“Mind your own business, Grant. You’re my boss, not my friend. You don’t get to stick your nose into my personal life, my family or who I spend my off-time with.”
Then I snatch my purse and panties up off the floor and flee to my car before Grant and I end up doing something stupid again. Like more sex. But even though it’s a cowardly escape, at least I got to unload what I came here to say. And if he ignores my warning to stay away from Grandpa, I swear to God I’ll get that restraining order.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Grant
By the time I drag on my shorts, Aspen’s car is gone. Damn, that was fast. And we left everything unresolved because her telling me to stay away from her private life doesn’t mean I’m going to do as she says. In fact, it makes me want to do it more.
I should figure out which bar she works at and stop by later—just to mess with her some more and have a look at Zack for myself so I can understand what she sees in him. I’m 99.99 percent convinced I’m not going to notice anything special. The only reason he made an impression at all fourteen years ago was because he was hitting on her in front of me.
But my plan goes awry that afternoon. Mom calls, rather annoyed, which I don’t understand because the hotel hasn’t had a chance to screw up her breakfast yet. But what happened is quite a bit worse.
Her ex-boyfriend stalked her to the hotel, distracted the front desk clerk to get Mom’s room number from the key-card sleeve, then broke into Mom’s suite because he decided he needed her bloodandfingernail clippings in order to cast another love spell—one that’s more potent and targeted than just dumping a bunch of goat blood in her home. Mom coolly blames me for sending her to the hotel when she didn’t really want to go—fuck me—while I blame the front desk clerk for leaving the sleeve on the counter where anybody could see it! Why the hell do they think I agreed to pay them five figures a night?
So Mom returns to my place, while the hotel’s general manager apologizes profusely, probably to stave off a lawsuit. They know who I am—and more importantly, who my mother is.
I settle her in one of the guest bedrooms, while having the concierge service look for another place—somewhere with rock-solid securityandan excellent breakfast that can be cooked to her specifications. I love my mother, but I can’t live with her, especially when she complains endlessly about the “injustice” of having to deal with an insane ex and subpar respect for her privacy.
By Sunday evening, I finally find a place to move her and hire a private security team to doubly reassure her, since she wouldn’t go otherwise. They come with Nicholas’s stamp of approval, so I know they’re going to be competent. Nicholas despises incompetence as much as outright malice.
On Monday, I go to work at my regular time. I’m here before most, even Emmett, who these days can’t bear to leave his new baby Monique.
I boot my laptop, my body buzzing with anticipation. Aspen gave me a piece of her mind, and it’s time for me to give her a piece of mine.
And shewillhear me out.
But first, I need to check our HR policy book. It’s been so long since I had to look at it that I don’t remember much. Plus, I signed off on the whole document after skimming it, since Jeremiah Huxley had gone over it and made sure we were in compliance with the law and nothing was going to screw us over.
I scan the policy book until I reach the section on support staff, then slow down to read closely. God dammit. Aspen is correct. How could we have overlooked this? What was I thinking when I approved it? More importantly, what was Jeremiah thinking?
Shaking my head, I pull up Aspen’s personnel file and spot a small section at the very end where she listed her part-time job at a bar near our office where we often have happy hour. She indicated she works there on Saturdays and Sundays, evening shifts only, to reassure HR it wouldn’t interfere with her duties at the firm.
How rich! Her part-time job is already interfering, since she won’t obey my simple instruction to quit! Her responsibilities at GrantEm include carrying out my orders, and I don’t give a shit if she thinks I’m being unfair. She thinks me breathing is unfair.
I send a quick text to the only person who can advise me on how to correct this oversight in our HR policy. There’s no loophole Jeremiah can’t find.
–Me: We need to talk.
–Jeremiah: Billable?
I roll my eyes. Of course she wants to confirm that first. If I say yes, I’ll be her priority. If I say no, she’ll ignore me.
–Me: It’s about our HR policy.
–Jeremiah: Billable, then. However, I’m out of the country until next week. If it’s urgent, get in touch with Andreas. He’ll take care of it.
Andreas is another senior partner at the firm. But I don’t want to talk to him. I doubt he knows our HR policies as well as Jeremiah.
—–Me: It’s fine, I’ll wait.
–Jeremiah: Suit yourself. I’ll let you know when I get back.
She’s probably feeling smug that I’d rather wait for her to return than talk to Andreas.
As soon as I’m done texting, the fine hair on my body bristles and my blood jumps twenty degrees. I don’t have to look up to see that Aspen’s arrived. She shoots me a quick, unreadable look through the open door and boots her laptop. She’s in a magenta dress that I’ve never seen before. Given the cut and the material, it’s undoubtedly something Josephine picked out. What happened to the green dress? Aspen hasn’t worn that one again.
She clicks around on her laptop, reading her screen, then walks into my office. I lean back in my seat, trying to project the image of a man in control.Nothing to worry about here.The image is more important than the reality. My mouth is dry, and I want to taste her again. But he who masters himself masters the situation.
