Chapter 11
THATCHER
“He was there, Alli. Yes, at dinner. No, I’m not giving you details,” I say into my phone, balancing it between my ear and shoulder as I unlock my desk drawer. “Some things are private.”
“Since when do you keep secrets from me?”
“This is different.” I arrange my sticky notes and pens, sneaking a glance at Pierce’s office, where he’s already working with his usual focus, and lower my voice even more. “He shared some personal stuff. It wouldn’t be right to gossip about it.”
“Wow,” Alli says softly. “You really care about him, don’t you?”
“I have to go. Work to do.” I end the call before she can pry further, but her words linger as I settle into my morning routine.
The office feels different today, like the world shifted slightly on its axis during dinner last night.
Now I know how Pierce’s laugh sounds when he’s truly relaxed, how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he’s fighting a smile, and suddenly everything about our shared space feels even more charged.
I start creating my daily system of reminders. Budget meeting at two p.m. Review expense reports. Make sure Pierce takes a lunch break. Each note has a corresponding doodle that helps remind me of the reminder.
“Someone’s feeling artistic this morning.” Pierce’s voice beside my desk makes me jump and nearly knock over my pen holder.
He looks at my latest sticky-note creation, a reminder about file organization that may or may not feature a tiny Pierce in cartoon form, complete with his signature frown of concentration.
“I was just…” I start, but Pierce’s knowing smile stops my fumbling excuse.
“Getting creative?” he suggests, picking up one of my notes. “Is there a reason this deadline reminder includes what appears to be a very detailed drawing of the patio railing at Lior’s?”
Heat creeps up my neck as I snatch the note back. “It’s a purely professional architectural detail. For…spatial reference.”
“Of course.” His eyes dance with amusement.
I busy myself straightening already straight pens, very aware of Pierce’s presence and the delicious smell of his cologne. “Did you need something specific, or did you just come by to critique my organizational methods?”
“Actually,” he says, leaning against my desk with the kind of look in his eyes that makes me nervous, “I have a project for you.”
My hands go still on the pens. “What kind of project?”
“The annual office party is coming up,” he says, watching my reaction carefully. “The party is a gift from the office of the CFO.”
“Let me guess. You control the money, so you get to treat everyone?”
“Something like that.” He chuckles. “Fiona has been organizing it for years. I’ll be honest, this totally slipped my mind, and I feel it’s unfair to pass it on to you, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“You want me to plan a party?” My mind is already racing with ideas. I grab a fresh block of sticky notes, starting to jot down ideas. “When is it?”
“It’s usually the last Friday in July, but that’s flexible under the circumstances. You’ll have full creative control, within budget, of course. Just…try to keep the chaos contained to appropriate levels.”
“I never cause inappropriate chaos,” I protest. “Everything I do has purpose.”
“Like the hearts you’ve been drawing on every single piece of paperwork that lands on my desk?”
I feel my face heat again, but I don’t stop drawing. “Those serve a very important organizational function.”
“I’m sure they do.”
With a hint of a smile on his perfect lips, he walks away toward Lior’s office.
The day rushes by in a blur of meetings and tasks.
I bounce between departments following Pierce, taking notes and organizing schedules.
Considering I usually leave a trail of destruction in my wake, I think I’m crushing this PA job.
Or at least Pierce hasn’t complained, or given me one of his exasperated looks yet… today.
By the evening, most people have left, but I remain at my desk, surrounded by all the previous parties’ planning details from an existing file Fiona saved, plus notes I’ve been making all day when Pierce’s meetings became way too boring.
Venue brochures and catering menus for the party spread across my workspace as I sketch out different themes. I’m so absorbed in my work that I don’t notice Pierce approaching.
“Heading home soon?” he asks, his tie slightly loosened and looking way too good. It takes me a while to get the full function of my tongue.
“Oh, I’m kind of on a roll with these party ideas,” I reply, gesturing to the organized mess on my desk. “I don’t want to lose momentum.”
Pierce pauses, and I swear I see something soften in his expression. “Bring it all into my office,” he says. “I’ll order food, and we can work on it together.”
“Really?”
He nods, then turns and heads back into his office.
My heart does a little flip as I gather my materials.
The thought of spending evening hours alone with Pierce, away from the usual office bustle, makes my hands slightly unsteady as I collect my papers.
