Chapter 10
I don’t know why I said she could stay when every instinct I had told me to have her tossed out on her ass the way I had every other woman who walked in here, trying to catch my attention or dine with me. I’m curious about her. I’m distrustful of her.
I told myself I was after answers.
Then she sat down, so honest and unabashedly herself, so perfectly disinterested in me and my bullshit, and I find myself having to work to maintain my assholeishness with her. It’s not my default setting though, when push comes to shove, I can be a real motherfucker. Just ask my residents.
This week has been a nightmare. I’ve been stalked all over Boston, media after a sound bite, women trying to intentionally unintentionally bump into me or get me to notice them. My father tossing out not so casually that this is what happens to unmarried billionaires.
All I wanted was to go home and shake everything off in a bottle of expensive wine, good Italian food from my favorite restaurant in the North End, and Netflix.
But the cameras on my building’s security were going crazy with motion.
My assistant was texting me, asking me why I was hiding from the world, and instead of taking everything to go, I tossed Valencia my black Amex, bought out every table here, and sat down.
A migraine I’d never had before in my life brewing like the storm that was my life.
Peace. One fucking hour of peace and quiet. One hour where no one bothered me other than to place food and alcohol in front of me. I’m going to have to hire full-time security again.
Now Bianca, whose eyes glimmer more caramel than chocolate against the flicker of low lighting and candlelight, is asking if I can handle her staying on as my executive assistant.
And truth be told, I don’t know if I can because while she thinks Jenny is my type, she’s dead-ass wrong.
But on my life, I’ll go to my grave with that secret.
Bianca may say she doesn’t care about my bank account or my dick, but I’ve been fed that lie so many times if I kept attempting to swallow it, I’d be eight hundred pounds.
Still, I also unfortunately acknowledge that Luca and Carter are right.
I can’t fire her now.
Our waiter takes this brilliant moment to clear our salads and deliver our entrées.
Steak and asparagus for me and some kind of hollow spaghetti for her.
It looks delicious and she doesn’t wait to dive in.
She did the same with her salad and before I can stop it, a smile hits the corner of my lips.
She eats like she doesn’t care I’m watching her.
Like she’s out with her girlfriends or alone.
I’ve never been on a date with a woman who eats in front of me.
Not that this is a date. It’s definitely not that.
“Oh, yum. Wow. I can see why you bought this place out. Here, you have to try this.”
She loads up her fork and offers it to me. I stare nonplussed, wondering what the right move is. Sharing food from the same fork is… intimate.
She rolls her eyes, reading my expression before shoving her fork into her own mouth. “Right, boss. Sorry. If you’d like to try my pasta, I won’t object, and I seriously think you should because it might be one of the best things I’ve ever had in my mouth.”
That’s because you haven’t had my dick in there yet , hits my tongue but thankfully goes no further. Because the fuck? Yet? This is why the woman can’t work for me.
Still, I stupidly find myself asking, “What kind of car are you buying?”
Her anime eyes blink owl wide. “Oh, so we’re steamrolling past the elephant I dropped?
Okay. Got it. Something with all-wheel drive, obviously.
I haven’t driven in the snow, well, ever I don’t think, so I need something sturdy.
Duke, one of my stepfathers, suggested I purchase a Jeep Wrangler while my mother told me I should get a Mercedes SUV since I’m used to driving one already.
I don’t usually touch my trust funds, just the interest they accrue, so I’m thinking the Jeep is the more prudent option.
Do you have any thoughts or suggestions? ”
“Why do you need a car if you’re moving close to the office?”
Now she’s smiling and I’m an idiot. I essentially just told her she will continue on as my executive assistant without coming out and directly saying it.
I don’t retract it, nor do I show any outward indication that I’m annoyed I just did that.
She has three more weeks to change my mind, which I already know she won’t be able to.
In addition to liking her tits in that top, I oddly don’t find her inability to stop talking while only giving long-winded answers instead of short, polite conversation as annoying as I should.
“The studio space I rent is in an industrial part of Chelsea. I have to drive there. And since I work on my art mostly at night, I don’t want to take the bus or constantly rely on Ubers.
Plus, I’ve never lived or even traveled around New England before.
