“Desperate is right,” Julian grins, holding his water and eying me, amused. “I wouldn’t say that lightly. Rourke hardly looks at anyone. I would know. I’ve been trying to get his attention for years, and he still doesn’t even know I work here.”
“…is he gay?” I ask, brow wrinkling, feeling a little disappointment hovering at my insides. Surely, I would have heard about something like that, especially with how high-profile he is. Although maybe all those NDAs I had to sign really are up to the task of keeping secrets.
Julian lets out a laugh, then shrugs, “I have no idea. Probably not. But that can’t stop a queen from trying.”
The rest of the meal goes by in a blur of getting to know Julian, getting to know the company through his gossip, and him telling methreemore times that I can’t come dressed in anything like this tomorrow.
“I’ll talk to Aunt Ruby about borrowing some money,” I say, though I’m not totally convinced she has the money to lend me.
Her apartment is nothing like Ember—an eclectic mix of thrifted furniture and hand-made decorative items. She composts and grows her own vegetables on the balcony.
Her apartment doesn’t scream wealth, but I also know she’s always hanging out with rich people and saw her write a donation check for over a thousand dollars to the Girl Scouts instead of buying cookies outside the grocery store a few days ago.
Either she’s loaded and can throw money like that around, or she doesn’t have a lot because she does things like write massive checks to little girls.
So, I guess my future at Ember hinges on whether or not Aunt Ruby actually has that kind of money. And my future, period, will suddenly include a very hefty clothing loan I’ll eventually need to pay back to my aunt.
Julian and I are just stacking up our plates at the bussing station when there’s a voice behind me and a finger on my shoulder.
“Mr. Rourke wants to see you,” the HR assistant says, frowning at me when I turn. Clearly, he wasn’t hoping to see me again, either. “And you’ll need to get your pager figured out, so he can contact you directly.”
“Right,” I say, face heating at the look Julian gives me. “Of course. I was just…”
“Don’t care,” the HR assistant says, turning and walking out again.
“Well, I’d better get going,” I say to Julian, jerking my thumb over my shoulder in the direction I think the elevators are in.
“Here,” he says, wincing at my gesture and pulling me in the opposite direction. “I’ll help you get there.”
Chapter 3
Lucy
“Your attire isn’t up to the company dress code.”
Dane Rourke gives me no more than a cursory glance when I’m standing in front of him again. It’s stopped raining, but the clouds are still heavy and gray outside. His office is low-lit, with rich amber lights spilling out onto the wood. It’s comforting in an odd way.
“I have a plan to—” I start, nervously, wondering if I should tell him about my hopes to ask Aunt Ruby for a loan, but he holds up a hand, gesturing to a box on the edge of his desk. I glance down at it. It’s matte black, with the Ember flame logo embossed on the front, shining in contrast. A beat passes, then I ask, “For me?”
He nods, tersely, only flicking his eyes at my face, and I pull the box toward myself, unable to resist the urge to run my finger over the material. It’s the kind of thing that justfeelsluxurious, though that’s ridiculous… it’s just a box.
Except it’s notjusta box. When I open it, I find the inside lined with a rich, burgundy velvet that cradles three differently shaped, perfectly smooth toys in muted mauve, maroon, and charcoal.
Nottoys. Tools. Companions.
My core tightens instantly, and I look up, breathless, locking eyes with Dane Rourke, who stares at me with a perfectly professional expression. It’s neutral, unbothered by the box between us. By what it contains.
“If you’re going to be working here,” he says, his voice even and measured, those cutting brown eyes slicing right through me, seeing right to the center of my little virgin heart, “then you need to be well-acquainted with the product.”
I nod, jerking my head again, sucking in a breath that does nothing to cool my cheeks or quiet the blood rushing to my ears. I need to stop looking at him, break the stare, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
Rourke sits perfectly still for several more moments before tipping his head up toward me.
“There’s an envelope,” he says, and when I glance down, I realize that, sure enough, there is a matte black embossed envelope to match the box.
And when I open it, a weighty silver credit card falls into my hand.
I look up at him, confused, and he says again, “Your attire isn’t up to the company standards. See that you fix that. As our assistant, you’re likely to be seen with us, and it can’t be in…” he glances at my clothes again, like it’s painful for him, “…that.”
