Chapter Three
Hayden drew in a deep breath and rang the bell of the town house on East 65th Street. Two interviews down. Two job offers for what would amount to being nothing more than a glorified office housekeeper. Hopefully this one would pan out. The past week of job hunting was wearing on his nerves.
Was it really so hard to find a super CEO who was overworked and needed a superb personal assistant dedicated to his job? Apparently so.
A woman in her midfifties, hair drawn back in a tight bun and dressed in a black-and-white uniform, answered.
“May I help you?”
“Hayden Porter to see Charles Morgan.”
Without a smile, she pulled the door open. “Please come in and follow me.”
The townhome was elegant and decorated befitting someone who managed a multibillion-dollar hedge fund. Hayden spotted several museum-quality paintings on the wall, and the furniture looked like it came from Sotheby’s auction house.
He was brought to a family room, where a fireplace dominated the twenty-foot space. Shining wooden floors stretched out before him. Various cabinets held antiques behind glass doors. There was more money in artwork in this one room than he’d probably earn in a lifetime. Hayden stayed in the center of the room, and under his feet was a thick, gloriously patterned Turkish carpet. “Mr. Morgan will be with you shortly.”
Having worked with these types for years, it should have surprised Hayden that Morgan wasn’t holding their interview in the library or his office, but he’d grown used to the idiosyncrasies of the very rich. After only a few minutes, the door opened and Charles Morgan appeared in a bathrobe and silk pajama pants. The housekeeper hovered by the open door.
“Hayden Porter? I’m Charles Morgan. How are you?”
“I’m well, sir. How are you?” He took Morgan’s outstretched hand and received a firm, warm handshake.
“Sit, please. Come to the couch. I’ll have Claire bring us something to drink. Scotch?”
“No, thank you.”
“I insist. I don’t drink alone.”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.” He had no intention of touching alcohol on an interview. Waiting for Morgan to continue, Hayden forced himself to keep still. While outwardly he presented a calm presence, inside he was a jangling mess of nerves.
Morgan turned his head. “Claire? Two on the rocks, then close the door behind you.”
“Of course, sir.” She fixed their drinks, placed them on coasters before them, and withdrew. The door clicked shut.
“So. I’ve heard good things about you, and Janice only deals with the best. As do I.”
Morgan was a good-looking man, his face smooth and pampered with facials and Botox, and his brows, like his chest, were waxed to perfection. Steady brown eyes never left Hayden’s face, and a slight smile kicked up the corner of his lips.
Hayden got an interested vibe from Morgan, but they were in a boss-employee situation, and that was a line Hayden never crossed. He knew many assistants who gave truly personal service to their employer—from spreadsheets to bedsheets—but luckily, Hayden had never been put in that position.
“I pride myself on my unique ability to anticipate what you might need at any moment. I always try to be one step ahead.”
“I need that. I’m busy from six in the morning to around seven at night. Overseas markets compose a vast majority of my business, so when the day starts here, it’s already half over for that part of the world, and you would need to coordinate the two sides.” He sipped his drink. “Is that something you think you can handle?”
“Not an issue. My last position was at a worldwide shipping company, so I’m well versed in handling international work.” He kept a careful watch on Morgan’s eyes and saw the approval. His pulse quickened. This could be it. The work sounded like something he could immerse himself in.
“I know. You worked for Kunoff. I’m looking for someone who shares my passion for perfection in everything.” His gaze lingered on Hayden. “You have that same drive, I feel.”
“I do. I’m very driven in everything I do.”
Morgan’s lips tugged up. “I’m glad to hear that.” He finished his drink, while Hayden hadn’t touched his. “How do you feel about working late hours? Or early mornings? Do you have a wife or girlfriend making demands on your time?” There went that enigmatic smile again. “A needy doodle-dog?”
“No. Nothing. I’m there for you.”
“Whenever I need you?”
Like a cobra, Morgan struck quickly, and Hayden found himself under a very hard body, being kissed until he swooned, not from passion but from lack of air. Then Morgan reached to cup his groin and Hayden froze. A man like Morgan could do whatever he wanted to whomever and get away with it. Money gave him that power. Hayden had to stop it.
Now.
“Don’t. Please. I don’t want to.”
“Oh, come on. You know the score. You do for me, and I’ll do for you. You’re giving all the fuck-me vibes.”
“No, I-I—”
“Two hundred fifty thousand a year, plus benefits,” Morgan murmured. “I’m very generous.”
