Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Theo
I’m up for half the night for reasons I’d rather not attempt to articulate. All I know is that those reasons primarily consist of the woman sitting at the desk directly outside my office. And I don’t know what bothers me more: that she’s in my head, or that I don’t entirely mind her being there.
This itch at my fingertips, like I want to suddenly add some living arrangement contingency that puts my assistant into a safe high-rise apartment, tells me that I’ve already gone too far.
By noon, I’ve fully decided that after my lunch meeting, I will call HR and have them revise the assistant position to at least include a generous housing allowance.
Reaching for the handle of my office, I take a deep breath, preparing myself for having to see her. With her stupid gorgeous smile, and those tight little black pencil skirts that hug her from her waist to mid-thigh.
A woman in a skirt never did anything for me until I saw Marley in one. Now I’ve been ruined for the rest of my life.
Stepping out into the main floor, I find her leaning forward, her chin in the palm of her hand, and hyper-focused on whatever she’s reading on the computer.
When she sees movement, her eyes whip in my direction.
Straightening in her chair, she tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear as she watches me, waiting to see if I’ll speak this time or walk by silently like I usually do.
Pretending not to notice her every day, every moment I walk past her desk, has somehow become the most difficult part of my job. Having her attention scares the hell out of me, and yet, I can’t help but want more.
“I thought you’d be at lunch,” I comment, stopping in front of her workspace that’s miles more tidy than I ever would have expected from a mini-tornado like her.
She shrugs. “I don’t usually take lunch.”
I can already see my double-standard raising a brow, already judging. Normally, that’s something I’d respect in an employee. Dedication. Focus. Yet, with her, it doesn’t sit right. I want her to take care of herself.
In the two weeks she’s worked here, I’ve watched her energy wither, as she runs on fumes but doesn’t stop. And whether I like it or not, I don’t want to be responsible for that.
I lift my arm, checking the time on my watch.
“Well, since you’re technically free then, come run an errand with me.”
She looks around the room like maybe I’m talking to someone else. Then points to her chest. “Me?”
“No, the ghost you said was haunting our floor,” I deadpan. “Of course, you. Come on, grab your stuff and let’s go.”
Staring at me for a moment like I’ve gone certifiably insane, her office chair creaks as she stands, slinging her small leather purse around her shoulder. We make our way through the building, ignoring all the questioning sets of eyes on us as we leave the building together.
Not once, in my entire career, have I left with a woman. Not an assistant, a colleague, or my own mother. There are bound to be whispers, but I’ll deal with the consequences as they roll in. For now, my sole focus is on touring a property for redevelopment.
The entire car ride there, I can tell she’s fighting the urge to talk, while I’m racking my brain on what to say. We’re opposites in every way. Where I prefer silence, she opts for noise. I thrive on order, she blooms with chaos.
After several minutes, I crank down the radio. “Have you ever been on a site inspection before?”
“Oh yeah, all the time,” she says breezily. Way too breezily.
I side-eye her, and the cracks in her sarcasm start to show as she fights back a smile.
She’s messing with me, fully aware it was a stupid question to ask. She’s a dancer with waitressing experience. Not a developer, not a broker. Of course, she’s never toured a property.
I backpedal. “It was a dumb question.”
“It wasn’t dumb. You just make it too easy messing with you. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you have a seriously adorable grumpy face.”
“I’m not even sure if I should classify that as a compliment or an insult.”
I’ve never been called “adorable” before. Asshole? Yes. Adorable? Not in a million fucking years.
“A site inspection is exactly what it sounds like,” I say, merging onto the freeway. “We walk the property, assess its condition, review any potential risks, and make sure it aligns with our development plans.”
She hums like she’s absorbing critical information. “So, fancy rich-guy speak for ‘walking around and pointing at things’?”
“If you consider structural integrity, zoning compliance, and millions of dollars in investment ‘pointing at things,’ then sure.”
She grins, undeterred. “Do I get to wear one of those reflective vests?”
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. “No.”
“Damn. That would’ve made this so much more entertaining.”
I don’t bother responding. She’s already having too much fun at my expense.
