Chapter 6
six
. . .
Maddox
This day had turned into a shit show. Arthur Hobbs had gotten on the call and then abruptly told me he was nauseous and proceeded to dry heave into the phone before violently vomiting while I was on speakerphone.
I’d let him know we could reschedule and ended the call, not even certain he’d heard me.
I didn’t do well with gagging and heaving, and I used that time to take a look at Georgia’s notes again.
I’d read the three chapters of Mara’s work, and I agreed with my assistant.
Even though that wasn’t the genre I typically read, I knew good work when I read it.
It was a gift I’d been given from my grandfather, who was an iconic man in the publishing world.
Nadia had torn apart the opening, which was near perfection in my opinion. So, I’d gotten on the phone with my grandfather and told him about my assistant being an avid reader and loving the submission and that I agreed with her.
He’d heard Ted was going to shop this story to other houses starting tomorrow, so he told me to reschedule the board meeting, and he’d booked a meeting with that dickhead Ted Hagger in the city for dinner. He told me to bring my assistant and take the helicopter and not to be late.
The problem was, my goddamn assistant wasn’t answering her phone. I no longer needed the jacket she’d gone to get, but we’d both need to pack a bag and get our asses on the helicopter in an hour.
I jumped in my car and drove back to my house, finding her ridiculous scooter parked in my driveway.
It infuriated me that she drove that thing, even after I’d offered her a temporary loaner, as I had multiple cars, and she’d turned me down.
She was attached to the stupid thing she was driving, and she said she didn’t need handouts.
Well, she needed a goddamn car, and I didn’t care how she got it.
I jogged inside, and when I opened the door, music boomed through my entire house.
What the actual fuck?
Was she throwing a party?
I held up my phone and Shazamed the song and shook my head.
“Slow Ride” by Foghat.
Her taste in music was as bad as her taste in transportation.
I moved through my bedroom and into the bathroom, pausing as I stood against the wall with a view into my closet. She couldn’t see me, but I could see her perfectly.
She was standing on top of my leather ottoman in her booties, which was an argument for another time, because I wouldn’t care right now if she’d spray-painted the walls.
I was completely mesmerized.
She was wearing my black velvet jacket that covered the backs of her thighs, because all I could see was a set of gorgeous legs and her booties.
Maybe she was naked beneath? That would be quite the fantasy.
She had a cowboy hat on her head that I’d never worn, but it was my grandfather’s, and he’d given it to me.
She belted out the lyrics to the song, which would now go down as my all-time favorite song forever. She danced and wiggled and shook her ass.
Fully invested in her performance.
A slower part to the song started to play, and she bent her knees and turned just enough for me to see her playing the air guitar, and I nearly blew my cover when I realized she was holding a can of shaving cream in her hand, which she was clearly using as her microphone, and she tossed it down on the ottoman.
She broke out into the chorus before doing some sort of rock star jump through the air and landing on the floor and then spinning in my direction when her gaze locked with mine.
She sang the words one more time, her voice much softer. “Oh, hey there, Bossman. Um, I was just heading back.”
She hurried toward my speaker and turned it off, and the room fell silent, aside from the heavy panting coming from her mouth. I moved inside the closet. Her chest was rising and falling from her stadium-worthy performance, and she blinked up at me a few times.
“On a scale of one to ten, how much trouble am I in?”
Fuck. I wanted to lay her out on that ottoman and bury my face between her thighs.
Touch her and taste her and make her cry out my name.
My chest pressed against hers, and I tipped the hat back so I could see her eyes. “This looks good on you.”
“I bet it would look much better on you,” she whispered. The scent of orange blossom and cinnamon flooded my system. “I was just grabbing your coat, and I got a little distracted.”
“I can see that.”
“Are you mad?” Her tongue swiped out and ran along her plump bottom lip, and my dick doubled in size as he raged against my zipper.
Back the fuck off, man.
She works for you.
She’s too sweet. Too good. Too tempting.
Completely off-limits.
I backed away, reached for the hat on her head, and set it on the shelf where it belonged.
“Not exactly what I told you to do. But we don’t have time to argue about it.
” I slipped my hand beneath the black velvet jacket to help her out of it, and my fingertips grazed the soft skin of her neck, and I abruptly tugged the coat off her.
I moved across the closet and grabbed my overnight bag and tossed in a few items of clothing before grabbing a fresh suit that I’d wear tonight.
I had a toiletry bag ready to go, as I traveled often, and my assistant stood there quietly for the first time since I’d met her.
“Let’s go to your house. You need to pack a bag.”
“I need to pack a bag?” She jogged to keep up with me as we made our way through the house. “You’re forcing me out of Cottonwood Cove?”
I was glad I had my back to her because I could feel the smile spread across my face. She was cute as hell, and I enjoyed messing with her.
I pulled the front door open as she slipped into her coat and found her gloves and hat on my entry table. I motioned for her to step outside and walked toward my car before pulling the passenger door open.
“I have my own car here,” she said, looking at me like I had three heads.
“You don’t have a car.”
“My actual car is in the shop, and this is my—” I cut her off before she could finish. I held my hands up to stop her.
“In the car. Now,” I growled.
She didn’t even have a smart-ass comeback. She just climbed inside, and I raised a brow, waiting for her to buckle herself in.
“What are you? My father?”
“I’m your fucking boss. Buckle up. Now.”
She glared at me and reached for her belt, and I slammed the door.
She was the most infuriating woman I’d ever met.