More than double what Boris had paid him. All his money problems would be solved, and he’d just have to grin and bear it. It would be so easy to say yes.
“No.” He pushed Morgan off. It must’ve been the first time a man like him had heard that word in years.
Breathing heavily, Morgan regarded him. “I’m not giving options. If you want the job, take off your clothes.” With a sneer he reached for Hayden again.
“I said no.” It might hurt personally, but he had no choice. “That’s not up for discussion.”
Still, Morgan shrugged off his robe, revealing a fit, muscled body Hayden knew was achieved with an everyday personal trainer. “Yeah? Well, I say yes. Who’re they going to believe, you, or me?”
Hayden’s gaze was steady. “Oh, you, no doubt.” A vicious smile curved his lips. “But where there’s smoke, there’s fire, right? And my accusation will always be out there in the press because I will drop it into the very willing ears of reporters who are my friends. People will always wonder if it’s true or not. You won’t be able to get away with this shit.”
Morgan scrambled off the couch. “Get out.”
Hayden couldn’t leave fast enough.
**
At seven thirty the following morning, Hayden flung himself into the chair in front of Janice’s desk and huffed. “I thought you loved me.”
She glanced up at him from her computer screen. “I do. Why?”
“One interview was with someone who wanted me to be nothing more than a glorified housekeeper. First”—he ticked off a list on his fingers—“get his coffee and have his breakfast waiting on his desk. Second, bring his laundry to the cleaners and pick up from the tailors, whenever necessary. Third, make not only his personal appointments—something that’s part of my job, of course—but his wife’s, his children’s, and even the dog’s vet appointments.” At Janice’s snicker, he glared. “And take the dog for three walks a day. And the second appointment was no better. More of the same, but they had three little dogs. I am not a shit cleaner.”
“Just a shit-stirrer?” She cackled, then became serious. “Look, I didn’t know that’s what they wanted. They’re running Fortune 500 companies and put out requests for personal assistants.” Her finely arched brows drew together. “What about Charles Morgan? He’s a smart financier. Manages a multibillion-dollar hedge fund. He couldn’t possibly think you’re simply a step-and-fetch-it gofer.”
A shudder ran through Hayden. “He was the worst of all. My interview was at his house. It started in the family room. He wanted it to end in his bedroom.”
Her expression revealed a combination of shock, annoyance, and amusement. “I’m sure you handled that appropriately.”
His lips twitched upward. “I threatened to tell the press.”
Janice’s coffee spewed over her desk. “You what ?” she squawked. “Oh, dear God, to have been a fly on the wall.”
He frowned. “It’s not funny. He kissed me. Someone else could be assaulted if they’re not quick enough to come up with a story.”
“Do you want to file a police report?”
Hayden sighed. “I debated, but it’s a ‘he said, he said.’ Those cases are hard enough to prove. Billions of dollars make him the winner in most situations. I’ll end up being hurt more.”
All business now, Janice nodded briskly. “I’ll take care of it. Not only will I blacklist him from my agency, but I’ll put out the word to all the others not to accept him as a client. Are you all right?”
“Yeah. It might’ve gone further, but I held my own.”
“Good. That dirty prick,” she cursed, then studied him, and Hayden wondered what was going on behind her intense gaze. “I got an email yesterday from the son of a friend of mine who runs another agency. He has someone who’s looking for a personal assistant.”
“Okay. Why do I sense there are issues?”
“It’s a different situation than you’re used to.”
Hayden folded his arms and cocked a brow. “Go on.”
“Well…call him a reluctant CEO. Are you into sports?”
He snickered. “In or out of bed?”
“Bad boy.” She cackled. “Football, Hayden. Football. The Kings, to be exact. The owner and CEO, Randolph Winters, died in a plane crash in New Jersey three months ago.”
He nodded. “I remember hearing about it. He was with his pregnant girlfriend and his assistant.”
“That’s the one. He has a son, Armand, who’s taking over, and from the talk I’m hearing, he’s unqualified.”
“So? What does it matter? Sounds like a richy rich who plans on playing at being an owner. Nothing new.”
A grin spread across her face. “That’s where you come in, my darling. Being unprepared, he hasn’t a clue what to do. The scuttlebutt is, he’s in way, way over his head, totally unprepared, and kind of a bumbler. More interested in his rose garden than acquiring talent. He needs someone to keep him in line and tell him where to go and how to get there. That one won’t give you any trouble—no repeats of Charles Morgan.”
