“Not yet. Would my firing her make you more likely to say yes when I ask you out on a date?”
Her cheeks are bright red, and I’m getting turned on, just watching her reaction.
“I don’t want to be responsible for someone losing their job.”
“That wasn’t a no.” I turn toward the door. “Ava! Can you come here?”
“Dayton, no! I don’t want you to fire her!”
Ava pokes her head back in the door. She isn’t my type whatsoever, but I did hire her to appeal to my clients, who are mostly male.
“Can I get a fresh cup of coffee?”
She nods, disappearing.
“Oh, so she gets your coffee too, huh? Does she write you sweet little notes on the cup, like the barista at Starbucks probably does?”
“Holy shit, youarejealous. Wait a minute. Is this how you always are? Do I need to fire my housekeeper too?”
“I’m not jealous! You’re not my boyfriend. I don’t care if you go to a female hairstylist, work with all women, go to strip clubs on the weekends … none of it matters to me.”
“You’ve said that twice now. Are you thinking about what it would be like if I was your boyfriend? Would you start cutting my hair and be my personal stripper?”
Summer’s face is now bright red, but she’s pacing around the back patio, biting her lip and twirling her hair around her finger. She looks incredibly kissable.
“I would ruin your hair.”
“That’s okay. My barber is male. Does that mean you can dance?”
“I took a pole-dancing class during my divorce.”
My pants tighten farther as my erection grows. “Keep going.”
She shrugs. “It didn’t help, obviously. Hot secretary beats the pole-dancing wife at home, I guess.”
My blood heats when I think about how her ex treated her.
Maybe I should fire Ava. If her working here makes Summer uncomfortable, I won’t hesitate. It’s not like being a secretary is Ava’s dream job.
“Are you busy tonight and tomorrow?”
“I have some pictures to edit for a pregnancy announcement session.”
“You could do that on the plane.”
“What plane?”
“The plane that’s going to bring you here.”
“Um, what?”
Ava walks back into my office, coffee in hand. She sets the cup on my desk.
“I need you to book a first-class flight here from Coconut Beach this afternoon. Her name is Summer Sullivan.”
Ava blinks at me. “Um, yes, sir.”
“Send the confirmation to this email address. And have Burt pick her up.” I scribble down Summer’s email on a sticky note.
