Page 48 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

And I might tell her that it feels like there’s something important Bianca isn’t telling me.

Chapter 25

Travis

As a kid, I quickly learned that fidgeting is frowned upon.

Teachers at boarding school snapped rulers on the desk when you bounced your leg. My nanny demanded we “sit up straight and be still.” And my father made it perfectly clear to me that fidgeting of any kind—tugging on your clothes, shifting in your seat, clearing your throat—would be interpreted as a weakness in any social interaction.

So I’ve become the kind of man able to hold myself completely still.

That is, until it comes to Serena MacKenzie.

I’ve beenveryaware of the fact that she’ll be in the office today since I saw her name appear on the shared calendar. Apparently, she’s helping the marketing department edit some photos from other campaigns to match the tone of the new website for the Onyx Hotel brand.

My first instinct was to call out of the office. I’m the CEO—I can do whatever I want. There’s nobody to call me on it.

But beyond my hesitance to interrupt my schedule for the day, there’s another reason I can’t just stay home. My brother is coming into the office to talk to me about his plans for the non-profit, and I can’t cancel on Graham. You never know thenext time the man will be flying off to Thailand to search for a rare flower, or to Brazil to source coffee for his charity-funding subscription service.

So I’m here. And I feel like my body is buzzing like a chainsaw.

All because of Serena.

Even out of the country, I couldn’t bring myself to lay a hand on another woman. I wanted to, wanted to move on and be with someone else. But my interest was simply… gone. My body knew what it wanted, and it wasn’t any of the gorgeous locals flirting with me.

Because I’m a masochist, I get a notification when her badge scans into the system. I sit in my chair, imagining her path through the building. I see her on the elevator, saying good morning to someone, walking down the hallway, speaking with Henry, our creative director.

Then, as though operated by some foreign remote, my hand reaches for the phone.

“Mr. Oakley,” Dianne says, chipper as always. “What can I do for you?”

“Call down to marketing. Ask them to send Serena MacKenzie to my office.”

Dianne pauses for a fraction of a moment—before she clears her throat and says, “Right away, sir.”

I hang up the phone, spinning in my chair. It was a good idea to hire Dianne—who is more organized than a woman who raised seven kids and held a part-time job at the same time? She came in on the heels of her divorce, declaring she wanted to reboot her life.

At first, I wasn’t interested—I had a long list of executive assistant candidates who were much younger and more credentialed than she was—but she was insistent. Asked me for just one day to prove herself.

So I gave it to her. And she blew me away. Not only was she organized, but she was more intimidating than the younger people I typically hired. Which meant she was able to handle calls and send time-sucks in the other direction. All my files were meticulous now. Dianne was even able to teach me a thing or two about our office technology.

“Travis.”

I emerge out of my thoughts, looking up to find Serena standing in the doorway to my office. In fact, she’s glaring at me, but I’m so happy to see her that my brain doesn’t seem to register her anger.

“Serena,” I manage to say in a professional tone. “Thanks for coming up.” I pause, grappling for a reason to have called for her, beyond just wanting to see her face. “Due to your skills and diligence, I’d like to offer you a full-time position at Onyx.”

She blinks, lets out a puff of laughter, and says, “Yeah, no thank you.”

That jolts me out of my professional facade. I lean forward, tilting my head at her. “No, thank you? I’m prepared to offer you a sizable salary. Plus, we have excellent benefits here.”

Serena gives me a little smug smile, “I’m sure you do.”

My eyes skip over her frame again, taking in her hair—loose and wavy—and her outfit—something green and vintage. It’s frustrating, but exhilarating, that she’s holding onto her anger over me leaving her in that hotel room. “You were drunk, Serena.”

“So you had to leave the country?” she asks, stepping into the room and raising an eyebrow. This time, I don’t have to get up. She pushes the door shut behind her.

It’s too fucking sexy.