Chapter 6
Chapter Six
BANE
I t was hard to stay annoyed at Myers as I held her. She gave me directions, her voice subdued. Otherwise, she didn’t talk. She felt soft and warm in my arms. Surprisingly right, as if made to curl against me.
Internally, I shook my head at those odd thoughts.
We arrived at an old Victorian place, and she indicated the steps down located behind a row of bushes at the side of the house.
“You live in the basement?”
“Yes.”
With a frown, I carried her down the steps and helped her stand upright. She dug a key out of her pocket and held it up. “Thanks for the lift.”
I nodded, waiting.
With an annoyed huff, she unlocked the door and hobbled inside. I stopped her from shutting the door with my foot. Inside, I looked around, pleasantly surprised. It was light and airy. A small kitchen and living area with a short hall leading to what I assumed was a bedroom and bath. The living room was decorated with eclectic pieces. A love seat and a Victorian chaise longue. A huge ottoman. An old wingback in the corner. Bookshelves and tables. Tons of books and knickknacks scattered everywhere. A knitting basket. A small table and chairs tucked in the corner. Old-fashioned pictures and embroidered pieces hung on the walls. Some newer watercolors. The place suited her. It was unique—like she was.
She headed to the love seat and sat down. “There. I’m home safe. You can go.”
“Where is your first aid kit?”
“I’m fine.”
I waited, lifting my eyebrow at her. Her low huff of annoyance amused me.
“In the bathroom on the shelf.”
“Do you have any compression bandages in it?”
Her shoulders dropped. “No. I have one in my bedside table.” She shrugged at my confusion. “I used it last week and never put it back.”
“Stay there.”
“Woof.”
I frowned at her. “What?”
“You gave me a command like a dog. I was responding in kind.”
“You are a strange girl, Myers.”
“Pot calling the kettle black.”
I ignored her and headed down the hall. The first aid kit was easy to find in the small space. In her bedroom, I had to stop for a moment. As soon as I walked in, her scent was all around me. Saturated into the linens on her bed. The clothing hanging in the closet. The room was girly. Feminine. Lace abounded. Jewel-colored pillows were on the bed, piled high. A chair in the corner with more pillows. A table laden with books. Bottles and jars on top of the dresser, with hair ties and all sorts of items I wasn’t familiar with and didn’t want to figure out. Luckily, there was only one night table, and I found the bandage, neatly rolled and ready.
Everything was tidy in her space. Overwhelming, but neat.
Again, just like her.
I noticed a set of glass doors on one wall, and, curious, I opened them, stepping into a small, enclosed sunroom located at the back of the property. An easel was set up in the corner, various canvases piled against the walls. I studied one in particular. It was pretty, feminine. I recognized the subject matter from a few of the paintings I had seen on the walls. I picked up one of the canvases, seeing her initials in the corner. MM. Myers had hidden talents. I studied the brushstrokes, impressed at the way she captured the light. The subtle shading and delicate use of shadows. She was gifted.
I returned to her, lifting her foot onto my lap, tugging off the sneaker and sock, then checking it out. “It’s not broken,” I muttered. “I’m not even sure it’s sprained as much as a nasty twist. Stay off it and ice it the rest of the weekend,” I advised as I wrapped it. I tried not to notice how delicate the bones felt under my fingers. How soft her skin was. Pale, the veins in her foot standing out against the creaminess of her flesh. I failed, and my hands tightened on her leg.
I finished and dared to look up. She was watching me, her dark eyes wide. So many emotions were swimming in her deep gaze. This close, I could see the starbursts of green and gold around her pupils. It was lovely. Mesmerizing.
I shook my head. Jesus, it was Myers .
I stood, breaking our gaze. “You have ice?”
“Yes.”
Her freezer held a large assortment of meat, which surprised me. Turkey breasts, roasts, and ham. She must cook a lot of big meals.
I grabbed the ice bag and returned to her, making sure her foot was propped up. I handed her the water I had gotten from the fridge and shook a couple of pain pills from the bottle I had found on the bathroom counter.
“You paint.”
“Nosy, much?” she asked, her voice all at once teasing and nervous.
“I was curious.” I adjusted the ice bag on her foot. “You’re talented, Myers. Why are you working as an assistant?”
“Starving artists need to pay rent. Painting is my dream. Working as an assistant so I can eat and help pay for my father’s care is my reality. I just dabble.”
I recalled her résumé. “You studied art.”
“Lots of people study art, but few get to make a living off it.”
I had a feeling there was a story there, but it wasn’t my place to ask. I was surprised I was even curious to know. I usually didn’t bother with people or their stories. I rose to my feet.
“Stay off the foot as much as you can.”
“I will.” She swallowed. “Thank you, Bane. I mean, Mr. Bane.”
“Bane is fine,” I heard myself saying. “A lot of people call me that.”
“Okay.”
“Do you need anything?”
“Isn’t that my line?”
For some reason, I reached out and trailed a finger down her soft cheek. “Not today, Magnolia Myers.”
She smiled. “Okay. Not today. But no, I am good.”
“All right. If you do—well, you have my number.”
She nodded. “All right.”
I headed to the door, pausing when she called my name.
“Bane.”
I turned to see her smiling. “Good job,” she said.
I chuckled and shrugged. “It was fine.”
Then I left.
I arrived early Monday, anxious to get to work. I had a busy schedule ahead of me, plus the awards dinner coming up soon. I was surprised to find the outer door already open, and I strode in, stopping in shock.
Myers had been busy. Furniture was moved, pictures hung up. Pictures of my work. I had to admit, they looked good. In fact, the entire outer office looked good. Neat and orderly, the same as her little apartment. Inviting as well. She had done an excellent job.