He sighed, feeling older than his thirty-seven years. “Does this Armand need an assistant or a babysitter?”
“Maybe a little of both. But think about it—you could help yourself. Armand Winters is bound to lean on you, as his second, so to speak. He might not have much going for him in the management department, but he’s got one thing you want.”
“And what’s that?”
Her eyes gleamed. “Hundreds of millions of lovely dollars.”
But Hayden wasn’t impressed. “I’m used to that. Boris was a billionaire. Didn’t help me one bit.”
Janice, of course, had an answer for him. She had answers for everything, which was why she was the top recruiter for top assistants. “Armand Winters isn’t seventy-five years old.” She paused. “Or straight.”
Shock rippled through him. “Are you serious? After I just told you that Morgan wanted me under his desk as well as in front of it, you’re suggesting I sleep with Winters?”
“No, of course not, but would it kill you to keep your options open? You’re good-looking, bright, ambitious. Morgan is a bastard who’s used to getting his way. Armand Winters seems to be a sweet person, and he’s single.” She leaned in closer. “It couldn’t hurt to turn on that sexy smile and bat those pretty green eyes.”
“You are something else.” He shook his head. “I don’t fuck where I work. If I get the interview and the job, it’s strictly business. I’ll do what I can to help him, but only as it relates to the Kings.”
She narrowed her eyes and gave a brisk nod. “Okay. Whatever works for you. From what I hear, Armand Winters is only doing this to prove his father wrong.”
Despite his annoyance, Hayden was curious. “Wrong about what?”
“That because Armand is gay, he can’t run the team. Trevor—that’s my friend’s son who also runs an HR agency and is looking for a PA for Armand—said that for as long as he’s known Armand—they went to prep school and college together—Armand has lived under the shadow of his father’s less than kind behavior. Randolph Winters constantly made disparaging remarks about Armand’s qualifications to run an NFL sports team, calling him weak, foolish.” She met his eyes. “Limp-wristed.”
Having heard some of those whispers throughout his life, Hayden winced. But where Armand Winters seemed to have buckled under the name-calling, it had only made Hayden stronger, though ultimately more foolish.
“Son of a bitch. Sounds like Armand didn’t lose much when his father died.” Hayden had been one of the lucky ones—his parents stood steadfast by his side, taking on anyone who treated him differently. God knew he’d put them through the wringer, but they still loved him despite his mistakes and stupid choices.
Surprisingly sympathetic, Janice pursed her lips. “It’s a sad story. They had a very tense relationship. Early on, Armand insisted on trying to prove his father wrong, even though Trevor believes he has no desire to really run the Kings. He’d show up and make attempts to learn the business, but Randolph would brush him aside, or put off any effort he made, often in front of the other board members. After a while he stopped completely.”
“His father sounds like a real piece of shit. So why did Armand keep bothering? He could have taken his millions and had his fun.”
Janice scribbled something on a notepad and slid it across her desk. “Shall I send you to him? You can ask him yourself.”
He shrugged as he put the address in his phone. “Sure, why not? It’s not like I have anything else on the horizon.” His eyes narrowed. “Do I?”
Studying her screen, Janice tapped the mouse. “I’m not sure. It’s barely eight. I’ll email you with any others when I have the details for your meeting with Armand Winters.”
That was his cue to leave. He got to his feet. “I’ll be waiting for your email.”
She raised a hand and answered her ringing phone.
Outside, he stood gazing at the sky, blinking at the bright sunlight. The crowds streamed past him. People on their way to work. On their way home from the night shift. School children holding hands with their parents, teenagers gossiping or going over their homework.
It seemed like everyone had someplace to be but him. Hayden gritted his teeth and decided to use the time to catch up on everything he’d neglected while working his crazy hours for Boris. He found a coffee shop and settled in to do some work.
After ordering an egg-white omelet, sliced avocado, and coffee, he read through the morning news, checked his emails, and scheduled a haircut and manicure. His leg jiggled as he scanned his most recent credit card statement. A few months of no salary, even with his severance, and he’d be in trouble. A message popped up from his mother.
Hi, darling. Haven’t heard from you in a few days, and Dad and I were worried. Call when you get a chance.
He hit the screen. “Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, you didn’t need to get back to me right away. I know how busy Boris keeps you. Hold on and I’ll get Dad.” He heard her yell, “Jim, Hayden’s on the phone. I’ll put you on speaker, honey.”
