“Oh, um, that’s fine. I can wait for her.” I stare at her for a second before pointing at my teeth. “You got a little...right there.”
She uses her index finger to rub her teeth but only ends up spreading it onto the side of her mouth.
“Oh, you just . . . you should go check in the . . . mirror.”
She laughs. “Okay, I’m off then. See you soon! Don’t forget to share all the details of your first day with me!”
She scurries away, her red-and-white polka-dot blouse making her stand out among the mostly grey and black attire of the employees we passed by.
“Just getting coffee and making copies. That’s all I’ll be doing,” I mumble.
This place feels out of my league.
I set my purse under the desk, opening one of the drawers to inspect the contents. There’s a white Mac desktop computer on top of it and nothing else. I bend down to press the power button.
Footsteps begin clicking toward me. My eyes trail up to see a well-tailored navy Armani suit with a matching tie on a fit, muscular frame. As I stand up straighter, my eyes meet the very familiar gaze of a man I never expected to see again.
We both freeze instantly. The strong jawline is no longer stubbled. He must have shaved it this morning. His ebony hair is smoothed back loosely. The unforgettable, intense pale green eyes burn into mine.
My body shuts down.Am I having a heart attack?
A muscle tics in his jaw as he stares at me, unsmiling. He has a phone pressed up to his ear. After the obvious pause in his steps, he resumes making his way toward the office door of Mr. Bradshaw.It clicks shut a moment later.
My jaw is nearly resting on the top of my desk.
There is no way in hell . . .
Did that man just walk right past me like he didn’t have his face between my legs three nights ago?
I blow out a steadying breath, closing my eyes in hopes that I’ll wake up from this nightmare.What is happening?
“Are you Miss Dawson?” a female voice says, jolting me back to reality.
I turn to face the speaker, an elderly woman in all black. Her expression is pinched as she observes me.
“Yes . . . I’m Kate. Kate Dawson.” My voice is weak.
I walk toward her with wooden steps. The shock of seeing Mr. Bradshaw hasn’t worn off yet.
She takes my outstretched hand in her cold one, her vise grip nearly making me wince.
“I’m Georginne, the chief of staff. I conducted your phone interview. You’ll be with me part of the day and with Mr. Bradshaw’s secretary, Cheryl, some of the time. Unfortunately, you’ll also have to spend time with our HR department head, Becky.” She says Becky’s name like she just ate the last doughnut from the break room. She seemed nice enough, but it sounds like there’s an office rivalry going on between the HR director and the chief of staff.
I nod in agreement, glad to hear I won’t have to spend time with Mr. Bradshaw.
“Of course, the majority of your day is spent in service to Mr. Bradshaw’s needs.”
My heart drops into my stomach at her words.
“He has various tasks that need to be fulfilled daily. His dry cleaning must be picked up at five p.m. and taken to his penthouse. You will be given a key. He has a small staff for his Dallas residence, but you will be in charge of making sure they get their jobs done correctly and on time. There’s a housekeeper, a chef, a personal shopper, a driver, a?—”
“I have to . . . spend the day serving him?” I choke out.
Her stern expression hardens. “Well, yes. You were hired as apersonal assistant. His needs and desires are your command. Mr. Bradshaw doesn’t like to be kept waiting for frivolous matters. Youronlyresponsibility is to ensure that his personal affairs are in order so that he can focus on the empire he runs every day.”
Great, so I’m a glorified nanny for a prick who pretended like he didn’t recognize me.
Would it have been so hard for him to say,Hey, Kate. Nice to see you again? Or even,What are you doing at my office?
