6. Spencer
Chapter 6
Spencer
I pull out my phone and send off a quick text to my lawyer. I pride myself on punctuality, so I’m annoyed that I won’t be there when I said I would.
Me: I’m running late. I’m in the car now. I should be there in twenty … traffic permitting.
Logan: No rush. I’ve booked out the entire morning for you.
Me: Thanks, I appreciate it.
After sliding my phone back into my pocket, I glance over at Delilah, who is seated on the far side of the back seat—the furthest position from me. Her dainty hand is gripping the door handle as if she’s planning to flee as soon as my driver stops at the next set of traffic lights.
I lean forward in my seat. “Damien, can you put up the privacy screen and lock the back doors, please?”
He eyes me with suspicion through the rearview mirror before nodding and doing as instructed. I can understand his confusion. I travel with my assistant regularly, and this is a request I’ve never asked of him before.
Delilah’s pretty blue eyes widen as her head snaps in my direction. “Are you kidnapping me?” she squeaks.
I can’t help it. As irritated as I am, I bark out a laugh. “No, I’m simply saving you from doing something stupid, like jumping out of a moving vehicle into the path of oncoming traffic.”
“I would never! I may be blonde, but I’m not an idiot.”
My eyes move to her hair. It’s the first time I’ve seen it down. It’s usually pulled back into a ponytail or messy bun. It’s longer and fuller than I expected. It looks like spun silk, and I feel like a creep for wanting to run my fingers through it.
Jailbait, Prescott, I remind myself again.
“I never said you were,” I retort.
It’s only then she releases her stranglehold on the door handle and settles back into her seat. “How long is the meeting going to take, anyway? I have things to do and places to be?”
I arch a brow. “Like?”
“I brought my resume with me today, so I’m planning on walking around the city when we get back to see if I can conjure up an interview.”
“You’re serious about not working for me?”
She bows her head and stares down at her lap. “Yes.”
“Can I ask why?”
“Been there, done that.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Kayne’s father only hired me because I was dating his son. I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I refuse to take another sympathy job.” The mere mention of that dick’s name has my blood pressure rising again. “I’m more than capable of finding my own employment. ”
I agree, she may not be the sharpest—she was prepared to marry fuckface, after all—but she certainly is the prettiest.
“You think that’s what this is … a sympathy job?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Show me your resume?”
“Why?”
“Give it here, Miss St. James.” When she doesn’t immediately comply, I extend my arm in her direction. I’m forced to roll my lips to hide my smile when she grunts out a huff as she reaches down to grab the bag that she’d placed by her feet.
She goes to hand me the small stack of A4-sized paper that’s placed inside a clear plastic sleeve before changing her mind and retracting her hand. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m going to read it.”
“Oh.”
“What did you think I was going to do?”
She lifts one shoulder. “Tear it up or throw it out the window so I couldn’t look for another job. FYI, these are photocopies I got from the library. The originals are at my place.”
Why do I find this woman’s antics utterly adorable? “I don’t litter, Delilah. Unlike some, I have respect for our planet.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” she replies, finally handing over her resume.
I flick through her paperwork … there’s not much here. A few school reports from her senior year of high school. Her grades are mostly comprised of B’s and C’s, but it’s the teacher’s comments I’m most interested in. You can tell a lot about a person from someone else’s perspective .
Delilah is a pleasure to teach.
Delilah is hard-working and gives everything her all.
Delilah tackles every task she’s presented with gusto.
Delilah is kind, compassionate, and popular amongst her peers.
I can’t find any criticisms.
I move back to the first page. She has About Smiles Dentistry listed as her sole employment—I’d also noted they hadn’t given her a written reference. She has Dr Lewis Drummond listed as the point of contact. I know for a fact that universities here in Australia don’t offer a doctorate only a bachelor’s degree, and as a result, he has no right to call himself a doctor.
I make a mental note of the company’s name, so I can do some investigation when I get back to the office.
Her list of personal attributes include: hard-working, friendly, honest, loyal, reliable, punctual, and a fast learner … all the things I value in my employees.
I remain silent as I slide it back into the flimsy sleeve. “Well,” she says when I pass it back to her.
“Well, what?”
“Are you going to critique it?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I’ve applied for so many jobs since I was let go, and I’m yet to get one interview.”
I lean in her direction and skim the tip of my finger down her list of personal attributes. “This is exactly what I would look for in an employee. It makes me wonder if your old boss is giving you a less-than-stellar reference.”
Her plump, gloss-covered lips form a perfect little ‘O’. “I thought that too. I worked hard when I was there and didn’t take a single day off.”
“Never?”
“No. ”
I nod my head. “Impressive.”
“I don’t like to let people down if I can help it, but I have to include it on my resume because it’s my only work experience. If I don’t, any future employer will think I’ve been lounging around on the couch for the past four years, watching reruns of Judge Judy and mooching off my parents.”
I bark out another laugh. This woman amuses me to no end.
“You know you could lodge a complaint with the Fair Work Commission for unfair dismissal.”
“Which Phoebe will more than likely do with you if you fire her. We have sick days for a reason, Mr Prescott.”