She appeared behind me, carrying a cup of coffee that she handed me.
“How did you know?” I asked, taking the cup and trying to ignore the sensation that hit me as our fingers brushed.
“I sensed a disturbance in the force.”
Biting back my chuckle, I shook my head, taking a sip of coffee. “You’ve been busy. I don’t recall you asking permission to change the office or hang those pictures.”
“Wait until you see the improvements in yours.”
I glared at her, heading to my office, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw nothing different. I turned to scowl at her, seeing the smile of delight on her face.
“I see your fall hasn’t changed your odd sense of humor.”
“Nope. Stopped a lecture, though.”
I sighed and hung up my coat, setting my coffee on the warmer. Myers came in, carrying her notebook. I noticed her walk was still a little off, and before I could stop myself, I asked, “How’s the foot?”
“Much better. Flats today, though,” she replied, lifting her foot. I tried not to stare as the fluffy skirt she wore fell back, exposing her calf. She smoothed down the layers with a smile. “I went girly today.”
A chuckle escaped my throat. “Myers, you’re girly every day.”
With her skirt, she wore another pretty blouse. Deep blue, with short sleeves edged in lace. The skirt was patterned with flowers in white and black. She looked… I sighed inwardly as I admitted it to myself. Adorable . She looked adorable—and alluring. Girly, pretty, yet fine for the office. I was supposed to hate adorable, yet I was finding it hard to do so when it came to Myers.
She laughed. “I suppose I am.” Then she got busy, discussing my calendar, upcoming meetings. I handed her a stack of papers I needed her to finish, file, and send to clients. “I need as few interruptions the next while as possible.”
She scanned her tablet. “You have two meetings I could shift to next week. That only leaves two, and one is admin, the other the staff meeting.”
“I’ll sit out the staff one. Lawson and Anderson can handle it. I rarely say much.”
“Why is that?”
I was startled by her question. “They are much better handling, ah, people. I prefer to let them lead. I’m here to work, not be an active admin. I’m part of the decision-making behind the scenes, but I step back otherwise.”
“Hmm.”
I sat back, picking up my coffee. “What does hmm mean?”
“I think you’d be a good leader. You’re confident, smart, and fast-thinking.”
I tilted my head, studying her. Her hair was up today, a few wisps around her face, showing off her full cheeks. I could see the freckle band easily, and I was glad she didn’t try to cover them up.
“I don’t like most people, Myers. I can’t stand bullshit and playing games. Trust me, after a couple of HR issues, I was happy to let my partners be the front men.”
Her lips twitched. “I see.”
I scowled at her. “Back to business.” I pushed my coffee cup toward her. “Another cup.”
“Boring or foamy?” she teased.
I lifted a brow, and she left. That always seemed to shut her up.
At least in the office. It hadn’t on Saturday.
I had to admit, I was glad to see she was okay, aside from the slight limp. It had surprised me how much she was on my mind after I left her. I worried she wouldn’t be able to make herself something to eat. If her ankle was swelling more. If she needed anything. The urge to pick up the phone to check had been strong, but I resisted. I even thought of excuses to call her—to ask where a file was on the server, or if she remembered to order the 3-D printer supplies I would need this week—but I resisted. They were flimsy even to me, and I knew Myers was clever enough to see through them. I couldn’t let her think I cared.
She returned, carrying a coffee and setting it down.
“Foamy?” I asked with a frown.
“Oops.”
I rolled my eyes. “Leave it. I don’t want you to walk on your sore ankle unless needed.”
“How kind of you,” she murmured.
“Get back to work.”
She paused at the door. “Open or shut?”
“Leave it open. But make sure I’m not disturbed.”
“No problem.”
I opened my laptop, skimming my emails. I glanced over the screen, then moved it to one side, sliding my chair the opposite way. With the subtle move and the way Myers had shifted her desk, I now had a good view of her while she worked. Her face was a study of contrasts. Expressive. She pursed her lips, frowned, grinned, bit her lip. Tugged on her ear. Pulled on a stray curl. Tapped her pen on the desk while thinking.
And she talked to herself. Not loud enough that I could hear what she was saying, but her lips moved, and at times, she would nod as if agreeing with herself.
She was quite fascinating to watch.
Then I shook my head, reminding myself that wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing.
She was Myers—my assistant. She was there to help me work, not entertain me.
Yet once again, my gaze drifted her way, and I wondered if I would need to shut my door again.
Except, I didn’t want to.
This was unexpected.
And that made me angry.
I gave up before lunch and shut the door. I was being an idiot, and I needed to get over this strange fascination with my assistant. She brought me lunch, knocking before coming in. The sandwich was fresh and tasty, and I had to admit, I liked the new deli she had found.
“What are you working on?” I asked.
“Your expenses. Did you know they haven’t been done for months?”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I admitted.
“I need access to your credit card information so I can print off the statements.”
“I’ll send it to you.”
She left, shutting the door behind her. I glared at the wood as if it had done me a grievous disservice.
I stood and opened the door quickly, startling Myers, who was sitting at her desk, eating a sandwich.
“Yes, Bane?”
I startled, then recalled I had told her she could call me that.
Idiot.
“Did you get the email?”
“I haven’t checked. I was eating.”
“Fine. Let me know when you do. And I want more coffee when you’re done.”
She stared at me, lifting her eyebrows in question. Then she mouthed a word at me.
I tightened my hand on the doorframe.
“Please,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Of course, sir. Anything you need.”
I glared at her then swung around and headed back to my desk.
I left the door open.