Chapter 8
WORTH
“What do you mean you offered her the job last night, Worth?”
Andrée’s voice cuts like glass. She’s the only person in this building—other than Henson and Griffin—who dares to call me by my first name, and when she does, it’s never good news.
And she’s right. I fucked up.
When I woke up this morning and realized what I’d done, I nearly launched my phone across the room.
I had been set on my decision. HR had already made the calls to the new hires, and Mya was not one of them. That should’ve been the end of it. But last night, after one too many glasses of Lagavulin, I pulled her résumé back out of my drawer.
The more I stared at it, the heavier that knot in my chest grew. Guilt. I don’t know why. I don’t know her. I don’t owe her a damn thing. But the way she spoke about her father in that interview, and how raw and unpolished her grief was when I saw her again at Willow’s—it stuck.
And the mouth on her. Most people fold when I cut them off. But Mya didn’t. She pushed back, and her sass landed low and immediate, right at my crotch. My control almost slipped. I had no business feeling that pull of arousal in the middle of a boardroom.
But underneath all that, Mya has grit that you can’t teach and could be a great asset to the team.
It made me wonder if I had made a mistake.
And then, tipsy and restless, I opened my personal email and offered her the job. Starting today.
Andrée’s eyes are practically shooting lasers at me now. “That was so reckless, Worth. You can’t just email an applicant from your personal account, at eight o’clock on a Sunday night, telling her to report here the next morning. Do you realize how unprofessional that looks?”
I rub my temples, my skull throbbing in agreement. “She never even responded. So either she didn’t see it, or she doesn’t want the job. It’s not a big deal, Dre.”
Her brows shoot up. “Not a big deal?” She glances at her watch. “What if she shows up in twenty-five minutes?”
I lean back in my chair, letting out a humorless laugh. “Then we have HR draft her paperwork and find her a desk.”
Andrée doesn’t laugh. She just crosses her arms, eyes narrowed. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
It takes me a second, then I get what she’s implying. I straighten in my chair. “No. There’s nothing else to share.”
Her expression doesn’t soften. “It’ll look bad on both of you if this is anything more than professional.”
I inhale slowly. “I know.” I swivel back to my computer, jaw tight. “I have work to do. Let me know if she shows.”
Dre studies me for another beat, clearly unconvinced, then shakes her head and walks out of my office.
I stare at the blank email draft on my screen, but I can’t focus. My fingers drum against the desk. The truth is, this already looks messy. And if Mya walks through those doors today…
I pull my phone out and scroll to my best friend’s name. If anyone’s going to give it to me straight, it’s Griffin. He’s the only one who knows when I’m bullshitting myself.
Need you in my office. Now.
I hit send before I can second-guess it.
A beat later, the dots appear on my screen.
Griff:
I’m busy.
I might’ve done something really fucking stupid.
Griff:
On my way.
I drop the phone on my desk and scrub a hand over my face. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I may have lost control of the narrative.
A few moments later, Griffin pushes my office door open and strides in, dropping into the chair across from my desk.
He waits, eyes narrowed. Griffin’s patience has always been his most irritating weapon. I cave quicker than I’d like.
“I might’ve offered someone a job.”
His brows shoot up. “Okay. And?”
“From my personal email. Last night.” The words taste bitter coming out.
“Who the hell did you hire on a Sunday night?”
I hesitate. “Her name is Mya.”
Griffin’s eyes flash with recognition, and he lets out a low chuckle. “The one you told me about? The boardroom girl you couldn’t stop staring at?” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “The one you said not to hire?”
I shoot him a glare, but he doesn’t flinch. “Yeah.”
He shakes his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re walking a fine line here, brother. Do you have any idea how bad this looks? Andrée will have your head.”
The ache in my temple pounds harder now. “I know. I just—” My voice falters, and I hate myself for it. “She got under my skin. And I just felt like I made the wrong call. She’s good.”
“Under your skin, huh? That’s not like you.”
“No, it’s not. And it won’t happen again. She’s an employee now. Nothing more.”
He lets out a short laugh. “Just like that?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Maybe not, but you’re already bending rules. That tells me something.”
My jaw clenches. I hate that he’s right, but I’m not about to hand him the satisfaction of hearing me admit it. “This is business. She’s talented, and we need fresh blood. That’s the end of it.”
Griffin raises a brow. “Then what did you drag me in here for if you claim to know what you’re doing?”
I exhale slowly, leaning back in my chair, eyes fixed on the skyline outside my window. “Because I needed someone to tell me I’m not losing my goddamn mind.”
“You’re not,” Griffin says flatly. “You’re just breaking your own rules. Which, for you, might be the same thing.”
“She’s an employee,” I say again, more firmly this time. “Nothing more.”
Griffin studies me for a second, then lets out a chuckle. “Jesus, Worth. You actually like her.”
“No. I don’t. I don’t even know her.”
The words feel hollow the second they leave my mouth. Two brief interactions, and somehow she’s lodged herself in my mind like a splinter I can’t dig out. It’s irrational. I don’t do this. I don’t feel this anymore.
And yet… There’s something about her that lingers in my subconscious.
I shove the thought down. I’ve got no business mixing work with anything else, let alone this. I have rules for a reason. And beyond that, I’m raising Brianna. I’m not dragging women in and out of her life. I won’t do that to her.
I clear my throat. “It’s all good, Griffin. I’ve got it handled.”
He gives me a long look, nodding once and stands. “Fine. Just remember what I said.” Then he leaves, the office door clicking shut behind him.
The second he’s gone, I reach for the phone on my desk, fingers tightening around the receiver before I can think better of it. I dial the one person who’s uncomplicated. The one who never asks questions.
Shaina.
“Come to my office. Lock the door behind you.”
I hang up before she can respond.
Maybe if I burn this out of my system, the way I always do with any type of feeling, I’ll stop thinking about soft curves and wide brown eyes.