Chapter 8
8
LINCOLN
“ K nock, knock, knock,” Roman says loudly as he strolls into my office.
“What the hell is that?” I ask.
He places a large bouquet of flowers on my desk. “When you told us the other night that your assistant will have been with you for two months, we figured we needed to celebrate.”
“We?” I ground out in annoyance.
I hear a woman’s laugh that sounds completely foreign to me. Then I spot Colton and Walker leaning against Kylie’s desk, looking way too comfortable in her presence. She’s holding her own bouquet, and she has a large box of chocolates.
“The guys got a bit distracted by your assistant. Sawyer and Dean send their best, by the way. They are a little tied up at work.”
Another laugh from Kylie has me out of my seat and storming toward her desk. “What’s so funny over here?” I ask harshly. I know my tone is cruel but the feelings inside of me are foreign and uncontrollable.
How come they can make her laugh like that? And why do I care?
Colton looks at me with a bright smile. “We’re just telling Kylie here how impressed we are that she’s lasted this long. Apparently, she’s the first woman in the city who can resist your good looks.”
Kylie matches his smile. “It’s not that hard once he opens his mouth.”
Walker and Colton fall over in hysterics.
“Oh, damn, Kylie. You are making my day,” Walker says in between laughs.
They both continue to lean casually against her desk.
My voice cuts through like a blade. “Don’t you guys have somewhere else to be?”
“Not at all,” Roman joins in. “We are just about to go to lunch. Care to join us?”
“I’m busy,” I ground out. “We have a huge presentation this week with a massive tech company about securing us as their primary business travel airline. I don’t need you guys coming in and distracting my assistant.”
They all laugh but seem to take the hint as they head for the door, not without saying their goodbyes to Kylie.
Once they are out of sight, Kylie looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
“What’s that look for?” I ask.
“Just waiting for you to say something rude,” she says with almost a hint of interest.
It’s almost like she isn’t afraid of me anymore.
“Just get back to work,” I demand, then storm back into my office, closing my door.
I turn on the frosted windows so nobody can see inside my office. But with me still having a view of Kylie, I sit back and watch her giggle to herself.
It’s been a couple of weeks since she met me at the bar. Since I saw exactly what had been hiding underneath her blouses. I don’t know what happened, but it’s made my brain short-circuit. Now I can’t stop thinking about her in completely inappropriate positions.
This morning, my dick was rock hard after I caught a glimpse of her cleavage when she bent down to pick up a pen. How cliché is that?
I keep telling myself it’s just because she is the only woman to ever tell me like it is. She’s become a lot more brazen with her words. Ever since it was all out in the open with her résumé, it’s like she feels she has nothing to hide. Not only is she my assistant, which is one reason these feelings are wrong, but she is also quite a bit younger than me. I may only be thirty-three, but that’s a lot older than her.
I should fire her. There have been many instances since she started where I would have fired any other assistant without a second thought. What’s different about her that stops me from treating her like the rest of them?
It’s not logical. Sure, the other ones would swoon and bat their eyelashes at me, but they did have a college degree. They had work experience. But they had gone to college on mommy and daddy’s dime. And they were only working until they found a rich husband to step in and provide for them.
It’s not like that everywhere, but here, the city is flooded with beautiful women trying to find an eligible bachelor. It’s nothing I didn’t see growing up. My own father wasn’t immune to the women fawning all over him despite being a married man. He didn’t exactly push them away. He basked in the attention. I’m no fool. I know he wasn’t faithful to my mother.
The number of parties we had at our home, where my father would be in a corner with his hand inappropriately touching someone’s ass, is too many to count.
At nine years old, I creeped out of my bed and leaned over the banister. I was always curious what happened at those parties when I was asleep. Much to my surprise, I saw my father pushing a woman into the back corner of the foyer as he leaned into her neck. His hands touched her in places I never even saw him touch my mother.
My body fills with that all-too-familiar rage whenever I think about my family. I stand up and walk over to my window. The view of the city always reminds me how far I have come. I stare out at the Empire State Building—a landmark in this city that always makes you feel something deep down in your soul.
Some may claim I have no soul, but that’s a cop-out. They get their feelings hurt, and suddenly, I’m an evil villain. But I never pretend to be anything but what I am. The same people calling me soulless would take my money in a heartbeat. They’d kill to have what I have. Their judgment is just jealousy, wrapped in self-righteousness.
These people judging me have never walked a mile in my shoes. They have no idea what it took me to get here. Their opinions of me are as insignificant as they are.