Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Lilly
I stand there for a moment, staring at the thick wood door only inches from my face, before I turn and return to my car.
I slide into the driver’s seat and shut the door, letting the lingering heat from inside warm me.
My hands start shaking the moment I place them on the steering wheel.
“Okay,” I whisper to the empty car. “It’s fine.”
It’s not fine.
My chest tightens, my breath coming too hard and fast, hot tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Crying won’t help. Panicking won’t help. And falling apart definitely won’t help.
I’m totally out of options.
I have nowhere to go.
No job. No place to live.
The reality settles in. I’m screwed.
I’m totally and completely screwed.
But I’m also not a quitter, and I definitely did not drive all this way out into the middle of nowhere to quit.
That’s not an option.
“You've been through worse, Lilly.” I pull the rearview mirror down and inspect my reflection. I wipe under my eyes even though I never let any tears fall and brush my hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ears.
“He’s just a man,” I speak to my reflection. A very large, intimidating, and grumpy man. “He doesn’t scare you.”
He does.
“You can do hard things, Lilly,” I say, my voice calmer than I feel. “If you’re scared, do it scared.” I blow out a breath. “But you have to do it.”
I shove the door open and step out into the cold November air. My spine straightens, and I let the strength I don’t entirely feel flow through me. I can do hard things. My back is up against the wall, and I have nothing to lose.
And if there’s one thing that the last week has taught me, it’s that I’m not going to let other people decide my future for me.
I march back up the steps onto the porch. This time, I don’t knock.
I was hired for a job. And I’ll be damned if I’m not going to do it and do it well.
The door handle turns easily in my hand. I shouldn’t be surprised. Who would wander so far up into the mountains uninvited?
Me apparently.
I almost laugh as I step inside. Almost.
I blow out a breath and walk into the cabin with as much confidence as I can muster. “Luke Morgan,” I call, my voice strong. “We need to talk.”
Luke
She had no right.
No right to send a stranger up the mountain. No right to make decisions behind my back as if I’m not capable of handling my own damn life. Anger flows off me in waves as I storm through the cabin, into my office, and grab my phone.
I stab at her name in my contacts, ready to demand exactly what Tessa was thinking, hiring someone to be my assistant when I specifically told her I didn’t want one.
“Luke Morgan,” a female voice calls, steady and clear. “We need to talk.”
I freeze, the phone still in my hand, the call not completed.
"Fuck.”
I drop my phone onto the papers on my desk and step out into the hallway, and immediately stop.
The reaction hits before I even fully process what I’m seeing.
She’s in my house.
Only the sharp physical awareness has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with instinct.
Attraction.
It’s immediate. Unwelcome. And completely inappropriate.
My pulse kicks up, heat settling low in my gut, and I know in an instant, even if I were inclined to hire an assistant, which I certainly am not, it sure as hell wouldn’t be her.
It can’t be.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?” I ask, my voice low and dangerous.
She lifts her chin a fraction, her eyes lock on mine. “It was unlocked.”
“That wasn’t an invitation,” I say. “I told you there’s no job here for you. You need to leave.”
Her mouth tightens, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, she takes a step closer. “I can’t.”
“Can’t?” I repeat. “Or won’t?”
A beat of silence passes between us. “Both,” she says finally.
The honesty throws me.
I scrub a hand over my face, my irritation warring with a reluctant flicker of respect. It takes nerve to walk into a stranger’s house after having the door slammed in your face.
“I don’t hire people I haven’t vetted,” I say. “Even if I was hiring,” I add quickly. “Which I’m not.”
“My resume is in your email,” she says, ignoring the last half of what I said. “Along with references, a copy of my transcripts, and a breakdown of my experience. Tessa said you’d want proof.”
Of course she did. My daughter, as frustrating as she was proving to be, also knew how to get past my arguments.
“She had no business doing that.” I shake my head. “Doing any of it.”
“She was worried about you.”
“I’m not someone who needs to be worried about.”
Again, she takes another step closer to me and my office. Her gaze travels over me, assessing me. “You look like someone who hasn’t had a decent sleep in a while.”
I almost snap back, but she’s not wrong.
“Even if I did need an assistant,” I say, each word deliberate, “you wouldn’t be it.”
Hurt flashes across her face, but only for an instant.
“Because I’m a woman? Or because I’m young?”
“Neither.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re a distraction.”
The words are out before I can stop them.
Her eyes widen slightly, surprise crossing her delicate features.
I’m not a total asshole, I don’t want to be rude. But I do want her to leave. Maybe that did the trick.
Instead, she folds her arms, mimicking my pose.
“ I assure you, my organizational skills are far more dangerous than my appearance, and that’s not even mentioning my skills when it comes to analyzing stocks and investment opportunities.
I assure you, Luke, whatever distraction you might be feeling will be completely overshadowed by my skills. ”
I’m temporarily speechless, and she takes the opportunity to look past me into my office. I know exactly what she’s seeing. The stacks of folders, crumpled up pieces of paper, and the total and complete chaos.
Before I can stop her, she steps past me into the mess.
“Hey!”
She stops just over the threshold, her eyes scanning the room for a moment. I watch her as she takes it all in. There’s no judgment on her face, just an analytical gaze.
“What were you working on last?” Her question takes me off guard.
“The Henderson file,” I tell her without hesitation. “I have a client meeting this afternoon, but?—”
“You can’t find the files?”
It’s obviously a rhetorical question since she doesn’t wait for an answer and walks toward my desk.
I go still and watch as she reaches for a stack.
She flips open the top folder, shifts the two stacks, and pulls out a thin file from beneath another pile of documents.
“Was it this one you couldn’t find?”
It is.
“How did you?—”
“I can see you, group by urgency, not alphabetically,” she says matter-of-factly, like she already understands my filing system. “The compliance folder was placed a little out of line from the rest of the pile, suggesting you checked it more recently.”
She sets it on the desk with care, straightening the rest of the papers almost unconsciously as she does. “It’s not the best system,” she says, “but it tends to be the most instinctual for many people who don’t know better.”
“And you do?”
She looks at me with a question in her eyes.
“Know better?” I clarify.
“I do.” She doesn’t back down. “A lot better.”
Silence fills the room.
Damn it.
“You did that on purpose.” I lean against the doorframe, assessing her.
“No,” she says calmly. “I did it because you needed it.” She lets her eyes travel around the room again. “You need a lot.”
“I’m good at what I do.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she says confidently. “And I’m good at what I do.”
That much is obvious.
“Pretty bold to walk into my house and my office and start organizing my files without an invitation.”
“I don’t have any other options.”
She says it without any drama. Just a quiet honesty.
I exhale slowly. I don’t want her here. I definitely don’t want the complication that she’s certainly going to be.
But I also don’t throw people out in the cold when they’ve got nowhere to go.
“You have one month to prove you’re worth the disruption in my life,” I continue. “You stay out of my way and try not to distract me. If at any point I decide it’s not?—”
“Or I decide,” she interrupts me.
“Right,” I correct. “Or you decide it’s not working, it’s over. No arguments.”
“Deal.”
“This isn’t charity,” I warn. “You need to earn your place.”
Her lips twitch up in the first smile I’ve seen. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”