Chapter 9
Brody
I take one look at the ridiculously cheerful bouquet on my executive assistant’s desk, and something like acid eats away at my inside.
“Who are you talking to?” I snap.
“I gotta go, thanks for the flowers.” She disconnects the call, sets the phone aside, then begins to tap into her keyboard.
I prowl forward. “I asked you a question.”
“I work for you. But my personal life is out of bounds.” She sniffs.
“And you shouldn’t conduct your personal business in company time.”
She scoffs. “I spend almost all my waking hours at work. Of course, I’m going to have a couple of personal conversations during that time. As long as I get my work done, it shouldn’t matter."
The cheek of this woman. I want to bark at her for talking to me in that tone, but she has a point.
She’s a grown woman; she knows her responsibilities. And knows what the deadlines on the job are. And so far, she’s delivered on them. So, I can’t refute her observation. The logic sharpens the edge of my anger.
I glare at her, though it’s wasted because she’s focused on her damn screen.
And the fact that she most certainly was talking to the person who likely sent her those flowers twists my guts.
I want to shove those flowers off her desk, then track down whoever was on the other end of the phone line and demand they back off from her forever.
Fuck, where has this possessiveness come from?
Even on a mission, when I was faced with flying bullets and brothers-in-arms being hit, having to carry them out of range of the enemy’s reach, I was cool. So much so that my nickname was Ghost.
I was stealthy enough to get in and out of enemy territory without being spotted. And could also disappear emotionally. I was calm under pressure. I never put a foot wrong. Then this curvy, feisty, ambitious woman walks into my life, and everything turns topsy-turvy.
A-n-d, she’s right. It’s none of my concern who she was talking to or who sent her those flowers. She’s my employee. My EA. And my demands on her can only extend to the work part of her life.
She studiously continues to avoid me, and that pisses me off somehow.
Damn, if I don’t want her complete attention on me.
Which is a complete contradiction of how I want my employees to behave at work.
I need them to focus on their jobs and not waste their time on idle chitchat.
With Ms. Lark Monroe, though, my expectations are beginning to feel different. Which is…ridiculous.
Why did I come into her office anyway? I've forgotten about the task I had for her. That’s how distracting being in her presence is.
I’m about to spin around and leave when something else on her desk catches my eye.
“What’s that?”
She glances at what caught my attention and reddens. She snatches up what looks like a soft toy and opens her drawer and shoves it in. “It was nothing.”
I lower my chin, “Was that a…unicorn?”
Her flush deepens further.
“No,” she says too quickly. “That’s Mr. Twinkle my…horned productivity mascot.”
I have another horn that could increase both your productivity and mine. I wince inwardly. That was cringeworthy. I’m glad I didn’t say it aloud.
Instead, I scowl. “You have a productivity mascot? Whom you’ve named?” I scowl.
“It’s standard practice in glitter-powered management theory.” Her tone is bland.
I stare at her. She stares back.
Her lips twitch, and she breaks into a laugh that lights up the damn room.
I find my lips curving into a reluctant smile, because who can resist the sunshine that she seems to bring to every interaction of ours?
Less than a week of working together, and I’m charmed.
Ms. Lark Monroe might be sharp and driven and focused when it comes to work, but there’s also this girly side of her.
A contradiction someone else also appreciates, I remind myself, tearing my gaze from the flowers again.
“He’s my emotional comfort plush. I’ve had him since university.” She waves a finger at me. “Don’t judge.”
“You need an emotional comfort plush at work?” I frown.
She blows out a breath. “I’m ambitious. I expect a cutthroat work environment. But this place it’s corporate frostbite.” She glances around her office.
I follow her gaze. And see the space through her eyes.
Chrome furniture. Steel cabinet handles. A minimalist, charcoal desk that reflects nothing back. Floor-to-ceiling glass on one side offers a prime view of the skyline, clean, cold, expansive. The other walls are a tasteful but soulless white.
Even the carpet is gray. Not soft-gray. Not warm-gray. Just…gray. Corporate. Lifeless.
The kind of space that screams productivity and precision but never once says: Welcome. You belong here.
Outside, the office doesn’t fare much better. An expanse of frosted glass, polished steel, and uniform desks. No plants. No personality. Not a splash of color. Definitely no sign of human warmth.
No wonder, she needs a rainbow-maned unicorn to survive it. Something softens in my chest. Don’t do it. Don’t. I firm my lips. “Let’s do it.”
