Chapter 10 Savannah
SAVANNAH
I’m lucky to have Elodie as a good friend. Not many people would be willing to tag along on their friend’s ridiculous tasks that her boss sets for her. Yet here I am standing in line at the dry cleaner's with Elodie by my side.
“Remind me again why we’re here?” she asks as I stand on the balls of my feet to see what is taking the customer in front of me so long.
“Because Julian decided to go back to making my life hell during the lunchtime rush. Apparently, he needs this suit today despite having a whole closetful of options.” I didn’t see him yesterday, as he was away from the office, and this morning’s greeting was throwing a receipt on my desk.
She nudges my arm with hers and has the audacity to give a knowing smirk. “But he kissed you.” She sing-songs the reminder.
Not that I need one. The memory is part of the broader slew of issues. I can add the other night’s visit to the list, too. He makes my heart race, but I don’t want to be that woman who succumbs to his broody charms at the sign of interest. I held strong, but I didn’t sleep a wink.
“Well, he can take that victory, but the other night I walked away because he doesn’t get to snap his fingers to have the world go the way he wants.” We step up when the customer in front of us leaves, and my hand darts out with a receipt to the man behind the counter.
He has a quick read of the numbers on the paper. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
“Yet, he has the power to send you on his ridiculous errands, probably because you denied him the Savannah goods.” Elodie laughs.
I cringe at her sentence. “Can we not say goods? It sounds like my body is a bakery.” She shrugs.
“And secondly, being here shows the lengths of his pettiness, all because his feelings got hurt.” I’m a little fired up on this.
Not only his warped brain, but also, I was working on a project that held my interest, and I felt I could have added more input had I been given another hour or two.
Instead, I sent it to Julian with what a normal assistant would provide because I’ve been dispatched to do his errands.
“Let it go. Maybe he really does need the suit. He’s always at some event outside of work.
” My eyes grow wide at her, and she bubbles a laugh.
“What? One of the cat ladies on my floor always gives us the latest gossip on him. Cute, kind of. I always took her for a knitting-and-painting-by-numbers kind of lady. Anyhow, at company events, he sticks around with the board, and I guess you need to dress well for that.”
“Who cares? I’m starving on my lunchbreak and here to pick up my boss's dry cleaning.”
“I think you do care and love playing the part of a disgruntled employee,” she accuses me.
I’m about to defend myself, but I choke on my words because I know she’s right. “It’s safer that way.”
“Miss, here you are,” the man says as he passes me the bagged suit over the counter.
“Thanks. It’s on his account, right?”
He nods. “Of course, no need to ask for Mr. Haven. By the way, though, when I checked his pockets before the cleaning, I found something.” He hands me a small plastic bag that I usually receive when something is left in a pocket.
Disgruntled, I open the bag, already enraged that a woman gave him a number this time. I pull out the paper, unfold it, and instantly freeze.
Bad assistant. You lied.
It takes a few ticks for me to digest what I’m reading, only for my face to tighten due to my blood boiling. “I’m going to throttle him,” I grind out.
Elodie has the nerve to chuckle cheekily. “Throttle. So many ways for interpretation.”
I glance sidelong with an unimpressed look.
Sitting on the edge of Julian’s desk with my legs crossed and one heeled shoe half off, I twitch my foot in the air and pop a fruit snack into my mouth. One thing about knowing his schedule is that I’m aware that at any moment, he will walk into his office.
His action with the piece of paper is so blatantly ridiculous, and I don’t appreciate being called a liar when I have no clue what he is referencing.
I hear Julian walking toward his office, and he seems to be on his cell phone. The moment he opens his door and receives his welcoming view, his face stalls.
“I’ll have to call you back, Hayes,” he says and ends the call. His eyes narrow as he attempts to figure out my mood, but he doesn’t need long, and that goddamn arrogant smirk makes an appearance as he closes the door lazily behind him.
I lift the empty gummy package and crumple it before ceremonially dropping it onto his desk.
“Ooh, someone has her claws out today.”
“What the hell?” I’m so tempted to throw the paperweight next to me at him. “I should have torn that suit of yours into shreds, but I’m a professional at my job, and collecting your suit was my task of the day. However, I will not tolerate any extra remarks.”
Julian strides closer, and his smirk inches bigger. “Ah, you found the note, did you? I thought it was a nice touch.” He’s proud.
“Care to explain how I’m a fucking liar?”
He loosens his tie as he slows his steps. “The other night. You didn’t see a brother of a friend, now did you?”
I’m puzzled. “What? I don’t understand.”