She glances at me from the passenger seat. “Did you always want to do this? Like, when you were a kid, did you dream of site inspections?”
“This is going to give you even more ammunition to use against me. But yeah, I did. My dad took me on a lot of them. I always thought it was interesting.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. When I picture you as a child, I imagine you in a tiny little suit and tie.”
I shoot her a look. “I wasn’t that bad.”
She gives me a disbelieving look. “Somehow, I think of you using PowerPoint presentations to negotiate extra dessert.”
“Remind me why I brought you along again?”
“Because I make your life infinitely more entertaining.”
I exhale, eyes back on the road. She nailed it. That’s exactly the damn problem.
“Tell me what you were like as a kid,” I say. “So I can poke fun at you.”
“Please. I was the chillest kid. Talked all the time, made friends with literally everyone. My mom barely had to take care of me because I handled things myself.”
I raise a brow. “Handled things?”
“Like, if I was hungry, I’d figure it out. If I was tired, I’d put myself to bed. If I needed something, I’d either find a way to get it or decide I didn’t need it that bad. I don’t think I ever even asked for help once as a child.”
Well, fuck. Now I’m beginning to get a clearer picture of her childhood, and it breaks my heart thinking of a young Marley with no help in her corner.
“You make that sound normal, but it’s kind of … not,” I reply, not wanting to sound like a judgmental prick, while simultaneously wanting her to be aware most childhoods aren’t like that. That even as an adult, it’s okay to ask for help.
She tilts her head, considering. “Yeah. I guess most kids weren’t grocery shopping for themselves by age six.”
“Jesus.”
“Eh, it’s fine. It taught me self-sufficiency. And possibly some deep-seated abandonment issues. But hey, look at me, I turned out fine.”
I give her a look. “Debatable.”
“Rude.” She laughs, smacking my arm. “You know, I’ve got to say, I like this side of you. You’re actually kind of funny.”
That statement alone makes me shut down, like she’s pressed some hardwired kill switch. I shouldn’t be relaxing around her, shouldn’t be joking with her, shouldn’t be getting close.
The more I get to know her, the more glaringly obvious it becomes that I need to keep my distance. She’s too magnetic for her own good, and I feel myself getting pulled in more with every conversation.
We pull into the lot, and I catch her studying the warehouse as I shift into park.
It’s old and rickety, the kind of place that looks like it’s been losing a fight with time for the past decade.
The structure leans slightly, its bones exposed in places where the exterior has begun to crumble, crack, and decay.
Thirty years ago, it used to be a thriving music venue, packed every weekend with sold-out crowds. Now, it’s lucky to still be standing whenever the wind picks up.
As soon as the property hit the market, our company snatched it up. It’s close enough to downtown to make redevelopment worth the investment, prime real estate for business offices that will actually turn a profit.
We meet my developer, Xavier, a staunch, no-nonsense man I’ve worked with on more projects than I can count. He eyes Marley curiously but, thankfully, doesn’t ask questions.
Bringing an assistant to an inspection like this is unusual. For me, it’s downright unheard of. I don’t socialize. And I sure as hell don’t willingly let myself be seen with someone else.
As Xavier leads the way through the performance hall, I see the immediate stars in Marley’s eyes as she takes it all in.
She looks over the wide-open space, eyes lingering on the weathered stage that makes you feel like an ant on a hill of history.
There’s silent wonder in the way she looks at it, like she’s stepping into something sacred.
When Xavier unrolls a set of plans across a table covered in a thick layer of dust, we begin to talk about the necessity of tearing down the building and the high-end office spaces that will soon replace it.
All that wonder fades from Marley’s face.
In its place is horror, like she can’t believe this place she’s been in for the first time will cease to exist.
She doesn’t see structural concerns, she sees craftsmanship that’s unheard of in modern architecture. She isn’t thinking about red tape or financial risk. She’s thinking about the culture, the history, the loss.
The meeting wraps up quickly, Xavier shaking both our hands before hopping into his work truck and speeding off to his next site. Like me, he isn’t thinking twice about tearing down the building. Another day, another pile of wreckage.
But Marley? I can tell she doesn’t see it that way.