But I reach out anyway, because I am Pierce Dellcourt, and Pierce Dellcourt does not run from difficult situations. Our hands meet over the polished surface of my desk, and the contact sends electricity up my arm.
His grip is firm, confident, but his thumb brushes across my knuckles in a way that can’t possibly be accidental.
“Professional,” he says softly, releasing my hand. “Starting now.”
I clear my throat, trying to find my voice. “Starting now,” I agree.
He heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “Though just so you know,” he adds without turning around, “being professional doesn’t mean I have to stop appreciating how good you look in that suit.”
The door closes behind him before I can respond. Through the glass, I watch him return to his desk. His rolled sleeves, his loose curls, and his entire presence feel like a challenge.
Professional, I remind myself, straightening papers that don’t need straightening. We can be professional.
A purple sticky note is on top of the first file I pick up. The tiny door doodle in the corner winks at me like a shared secret.
I’m starting to thinkprofessionalmight be harder than I anticipate.
5
THATCHER
The executive floor break room,one floor down, is empty at seven a.m., which is exactly why I’m here. I’ve discovered that if I arrive early enough, I can figure out the fancy coffee maker without anyone witnessing my failures. Especially since I haven’t met all the other executive assistants yet.
After the coffee incident, I’ve kept my butt glued to my chair. As first impressions with a new boss go, mine wasn’t the smoothest, so I’m determined to prove to Pierce that I’m more than the bumbling mess who spilled coffee all over him.
“Okay,” I mutter, staring at the buttons like they’re written in ancient Greek. “We can do this.”
Alli made me swear with my right hand on my favorite sketchbook that I wouldn’t touch anything complicated during my first week.
But coffee isn’t complicated. Coffee is essential. And if I can master ordering Pierce’s very specific coffee from the coffee shop across the street and deliver it without causing a global disaster—which I’ve done three times already, thankyou very much—then I can figure out how to make a coffee for myself.
Pierce keeps telling me to buy myself a coffee with the corporate credit card that arrived two days ago, but it just feels wrong. All the other executive assistants get their coffee from the break room. I’m not special.
I’ve been putting this off for days, but I can’t work under these conditions. Without caffeine, my eyes get easily distracted and tend to wander in Pierce’s direction. I made a promise to be professional, and I’m going to keep it.
The machine makes a sound like a dying whale. Coffee sprays everywhere except the cup.
“First time with the beast?”
I spin around, wiping coffee from my cheek, to find a guy about my age leaning against the doorframe. He’s got a friendly smile and a lanyard that readsKenji - Executive Assistant, Marketing.
“Is it that obvious?”
“The beast claims all newcomers.” He walks over and punches a sequence of buttons I never would have guessed. Perfect coffee streams into a cup. “Kenji. I’m Diane’s assistant. Marketing director, third door on the left.”
“Meatball.” I shake his hand. “Well, Thatcher. But everyone calls me Meatball. I’m?—”
“The new PA for Mr. Dellcourt. Yeah, we know.” He grins. “Word travels fast up here. Especially when someone color-codes the supply closet with hand-drawn icons.”
My face heats. “You saw that?”
“Saw it? I used it yesterday. Found the whiteboard pens in thirty seconds. Those have been missing for seven months.”
Before I can respond, two more people wander in. A woman with immaculate braids and tired eyes, and a manwho looks like he’s been working here since the building was constructed.
“Priya,” the woman says, pouring herself coffee with the efficiency of someone who’s done it ten thousand times. “I handle Jensen, Cooper, and Markham.”
“Three executives?” I ask, impressed.