I flick my hand. “She’s a temp … I’ll get my lawyer to go over our employment contract, and if it turns out I have no grounds to dismiss her, I’ll move her to the mail room or somewhere equally lacklustre.”
“How kind of you,” she quips, rolling her eyes.
“On a serious note, you really should report him for the unjust way you were treated.”
“I’m already walking on eggshells at home. I’m liable to end up homeless if I rock the boat further. I don’t want to be poor and destitute.”
I’d never let that happen.
I click my tongue, trying to rein in my anger. “Rock the boat? Delilah, you are the victim here … in so many ways.”
She winces. “I’m not a fan of that word. I’ve never been one to play that card.”
I count to ten in my head before growling. “It’s called standing up for yourself … there is a difference.”
“Can we talk about something else? This conversation is giving me a headache.”
“I’ll change the subject on one condition. ”
“That being?”
“You come to work for me.”
“Ugh.”
Why do I find that cute little grunt she makes in the back of her throat sexy?
Our trip from the car up to my lawyer’s office is travelled in silence.
When we reach his floor, his receptionist greets us with a pleasant smile. She presses the intercom on her desk. “Mr Prescott has arrived, Mr Cavanagh.”
“Send him in, Rose.”
He stands when we enter his office, rounding his desk to greet us. “Sorry I’m running late,” I apologise, extending my hand.
“Like I said, I’ve booked out the entire morning for you.”
His gaze moves to the petite blonde standing beside me. “This is Delilah St. James,” I say, “Delilah, my lawyer, Logan Cavanagh.”
“The girlfriend, right?” he questions, extending his hand to her.
She squeaks out an abrupt, “No,” at the same time I reply with a firm, “Yes.”
I side-eye her and see pink flood her cheeks.
Logan gives us both a quizzical look. “I saw your Facebook status.”
“You saw that, huh?” I mutter.
“I deleted that post,” Delilah adds, bowing her head and staring down at her feet. She did? When? And why? Her next words answer that last question. “We broke up.”
“We did?” I find myself asking .
A bemused smirk tugs on Logan’s lips. “That’s a shame. I was both surprised and pleased when I saw it. I was like you once,” he says moving his attention back to me. “All work and no play.” He lifts one shoulder. “Then I met Brooke and my life was enriched in ways I never thought possible.”
I roll my eyes when Delilah coos, “Aww,” from beside me.
Women .
A few sweet words from the opposite sex and they melt into a puddle of mush.
I’m not opposed to finding love one day. It’s just not something I’m interested in at the moment. My life is chaotic enough.
“Are you heading back to the office?” my driver asks once we slide into the back seat.
I look down at my watch and see it is almost noon. My meeting took longer than I expected. “Can you drop us off at Aria, please, Damien?”
“Certainly, Mr Prescott.”
“Us? Where are you taking me now?” Delilah gripes.
“Lunch.”
My answer has her doing a double take. “What?”
“It’s midday … I’m hungry.”
“I’m not dining with you, Spencer.”
“You work for me now, Miss St. James. I don’t believe you have a choice.”
“I never agreed to your proposal.”
“I believe on the drive here we agreed if I changed the subject, you’d take the position.”
“I replied with an, ‘Ugh’. That is not a yes. ”
“It isn’t a no, either.”
“You’re insufferable … no wonder you’re single.”
“I didn’t even realise I was back on the market until you informed me in front of my lawyer that we had broken up. And for the record, prior to you, I was single by choice.”
“So, you keep claiming,” she mumbles.
“It’s the truth.”
“While we’re on the subject, you realise I witnessed you lie to him?”
“How so?”
“When he implied I was your girlfriend, you told him I was.”
“I was keeping up the pretence, nothing more.”
“Isn’t that illegal or something?”
“He’s a lawyer, Delilah, not a judge. I wasn’t under oath.”
“What are you saying? I can only believe your words if your hand is on a stack of Bibles?”
This time, I roll my eyes. “They don’t use a stack of Bibles in court. It sounds like you have indeed been watching too many reruns of Judge Judy .”
When she folds her arms across her chest and growls at me, literally growls, I have to turn my face and bite my knuckle between my teeth to suppress my laugh.
“Damien, could you please pull over here? she asks. “I’d like to get out.”
“Keep driving,” I grumble.
“You’re kidnapping me again?”
“Delilah,” I say, “I was trying to save face. I didn’t want to embarrass you by getting into it with him.”
“Yet you embarrassed me by throwing me under the bus the first chance you got. ”
“Stop being so dramatic. Nobody was thrown under the bus,” I respond with a touch of annoyance in my tone.
“You told him I was fired from my last job.”
“Because I want him to help you with your case.”
“There is no case. I told you I didn’t want to?—”
“Rock the boat,” I mimic, repeating her words from earlier.
I see her reach for the door handle out of my peripheral vision as we approach the next set of lights. “Are the back doors locked, Damien?”
“Yes, Mr Prescott.”
When Delilah stamps her foot down like a spoilt child, it’s a struggle to hold back my grin. “You’re showing your age now, Miss St. James.”