Page 62 of The Rebel Billionaire

Fuck! I’m spending far too much time fantasising about my way-too-young PA.

Callie was my buffer. But she’s no longer here. I need to learn to deal with Ms Brooke Feldmann all on my own.

I run a hand down my face.

How the hell did I find myself in this predicament?

Callie has a lot to answer for. I can try to blame her, but in the end, it was my decision. I don’t know what it is about Brooke, but I knew immediately that Callie wasn’t wrong, that she was going to be something special, able to do what none of the other experienced PAs could, especially if Friday’s party is anything to go by. How did she pull it off?

Shit.

When I set her the task of organising Callie’s party, I was half expecting her to come to me cap in hand and ask for my help. But no, instead, Little Miss Independent managed to do almost the impossible and create one of the best leaving parties this company has seen since my mother left, and in only one week. She also seems to have befriended half the company at the same time. On Friday night, I lost count of those singing her praises.

She’s intelligent, yes, but also focused and incredibly resourceful. Friday’s party is a prime example. In two weeks, she’s picked up what even an experienced PA would have struggled to grasp. I know I don’t work in the usual way, but she hasn’t even baulked. She’s tackled everything I’ve thrown at her, head-on. She recognises when something hasn’t worked and makes changes to correct it.

I’m not a coward. I’m the fucking CEO of one of the leading fashion houses in the world, but something about this young woman has got under my skin, and I can’t seem to pinpoint what it is.

And this morning, she beat me into the office. Her comment about jet lag… She obviously wanted to make a good impression, and she has, in more ways than I care to admit.

My phone flashes, letting me know I have an incoming call.

“I have David on line one,” Brooke says.

“Put him through,” I tell her, and wait for the click.

“Hey,” I say to my friend. “How are Callie and the baby?”

“Completely overwhelmed after Friday. That was some send-off you gave her.”

I smile. “Callie deserves it.”

“I know she does, having put up with your grumpy, demanding ass all these years.”

“What can I say?”

“That you’re meticulous and a perfectionist, not to mention confrontational and impatient.” He chuckles.

“The pot calling the kettle black. Probably the only reason you snagged Callie. She was used to me,” I fire back, knowing Callie and David fell hard, the moment they met. “Plus, it goes with the territory.”

A saying I grew up with, one that sums up the joys of being a CEO, comes to mind.

Nice is a biscuit, but it doesn’t get things done.

“And as for the reason for this call,” he says. “Callie wants to invite you over for dinner.”

“You mean she wants to interrogate me, check I’m not picking on Brooke, terrorising her?”

“Probably, but she’s going to invite the others too, so you won’t be alone. She wants something to fill her time. Organising a dinner party seemed like a good compromise.”

“Let me know when, and I’ll make sure I’m there. Or better still, have Callie talk to Brooke and add it to my calendar.”

“I will. Apparently, they’re going to meet up for lunch this week. Brooke has made quite the impression. How are you finding it… her? I know you hate change.”

“I’m adapting,” I say, wanting very much to change the subject.

“She seems very on the ball for someone so young.”

I can sense my friend fishing for information.