Chapter 2
two
. . .
Maddox
Was I in some sort of alternate universe?
First, I get moved to this godforsaken town to open an office here a few months ago, per my grandfather’s insistence.
Many of our employees were now working remotely, so he didn’t feel the need to have such a large office in the city.
Financially, this was a wise move. San Francisco is outrageously expensive.
So, with my brother off the rails at the moment, and my dickhead father vacationing in Europe while he pretended to run our real estate company, I was sent to Cottonwood Cove.
I’d just experienced a secondhand high from the stoner kid who’d asked me if I wanted to come over later to play video games with him and get lit.
His words, not mine.
I didn’t mind leaving the city and the traffic behind, but I needed a good team around me to make this work.
My father had failed at the helm these last few years, and my grandfather was looking to me to bring some life back into this publishing house.
This company had been his baby, his pride and joy, and his passion.
Sure, he was one of the largest real estate moguls in the country, but Lancaster Press had been one of the longest-standing pub houses in the world, even if our numbers were at an all-time low, and we hadn’t signed a big author in quite a while.
So, my grandfather shifted my father into the real estate business and put me at the helm to lead this company.
And I was determined to bring us back to the top of our game.
But I couldn’t do it with a weak team, and not everyone had wanted to move to this small town.
Luckily, I’d gotten a few good people on the marketing team to make the move, and our two top editors who lived in the city were willing to relocate immediately.
Once they realized the cost-of-living advantages, they were all in.
But I needed more people, and so far, the pool of candidates in Cottonwood Cove wasn’t very impressive.
“Okay. We’ve established your ability to dominate a geriatric sport and shine with a shuttlecock. What else do you have?” I raised a brow at the gorgeous woman sitting in front of me.
Her skin was tan, her hair was blonde, and her eyes were a rare sapphire blue.
She was the quintessential California girl, with dimples and white teeth and the whole nine yards.
A personality for days, which probably scored her points with most people.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t like most people.
I needed a fucking personal assistant so I could stop wasting time setting appointments, ordering office supplies, and spinning my wheels.
I’d grown up around assistants who managed both my grandfather’s and my father’s lives.
And they sure as shit were not bragging about their badminton skills.
My last three assistants had been disasters.
One had called in sick more often than she came to work.
One had fucked up my calendar so badly, causing me to miss an important meeting, amongst a shit ton of other errors, which left me no choice but to fire her.
And the last one had squeezed my thigh under the table at lunch with a client, moving her fingers dangerously close to my dick because she thought it would relax me.
She was wrong.
I’d sent her ass packing, as well.
I didn’t mix business with pleasure, and I needed an assistant who could handle more than one task at a time—and threatening to grab my dick was not one of them.
“Well, I’m very organized. I handled the entire Reynolds family calendar growing up.
And let me tell you, five teenagers and two adults going in seven different directions is not easy to manage.
I was a teaching assistant for two of my professors, and they both sent over excellent recommendations.
” She reached into her bag again and handed me two letters that were also printed on peach floral paper.
Why in the world would she think this would impress me?
It was distracting. Annoying even. I scanned the letters, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved to see that they’d sung her praises.
They raved about her work ethic, and one professor called her a ray of sunshine.
I suppose that trumped the cloud of cannabis that I’d just interviewed and the woman from hell yesterday who’d bitched about everyone in town and tooted her own horn about being a social outcast.
My options were limited, and time was ticking, so I’d need to bite the bullet and hire someone already.
“You should have led with this. It’s better than the gift for odd sports.” I set the letters aside. “This is not a typical assistant job, Ms. Reynolds.”
“I’m not a typical girl.” She smirked.
“Do you need this job?” It was an important question because I wasn’t here to play games.
“Absolutely.” She cleared her throat and leaned forward. She met my gaze head-on. Most people didn’t. “Listen, I don’t have a lot of personal assistant experience, but I’m a really hard worker, and I’m a quick learner.”
I didn’t doubt it. She’d graduated magna cum laude, so that told me that she knew how to focus and push herself.
“This position goes beyond just office work. I need someone to run errands, handle things at my house, and, if needed, jump on a plane and travel at a moment’s notice.
You’d be in charge of scheduling my appointments, possibly sitting in on meetings and taking notes, and occasionally reading manuscripts.
So, as you can see, you’d be wearing several hats. ”
“I love hats. I’ve yet to find one that I can’t pull off.” She smiled so big it was hard not to join her, aside from the fact that her answer made no sense.
“You won’t actually be wearing hats. It’s a metaphor.”
“That was a little condescending, Bossman. I’m aware. I was being funny. Apparently, a sense of humor is not in the job description.”