Arguing about driving a fucking motorized bicycle in the middle of winter.
I knew her brother owned Reynolds’, the most popular restaurant and bar in Cottonwood Cove because it was all anyone in this godforsaken town talked about.
I’d be making a visit there this week and asking him how he was okay with his sister’s current transportation situation.
Because I hardly knew her, and I wasn’t okay with it.
I opened my trunk and walked over to her motorized piece of shit and removed the helmet from the handlebars before picking the whole thing up and maneuvering it into my trunk. It was definitely heavier than a bicycle, but still, it offered her no protection.
I closed the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat, starting the car up and pulling out of the driveway.
“Where do you live?”
“Why?” she asked, turning to face me. “It was just a freaking song. You’re overreacting. Have you never performed in the closet or the shower or the privacy of your own home?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I hissed. “Do you ever just answer a simple question without asking one in return?”
“Are you really firing me because I danced in your over-the-top, fancy, pretentious closet? Newsflash, Genius: Not everyone has a closet like that. So, I had a little fun. Sue me. No, why don’t you just fire me?
I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me for the last two weeks.
I’ve come early every single day. I’ve brought donuts and cookies, and I’m the most dominant ping-pong player in that goddamn office.
I’ve been friendly with everyone who works there, and I’ve managed to ignore Nadia Wrong’s condescending comments.
I’ve made sure your coffee is fresh every two and a half hours because my sister Brinkley said that’s the cutoff for stale coffee.
I rushed out, in the cold, mind you, to get your stupid blazer, even though you bash my form of transportation constantly…
” She was shouting, and then her words broke on a sob, and I swerved to the side of the road and put the car in park.
“Nadia Wrong, huh?” I said, trying to make light of it even though my goddamn chest squeezed at the sight of her with tears streaming down her face and her bottom lip trembling.
It physically pained me to see her upset.
I was not a man who reacted to the sight of a woman crying that way.
It was normally my cue to tap out.
Get the hell out of there.
But for whatever reason, I was fighting the urge to pull her close.
“That’s what you took from all of that?” She swiped at her cheeks and shook her head.
“It’s very fitting.” I leaned forward, using the pad of my thumb to swipe beneath her eyes, one at a time. “Stop crying. Now.”
“You can’t tell me to stop crying.” She threw her hands in the air.
“I can, and I just did. So, your argument is already flawed, per usual, Tink.”
“I’m not giving you my address until you tell me why you’re firing me.” Her bottom lip trembled.
“For fuck’s sake. I’m not firing you. We’re going to the city. You need a bag because we’re staying the night.”
“I’m going to the city? With you?” Her eyes widened as she waited for an answer.
“Correct. We’re meeting with Mara Skye’s agent. He’s an asshole, but we need to close this deal before he shops it. So, could you please tell me the address to your home so you can grab a bag? We’ll discuss the rest of your insults on the helicopter.”
She nodded. “Take this street down to the stop sign and make a right.”
She proceeded to direct me to her house and then asked me to pull over.
“Is this it?” I asked, glancing out the window at the ranch house set on a large lot that was a good two hundred feet from where I’d stopped the car.
“Umm… you know how you asked me to answer a question and not ask one myself?”
“Yes. We need to get going, Tink. I don’t have time for games.”
She bit down on her bottom lip and fidgeted with her hands. “I need to take the scooter out here. My brother lives two blocks away, and I’m staying in his casita. It’s like a guest room with its own entrance.”
“I know what a casita is. Why the fuck are we taking out your hunk of junk two blocks from his house?”
“Because they don’t know that I drive this. I don’t want my family to worry about me. They think my car is in the shop.”
I groaned. Everything was like a fucking riddle with this girl. “Where is your fucking car? No more stories. Just spit it out. You can tell me.”
She let out a long breath and looked out the window before looking back at me.
“My ex-boyfriend didn’t take our breakup well, and he stole my car right before I graduated and came home.
He won’t give it back to me. So, everyone thinks it’s in the shop.
I bought the scooter to get me to and from work until I figure out what to do. ”
My hands fisted in my lap. I made an effort to calm myself down before I spoke. “How did he steal the car?”
“He took the keys, and he has it hidden somewhere. I went to the bar where he and his band perform in the city twice and tried to get him to tell me where it is, but he won’t give it back until he gets what he wants.”
“Who the fuck does that? What does he want?”
“He wants to get back together.” She shrugged.
I ran a hand down my face. This was completely unacceptable. This dickhead was holding her car hostage, and that shit would not fly with me.
“What’s his name? And what’s the name of his band?”
“Why?”
“You just did it again. You answered my question with a question. If you want me to get that fucking glorified bike with a motor out of my car and leave it here, you need to tell me his name now.”
“Dikota Smith. And his band is The Burnout.”
“Was that so difficult?” I grumped before getting out of my car and yanking the piece of shit out of the trunk and parking it there.
We were silent as we drove to her brother’s house, and I waited in the car as she ran inside to pack her overnight bag.
I took that time to call Weston, a man who’d worked for my family for many years.
He was sort of a private investigator slash bodyguard slash fix-it-man.
A dude of many talents, I guess you could say.
He was on my father’s payroll at all times because my dad had a tendency to need a lot of cleanup in his life.
I filled him in on the situation and asked to see what he could find out. I’d be in the city tonight, and I had no problem going and having a chat with her shithead ex-boyfriend.
I’d be getting that car back if it was the last thing I did.
I was her boss, after all.
It was the least I could do.