Smiling to himself, he ate some of his omelet while waiting.
“Hayden? How’re you doing?” His father’s deep voice echoed in the background.
“I’m well. But I wanted to tell you. I got laid off.”
“What? What the hell was Boris thinking?” his mother cried out, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Nicole Porter was no shrinking violet and rarely kept her opinions to herself. “How dare he fire you? You gave a thousand percent to that job to the detriment of yourself. Was it—”
“No,” he cut her off abruptly. “It had nothing to do with that. Boris never found out. No one will.” Past mistakes, though from two decades earlier, hung over his head like a guillotine. He might’ve been a child in the eyes of the law, but the ramifications were proving to last a lifetime.
“So what happened?” his father asked, always the calm to his mother’s storm. If you searched “opposites attract,” his parents’ picture would be the first to pop up. But through it all, the good and bad times, they had each other. No matter that he’d caused them problems, they never wavered in their love.
“What happened is that Boris is an idiot. That’s obvious,” she ranted, and Hayden bit his lip to keep from laughing.
“Nikki, please let Hayden explain.” His father managed to get a sentence in between her huffs of outrage.
“It had nothing to do with me or my work.”
“Of course it didn’t,” his mother agreed. “Your work is impeccable.” Her indignance was sweet, and after that morning’s discussion about Randolph Winters’s treatment of his son, Hayden felt sorry for all the kids who didn’t have the support system he’d had.
“Impeccable or not, Boris got himself married, and his new wife—his very young, very shrewd wife—doesn’t want anyone standing in the path to her husband’s fortune.”
“Meaning you?” Of course his father already knew the answer.
“Meaning me. I received severance, and Janice is busy setting up interviews for me. I’ll have something soon.”
“If you need—” His parents spoke in unison, as he’d known they would.
“No, no. I know you want to help, but I’ll be fine. When I was seventeen and stupid, it was appropriate, and I still royally screwed up. At thirty-seven, my problems are my own. I love you for the offer, but I’m sure I’ll have another interview soon and find something.”
His phone buzzed with a message from Janice.
Armand Winters will see you today at 12 noon at the Kings’ offices.
“See?” His heart kicked up a notch. “I just got an email from Janice. I have an interview today at noon. I’d better get going because I have lots to do before then.”
“With whom?” his mother asked. “What company?”
“Sorry. Don’t want to jinx it.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re the best. Make sure they know it.”
“I will,” he promised. “Love you. Talk soon.”
“Good luck, we love you,” his father replied.
Hayden’s throat grew tight. “Love you too.”
Imagine getting a call in the middle of the night that your underage child had been arrested for being a cam boy and having sex for pay—and having to come bail them out of jail. Hayden would never forget the disappointment, shock, and pain in his parents’ eyes. It didn’t matter that in his mind he’d done it for them—so they wouldn’t have to drain their resources to pay for college when they could barely make it on their own. In their eyes, they’d failed him, and though the record of his offenses was sealed in the legal system, it lay heavy on his chest. He’d yet to come to terms with the weight of his guilt and foolishness, and he’d never forgiven himself for the problems he’d caused.
But that was for another day. Preferably he’d have a job and income secured. Hopefully this would be the one.
Now that he had the interview set up, he figured it was time to do a little research on Armand Winters. He typed the name into the search bar, and pages of articles appeared. He squinted at the thumbnail pictures.
“Wait a second…” Hayden tapped on Images. Up popped a picture of his pickup from the beginning of the week. “Armi? Holy shit.” Remembering, he touched his lips. The guy had started out shy, but his kisses had been demanding, and Hayden had willingly given in.
When he’d woken up and found Armi gone, he’d almost been disappointed, though he was a one-and-done man. That hot mouth on his dick…the blissful expression when Hayden had come all over his face…soft, needy whimpers as they’d kissed. Hayden had wanted more.
He began to laugh and motioned to the server to bring him the check.
What the hell are the odds? The smile faded from his lips as he studied the picture, obviously taken at his father’s funeral. His arm was wrapped around the shoulder of an older woman, most likely his mother. Big sad eyes, dark hair, and a soft, full mouth. Hayden recalled Armi being bullied by the asshole at the bar and Janice’s words about his father treating him like dirt in front of people.
An unexpected and inexplicable wave of protectiveness burned through him. Armi didn’t deserve to be treated like dirt. Hayden wanted this job. And he was going to make sure he got it.