I try to keep my smile contained, but inside, I’m glowing with happiness at the prospect of this unexpected time together.
The office feels different after hours. The harsh fluorescent lights have finally dimmed now that everyone has left, and only the light in Pierce’s office is on. I spread the information I’ve researched across his desk.
“If you’re happy with Chinese, I’ll get us a few different options from this place nearby. It’s one of my favorites in the city,” he says, tapping away on his phone.
“I love Chinese. Thank you.”
“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got here while we wait for the food.”
I show him the notes I have on a few venues. After a few long minutes of watching every microexpression on Pierce’s face as he reads through my notes, he finally looks up.
“The downtown venue,” he says. “Tell me why you chose it.”
I lean forward, spreading out photos of the converted warehouse space. “It’s got character. High ceilings, exposed brick. Classic but not stuffy.”
“And the catering options?”
My favorites are already marked with my observations. “The seafood place is out,” I say confidently, watching his reaction. “Since you always avoid fish at business lunches.”
“You noticed that?”
“I notice lots of things.” I want to say it’s my job to notice things, but I’d be lying because what I notice about Pierce goes beyond the call of duty as a personal assistant.
Instead, I slide the dessert menu closer, tapping a sticky note that reads “Perfect for your sweet tooth, especially the chocolate options.” My finger brushes his as I point out specific items, and neither of us immediately pulls away.
“Like my apparent fondness for chocolate?” His tone is teasing now, more relaxed than I’ve ever heard it in the office.
“Like how you hide designer chocolate bars in your desk drawer,” I confirm. “Third one from the top, behind the extra staples.”
He laughs then. A real laugh that makes the butterflies in my belly dance. Or maybe I’m just hungry.
“I’m beginning to think I need better security measures.”
“Or just a more discreet sweet tooth.” I flip through more menus, hyperaware of how he’s leaning closer, how the space between us seems to shrink with each passing minute. “Though I have to say, your taste in chocolate is impeccable.”
“Is that a professional observation?” His voice has gone soft, intimate in a way that makes my skin tingle.
“Very professional.”
“What else have you noticed?” he asks quietly.
I swallow hard, trying to maintain some semblance of proper distance. “That you roll up your sleeves when you’re comfortable,” I say, watching his hands move to do exactly that. “That you tap your pen three times before signing important documents. That you…”
My words trail off as he methodically rolls each sleeve, exposing forearms that feature prominently in my less-professional dreams. The smooth skin, dusted with dark hair, flexes as he adjusts the fabric.
I forget what I was saying, forget why we’re even here, forget everything except how much I want to trace those forearms with my fingers, my lips, my tongue.
“That I what?” he prompts, and I realize I’ve been staring.
“That you’re making it very hard to focus on…everything,” I admit before I can stop myself.
His lips curve in a smile that transforms his whole face. “Now who’s being observant?”
I duck my head, pretending to sort through venue photos while my cheeks burn. “We should probably look at the timing options,” I say, reaching for a safe topic. “The space is available on either the fifteenth or the twenty-ninth.”
“The fifteenth,” he says immediately, and when I look up in surprise, he adds, “You have that convention on the twenty-ninth. The one in New York.”
Now it’s my turn to stare. “You know about that?” I haven’t even decided whether to ask Pierce for time off.
“I notice things too,” he says softly, his dark eyes piercing through my soul.
“Like how you light up when you talk about your art. How you see big stories in the smallest moments. How you transform ordinary things into something…extraordinary. And you left a brochure with sticky notes on your desk a week ago.”
The compliment hangs in the air between us.
“We should…” I gesture vaguely at the papers spread across his desk, though I can’t remember what we’re supposed to be doing with them.
“Yes,” he agrees, but neither of us moves. His hand remains close to mine on the desk, our fingers almost but not quite touching. “The venue needs…”
“Right,” I say quickly. “Venue. Date. Food. Got it.”
His laugh, soft and intimate in the quiet office, makes me look up.
“Thatcher,” he says softly, and my name in his mouth sounds different here in the dark office, carries a weight I’m afraid to examine too closely. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…”
His hand moves from the paper to my wrist, his fingers wrapping around it softly. “About the other night,” he continues, voice dropping lower. “At Lior’s…”