“You see, a wonderful thing about arranging a car for you is that these days, safety comes first, so imagine that… an app told me that you went straight home.” He tosses his tie to the side with not a care in the world where it lands.
“You followed me?” I’m flabbergasted. “First off…” I hold a finger up. “I could have gone home, changed, and then left.” I add another finger in the air. “Secondly, this is borderline stalking, which is a little fucked up.”
He arrives right in front of me. “It’s called being concerned over your safety on a night in Chicago. Logical. So yes, you told a little white lie.”
I shake my head. “Don’t ever call me a liar again.”
He shrugs, and his hand reaches out. My eyes fixate on his loose collar, and the way having him close causes a bolt of electricity in my body, I’m losing my mission.
“Fine. But calling you a bad assistant is up for debate?”
Pretending to be disgusted, I struggle as his finger delicately swipes a loose hair off my forehead. “We are not having this conversation.”
He quirks his lips out and gingerly bobbles his head side to side. “You might want to get off my desk. Arriving at my office with a woman on my desk isn’t exactly fair.”
That’s it. I hop off and break away from the bubble of tension. “I’m not sure what you did with your other assistants, but I have a little more class than that.” Today, because being splayed out on his desk doesn’t exactly cross my mind.
“Sure. Easy to do. No other assistants have had the privilege, so consider yourself an anomaly,” he mentions casually before his demeanor turns formal. “Now, should we focus on work?” Julian doesn’t let me answer and instead circles his desk to sit down in his throne.
Blowing out a sigh, I decide that it is a workday and I have a job to do. I drop onto the chair in front of his desk and inhale deeply.
“I need to talk to you about something,” he begins, and my eyes grow wide because I fear that we have circled back to inappropriate again, and he senses it and grins. “Work. I’m talking about work,” he reaffirms.
“Right, of course.”
“Narrowing down candidates to replace Charles for the COO position is a lot of work. As much as I would promote internally, I’m not sensing anyone suitable.
I’m left no choice but to search externally.
I’ve thrown out some feelers in my network.
When it comes time for interviews, I’m going to need your help.
You see the tiny details, you’ve worked with Charles and know his day-to-day running better than anyone.
Therefore, I’m relying on you to give input on candidates.
The board will have to be involved at some point for decision-making, and that is a headache I need organized as well. ”
“Oh.” I’m pleasantly surprised; I assumed I would have no part in this responsibility. Hiring a significant role within a corporation involves directors, not me. However, what he says makes sense. “It never crossed my mind, however, I would love to give input.”
“Great. Not many personal assistants add value to the process.”
Another 180. My face must show how I feel about his brazen comment. “Oh? We are not just assistants.”
He holds his hand up. “That’s not…” His face contorts when he probably replays his comment in his head. “What I meant is that you have a lot going for you with your experience and degree and all.”
“Are you actually giving me a compliment?” Today is a full moon, it has to be.
His mouth stretches into a grin. “I guess I am.”
I can’t hide the smile because I appreciate the praise. “Thank you. Anything else?”
He shakes his head, and his grin stays put. “Not now.”
I nod and stand, walking away with a little more pep in my step and my earlier fury now buried.
“Oh, wait,” he calls out.
I turn halfway. “Yes?”
“I need you for Saturday’s gala.”
“Uh… why?” It’s a personal event on his calendar.
Julian doesn’t look up from his laptop. “In case someone comes along with an interest in clawing their way into a conversation about the vacant company role, and you have a sixth sense about it. Or I simply forget someone’s name, and you can remind me.”
I’m severely doubting his spiel. “Again, why?”
He glances up, and his eyes, which have a different glint today, bullet straight into me. “I assume you have a dress, as you have been to company events before.”
“Okay, you’re avoiding my question. This isn’t exactly a company event. And yes, I do have a dress. Shall I meet you there, or would you like to track me by my phone as a good stalker does?” I list, and it causes the corner of his mouth to lift in humor.
“It doesn’t matter what kind of event it is. Great about the dress, ensure it keeps straying eyes off you if we can. My PA is kindly requested to join. And no tracker, I’m not that crazy, and it really was a coincidence with the app. I’ll pick you up,” he answers in order.
“I’ll meet you there. It means I can avoid travel time with you on my weekend.”
“So be it.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, rolling my lips as I debate in my head how to evaluate this situation. Something is underlying, and I have a feeling it’s due to our sexual tension. We have unusual banter that borders on flirtation. Our breathing around one another is different, too.
My curiosity about him runs deep, and it’s threatening.
A dress for straying eyes? Well, that might kill him. “Of course, I’ll go to the gala.”
I smile widely with satisfaction at the possibilities for driving him crazy.