“No,” John concedes, “but she’ll figure it out.”
I rise from my chair. “I need someone who knows what they’re doing, John, not—”
“Look, I’m doing her a favor, okay? She’s in a bit of a bind right now, and the least I can do is help her out.” He expels a long breath. “Give her a few days and she’ll be up to speed.” Then he turns on his heel and leaves.
I stare after him, grinding my molars. This is the last thing I need. I have clients to meet with, projects to focus on—I don’t need to waste my time training John’s daughter. As far as I know, she’s in her twenties. Why can’t she take care of herself, rather than getting Daddy to bail her out? Kids these days, honestly.
I stride from the room, crossing the floor to John’s office. “Why can’t she work for you?” I ask as I push open the door. “I’ll take Tash, and you can—”
But I don’t get the rest of the words out.
Because there, in John’s office, is the woman from Marco’s. The woman who, less than twenty-four hours ago, was on her knees, with my dick in her mouth.
My brain short-circuits, my pulse tripping. What isshedoing here? Why is she—
“Oh, good,” John says, motioning to her. “Brooks, this is my daughter, Iris. Your new assistant.”
And my stomach falls through the floor.
6
IRIS
It’s him. Oh. My. God.
I blink, gazing at the man towering above me as I sit in one of the hard acrylic Ghost Chairs opposite my father’s desk.
He’s here. Aidan.
How?
His eyes lock with mine, and we stare at each other, both of us frozen in surprise. What is he doing here?
I woke early this morning, too agitated to sleep, knowing today was the day I had to begin working for my father and dreading it with all my being. But as I drink in the sight of the man I kissed yesterday—the man I wanted nothing more than to see again—my heart leaps.
I stand from the chair to shake his hand, a laugh rising to my lips. “Fancy seeing you here,” I joke, the same thing he said to me in the corridor outside the restroom before I pulled him inside with me. What strange synchronicity. We did something deliciously impulsive, thinking we’d never see each other again, and now the universe throws us together. You have to laugh at that.
But Aidan isn’t laughing. His brows slash together into a scowl as he stiffly shakes my hand, stormy eyes piercing mine. Eyes communicating, in no uncertain terms, that we will not be informing my father of our prior meeting.
Well, I guess I can understand that.
“Nice to meet you,Iris,” he grates out, emphasis landing heavily on my name. I suppose he can’t very well call me Cupcake, can he?
I’m about to reply with his name, but my father’s words from a moment ago finally register, and confusion swirls through me. He called him Brooks, not Aidan. Is Aidan not his real name? Did he lie to me? I know I have no reason to be hurt by this—I didn’t evengivehim my name, for God’s sake—but it tarnishes the memory of what we did, just a little.
“You too… Brooks,” I reply uncertainly, studying his face for a reaction. But all he does is look away.
It’s then that the rest of my father’s words land.
Shit. I’m going to be his assistant.Thisis the man I’m working for? Aidan. Or Brooks. Whatever his name is.
The man I blew in the restroom at Marco’s. Gah!
His frown deepens as he seems to realize the same thing, glancing past me to my father. “John, can we have a word?”
But Dad is engrossed in something on his computer, and he waves his request away. “Let’s catch up later. Use the morning to get Iris settled.” And with that, he picks up his phone and begins to make a call.
Right. Okay.