“Do what?”
“That…decoration thing you mentioned. Let’s do it.”
She brightens. “You mean, the Christmas decorations?”
I wince. Fucking hell. Am I agreeing to bring that complication into my office? Je-s-us. I straighten my spine. “Yes, put up holiday decorations. No Christmas tree, though.”
Her face falls.
And my heart tightens in my chest. Fuck, that is an unexpected reaction. Why do I care if my EA is disappointed? Besides, I did agree to festive decorations, didn’t I?
I step into her office to discuss next year’s sales projections and demand that she reforecast them, as I'm unhappy with the number. Instead, I end up agreeing to blech, holiday decorations. Bloody hell. I’m going soft in my old age.
This woman is dangerous. I find myself doing things which are totally not in character for me.
I best get back to my office before I agree to something I don’t mean to.
I spin around and make tracks to my office. Before I can step through the door she calls out, “And the Holiday party?”
“Don’t push your luck,” I growl over my shoulder as I shut the door behind me.
I walk to my desk faster than necessary, irritated with myself.
I don’t like being caught off guard, especially not, by someone who’s only been in the role a few days. And definitely not by someone whose desk drawer contains a rainbow unicorn.
I have to concede Lark has a point. Morale drives productivity. Productivity drives performance. And performance leads to profits and helps to retain employees.
If letting her string up a few fairy lights buys me a more motivated team, then I can live with that.
I bury myself in the next item on my schedule, but a part of me is annoyingly aware of her across the glass wall. I can’t help but glance out of the corner of my eye to see her on the phone. I bet she’s setting the entire thing into motion with admin. Decorations. Carols. Tinsel.
God help us all.
At least, I drew the line at the Christmas tree. As for Secret Santa? Not to mention, an employee Christmas party. I shudder. Not a chance.
She’ll probably make the most of it. There’s something oddly efficient about her brand of glitter-coated optimism wrapped in MBA-level precision. I don’t trust it. But I can’t ignore it either.
By five p.m., I’ve knocked out three major business expansion proposals and wrapped up a video call with our New York office.
I decided not to invite her to that. I need some space from Ms. Curvy-figure-wearing-a-skirt-that-outlines-her-luscious-arse. Bet she wore it to taunt me, I think bitterly.
My cock perks up in interest as images of her sweet tush crowd my mind. I push away from my desk in disgust.
I’d prefer to go to the gym and work out my frustrations but, sadly, there’s one more appointment left for the day. It makes sense to have Lark accompany me to this one.
I step inside her office again, and she looks up, eyes bright.
“I’m headed over to see my grandfather. I need you to come with me.”
“Your grandfather?” A cute furrow appears between her eyebrows.
Cute? I didn’t know that word existed in my vocabulary. At this rate, she’ll have me humming Christmas carols and believing in Santa Claus.
I shut the thought down and scowl at her. “Arthur Davenport, the chairman of the Davenport Group is my grandfather. I’m meeting him. And you need to be there for it.”
“When Arthur asked to meet me today, the timing clashed with the board meeting. I didn’t have any choice but to agree. It’s why I asked you to postpone the board meeting. What Arthur says takes precedence."
"Right.” She nods slowly.
I’m not apologizing that I didn’t give her enough notice about coming with me to meet Arthur.
Or that I had previously asked her to postpone the board meeting without telling her why. But I’m the boss. And what I say goes. Right?
My conscience tells me I didn’t have to be a jerk about it.
We’re in my chauffeur-driven car, going through details of the year-ending financials for most of the journey. She brought my attention to an error in the reporting which the finance team missed.
It confirms to me I made the right decision by taking her on.
So far, she’s delivered on everything I’ve asked of her, and more.
It’s made her go up in my esteem even more.
Enough that I feel she warrants an apology for having made her take the brunt of the board’s ire at having pushed back the meeting.
She looks out the window, digesting what I said. When she looks at me again, her features are more relaxed. “Thanks for sharing that with me.”
For a few moments more, we ride in silence.
Then, she shoots me a sideways glance. “Can I ask a question?”
I nod.
"Does Arthur have veto power over the board’s decisions?" There’s curiosity in her eyes.
"No veto power. But he has the casting vote in a tie. He also holds majority voting shares."
"So, he can overrule the board?"
"He controls who sits on the board. So yeah, the old man’s power is absolute."