“Yes, Sir,” she says with a feathery breath.
I am standing close enough to smell her perfume. Flowers. And something else.