Smart-ass. Although I liked that she was witty and not some airhead. I’d have to set some ground rules if I gave her the job, which was looking very likely because there was no one else in the running.
“How about we lose the attitude and keep things professional?” I waited for her to nod, but for whatever reason, she continued smiling like this was all in good fun. It wasn’t. I was fucking serious. “Are you a reader?”
“Of people?” she asked before she rubbed her hands together like she couldn’t wait to tell me all about her skills.
“Of books, Ms. Reynolds. We’re a publishing house.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” She looked off as if she were in deep thought, and just as I was about to speak, she continued. “I mean, I mainly read indie authors. No offense. I just tend to lean that way. But I’d be open to reading authors that you sign, of course.”
Interesting that she knew the difference between a traditionally published author and a self-published author. Most people didn’t. Self-pubbed authors were flooding the market, but understanding the market was not something I’d expected from my personal assistant.
“Why do you lean toward reading indie authors?”
“Well, I read predominantly romance. My cousin, Ashlan Thomas, is a traditionally published romance author, and I beta-read for her. She’s fabulous.
But otherwise, there are just so many authors to choose from in the self-published world of romance.
Most are female, if I’m being honest, and I guess I appreciate a badass woman who is willing to make her dreams happen, right?
That means they do it all. They write, they market, and they sell. It’s hard not to respect it.”
I’d never thought of it like that. But that wasn’t what we did here at Lancaster Press, and she needed to remember that.
I’d had no idea that Ashlan Thomas was her cousin, but I’d save that little sidenote for another time, as signing her would be great, seeing as she was a newer, but very popular author, and her name was getting a lot of praise.
“You do realize that we’re a traditional publisher, right?” I raised a brow.
“Yes. But you hired me to manage you, not choose the talent.”
“I haven’t hired you yet, and if I do, it would be to assist me, not manage me.”
“Tomato, tomahto. And I’m open to reading whatever you give me. You just asked what I read, and I was being honest.”
I appreciated it, even if I wasn’t sure I liked her answer.
“And how many books would you say that you read a year?” Why was I even asking that? She was my PA, not an editor or a cover designer. What she read was irrelevant, yet I was curious.
I found most people who had opinions on authors and the book world were usually all talk. When it came down to it, a lot of people that had these strong opinions only read two to three books a year, so their opinions were based on nothing at all.
“Hmmm…” She thought it over, and I wanted to chuckle.
She’d just made this grand statement, and now she most likely couldn’t back it up.
“I think three hundred a year would be a conservative guess. I usually read a book a day, but sometimes it takes me a bit longer, so that’s probably close to accurate. ”
I tried to hide my surprise with a slow nod. “I see. That could be useful if I need you to take a quick look at some submissions that my editors send for my approval.”
“I’d be thrilled to do that. And trust me, I won’t forget that picking up your dry cleaning and getting your coffee is also part of the job. I know I’ll be wearing many hats.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard for the county pickleball champ,” I said, keeping my tone even as I fought the urge to laugh. I wasn’t normally much of a jokester, but I couldn’t help myself.
I spent the next forty minutes going over the details of the position, the pay, and the benefits package.
“Does this mean I have the job?” she asked, doing some sort of little shimmy with her shoulders.
There was no doubt that she was charming and gorgeous and more intelligent than she let on at first glance.
But she was also unprofessional and a bit of a smart-ass. Of course, my brother and most of my tenured employees would say I was a stick in the mud, so there was that.
I’d have to make sure she understood that I was the boss and she worked for me. This was a job, and if she wasn’t stepping up to the plate, I’d have no problem cutting her. It didn’t matter how cute or sexy she was.
And goddamn, was she ever sexy.
“You have the job.” I pushed to my feet. “Be here tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m. sharp, and we’ll get you all set up. I don’t tolerate tardiness or excuses. I’m a busy man, and I need someone who can keep up.”
She pushed to her feet and saluted me. “I will not let you down, Bossman.”
“You can call me Mr. Lancaster,” I grumped.
Once that was out of the way, I glanced at my watch, aware that I had a meeting in five minutes, so I walked to the door and held it open, extending my arm. “Welcome to the team. HR will have your paperwork ready to sign in the morning.”
She squealed, and my eyes widened. “Thank you, Mr. Lancaster. I can’t wait to dazzle you.”
Once again, she was completely unprofessional.
But when her small hand landed in mine, I didn’t want to let go.
And that had me yanking my hand away immediately. I held my arm out for her to leave, and when she turned around to say goodbye, I let the door shut.
We weren’t girlfriends.
I didn’t do small talk.
I needed to make that clear right off the bat.
And that was exactly what I intended to do.