I’d like to explore it when the weather turns less frigid and snowy, that is. ”
“What do you mean you mostly work on your art at night?”
She forks another bite of her food into her mouth, and I glance down, realizing I haven’t even touched my dinner yet. I’ve been too busy watching her. I scowl as I cut into my perfectly cooked steak, spearing a piece into my mouth.
“I don’t sleep much. Not sure if it’s my ADHD or just chronic insomnia, but I typically get no more than four to five hours a night and that’s on a good night. I also work better on my art at night and the place I rent studio space from doesn’t care when I come or go.”
My fork and knife pause midslice and I stare at her incredulously. “You’re telling me you take an Uber alone to an industrial part of Chelsea in the middle of the night ?”
“Oh please.” She waves me away, taking another sip of her wine.
The waiter comes over and refills her glass for her and I have no illusions he’s likely listening to everything we’re saying.
“You sound like my second stepdad. He gave me such crap for it last night. I have a Taser on me at all times and I lived in LA since I was eighteen. Boston hardly scares me.”
Jesus Christ, is she serious? She has prey written all over her innocent, far too trusting, pretty face.
Still, I can’t exactly tell her not to do it.
But I can make sure she has security tailing her whenever she goes.
She works for me now, albeit temporarily, but she’s a target as my assistant whether she’s aware of it or not.
It’s simply smart business to make sure she’s protected.
“You’re not going there tonight,” I tell her, and I get treated to an eye roll this time.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious.”
“Noted.”
“I’m not fucking around.”
“Goody on you.”
“Bianca.”
“Kaplan,” she mocks, using the same tone I used.
“You have two choices. Either you come over to my place after this and we watch Netflix, so I know you’re not doing anything stupid and reckless, or I come with you out to this industrial area of Chelsea.”
She blinks at me so many times I think her face is about to take flight. “You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack, and I’m a doctor who deals in hearts.”
“No.”
“Bianca—”
“I mean it.” She jabs the prongs of her fork in my direction. “That’s insane. I’m not going to Netflix and chill at your pad like we’re college buddies or fuck friends. I barely know you. No. And you’re not coming with me because I art in solitude.”
“Fine. Then you’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me.”
“I just did. My mother may say whatever she likes but today was her last day and I’m the official CEO.”
“You’re blackmailing me?” Her eyebrows hit her hairline and she practically chucks her fork down, it clanging loudly as it hits the edge of her plate.
“Blackmail is a strong word. I prefer incentivizing.”
“Fine, then I’m fired.”
Infuriating woman. “Are you that naive or just have absolutely no sense or care for your own safety? Do you not comprehend who you work for or the world you live in? You are a young, doe-eyed thing asking for trouble and now you’re my assistant.”
“I think you’re blowing this way out of proportion. And I no longer work for you. You just fired me.”
I lean back in the booth seat, folding my arms, refusing to back down.
“Kaplan. No! Just no!”
I don’t budge.
She balls up her black napkin in her fist and launches it at me. It hits me in the neck and falls to my lap on top of my own. Still, I don’t so much as move a muscle.
“Fuck you.”
“Not a chance,” I retort.
“I don’t need another father.” A piece of bread this time, the crumbs scratching at my cashmere sweater.
“Honey, if you think that’s what this is, you’ve got the wrong fucking guy. Throw all the shit in the world at me you want. Those are your two options.”
“People will see me enter your place,” she threatens, thinking she just got me with that.
I shrug as if I’m unconcerned and even though I have zero agenda to ask her to be my fake anything, it worked for Oliver. It got women off his back for a bit. If people assume I’m fucking my assistant, then that’s their problem.
“Wouldn’t be the first time the press got it wrong, and it certainly won’t be the last.”
The main problem will be keeping my dick in check if she’s in my condo.
“I should have never come in here tonight.”
“I’m not disputing that with you and spending more time with you definitely won’t be the highlight of my Friday night. Now which one will it be? Netflix or art?”
She glares. It’s kind of cute because her nose is all scrunched up while she’s doing it.
She’s not happy, but she’s not leaving. Either she’s very used to people telling her what to do and obeying them or she wants to spend time with me.
Shockingly, when it comes to her, I think it’s the former and not the latter.
Which naturally makes my cock harden and the blood pumping through my veins turn into something primal.