Page 100 of The Rebel Billionaire

“I may be your PA, but I won’t be spoken to like that. I’m going to leave now. We can continue this conversation when you’ve calmed down.”

“You’re what?” I stare at her wide-eyed.

“I’m going to leave and return to my desk,” she says, moving towards the door. “Look at the changes. If you don’t like them, then I’ll return the schedule to your previous, totally inefficient one. But I think if you just take…”

“Get out.” I release a frustrated huff.

She turns without a backward glance, closing the door softly behind her.

What the hell!

Although she’s not wrong, my schedule since returning from Italy has blown up. With Christmas fast approaching, followed by the new year and the various fashion weeks, my life is already a little crazy. Add the rumour that someone is trying to sell our designs illegally to one of our competitors, despite there being no physical evidence, and it becomes even more chaotic.

I run a hand through my hair in frustration and glance once more at the schedule.

It’s not permanent. It can be revoked.

I stare at it. Glare is probably more accurate.

It’s fucking colour-coded like the rainbow.

What am I, five?

I flick through, pulling up the weekly view.

All my meetings are present, although it looks like a couple have been shifted.

I pull up the email Brooke included.

Meetings (Blue): I’ve spoken with the various managers and tried to group meetings whenever possible to reduce travel time. Any that could not be moved for logistical purposes have remained in place.

Travel time (Green):

Focus Time (Purple): Time for you to review documents.

Free Time (Orange): For any additional work or unscheduled meetings.

The list goes on. It’s as though she’s taken my working week and broken it down into manageable chunks. She understands what my job entails and has made every demand on my time visible and feasible.

Finally, she’s included a thirty-minute lunch break every day.

I sit back and stare at the planner.

I don’t remember the last time I scheduled lunch that didn’t involve a meeting of some type.

She’s done what she said and made my schedule efficient. Something not even Callie could do. Not that I ever let her. I would have snapped at her just as I did Brooke. Brooke, on the other hand, has made the changes and then asked for forgiveness. I’ll give the woman credit. She has balls!

I flick through the days in more detail. I’ve muddled through for so long, my intensity and drive meaning I’ve tried to do everything. One tiny scrap of a woman has come in, seen what was needed and said, ‘You can do better.’

Shit. I owe her an apology.

I rub the back of my neck and pick up the phone.

“Brooke, get in here.”

She sighs but doesn’t argue.

The door opens a second later.