Chapter 1 #2
“Listen here, you little bitch. You will do this for me,” she leans close, her perfect red lips in a sneer, “or I will tell Myles to get rid of you.”
Before I can answer she straightens up and sweeps out of the office, leaving me trembling.
She is terrifying, to be honest. Whenever she comes in she seems to be either making my life difficult or breaking up with Myles and getting back together with him.
I swear it’s happened three times since I started working here just a few months ago.
And then it’s always the same cycle– she sends endless gifts and photographs of herself and Myles ignores them until he doesn’t– and then they get back together.
On one memorable occasion she even showed up in lingerie under a flimsy robe.
I’d basically had to guard Myles’s office until she emerged, her hair tousled, a smile on her gorgeous face like the cat who got the cream.
I wouldn’t put it past her to get me fired, especially considering that Myles doesn’t seem to like me much, anyway.
My phone intercom buzzes. It’s Myles.
“Come in now.”
I put the shoe down and pick up some paperwork, putting my professional face on once more. I’ll be damned if I lose this job because of a spoilt supermodel.
I stand up, and head into the lion’s den.
Myles
Christ, that’s all I need. I frown as I watch the slender backside of my probably soon-to-be ex-girlfriend leave my office.
Another day, another argument. I don’t know what the hell she wants from me.
My frown deepens as I see her stop at Zara’s desk to say something, no doubt cutting by the way Zara’s face falls.
I’m still frowning a moment later when Zara comes into my office. She has a folder full of papers in her hand, her demeanour businesslike, but I can see a sheen of tears in her eyes.
Bloody Katya. I don’t know why I keep things going with her.
Yeah, she’s hot– supermodels tend to be– but she has a serious personality deficiency.
And I don’t care how long her legs are, how bouncy her tits.
If bitchy is her default mode and she can’t hold up her half of the conversation, then things aren’t going to last.
“More papers to sign?” I take the folder from Zara, scanning them and scribbling my name where needed. “How’s my schedule looking for today? Did you manage to upgrade the space for that meeting like I asked?”
“Er, yes. Everything’s been arranged, plus I got them to throw in the additional catering for free.
I’ve updated your diary, confirmed all your other appointments and arranged the car to collect you.
Oh, and also,” she pauses for a moment, pink on her high cheekbones, “here’s a file.
From the Soho office. Old artwork clippings. ”
“Really?” Surprise jolts through me. “How did you know I wanted those?”
“It’s my job to know.” Zara’s wide brown eyes meet mine for a moment, then she looks down, fringe of dark lashes brushing her cheeks. She hands me the folder. My mobile buzzes on my desktop. I know who’s calling, and so does Zara. She turns to go.
“Wait. I have a couple of things for you.”
She pauses, mid-turn. The jacket on the far-too-big-for-her suit she’s wearing pulls in, revealing her tiny waist. Her legs are almost as long and slender as Katya’s, I realise, as she turns back to me.
It’s not the first time I’ve noticed, if I’m honest.
But I don’t shit where I eat. Not anymore. Not since Cassandra. My lawyers have been very clear about that. “No dating in the office,” they tell me. “It’ll cost you too much in the long run.”
It almost cost me my company, last time.
Still, as Zara comes back to me, her citrus blossom scent wafting around me as though we’re stood in an orange grove, it’s all I can do not to reach out and touch her. Screw the lawyers. When I want something, I usually get it.
And I want Zara.
I’ve wanted her since the day she walked into my office, her shining oak-brown hair scraped back from her delicate face, her shy smile, the hint of curves beneath her baggy clothes. She’s tall, despite the low-heeled shoes she wears, her head almost reaching my chin.
And now, as she bends over my desk to collect the paperwork I’ve left there, I wonder what it would be like to see that lustrous hair out of its elastic band, spilling across her bare shoulders. “Will you… Don’t you need to answer that?” She inclines her head to my still-buzzing phone.
“I’ll call him later.” The last person I want to speak to right now is my father. I leaf through the folder of artwork, trying to distract myself. I know I’m still frowning.
But if I’m short with Zara it stops me from stepping over that line, anger dousing my arousal at her mere presence. I’m angry with myself, not with her. I should have more self-control than this.
“When is Eloise coming back?” The words are curt, but I’m holding on by a thread.
Zara blinks, then gathers herself. “She has four months left on her maternity leave.” She lifts her chin. “If you’d like me to look for a temporary replacement, then I can?—”
“No, no,” I say, feeling like an asshole. “That wasn’t why I was asking.”
“No?” There’s a faint tremor in her voice.
God, now I feel even worse. The phone has stopped, at least. I asked because I don’t want her to leave me. But I can’t tell her that.
“No,” I say. “Er, payroll were asking about it. So I thought I’d ask you.” Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. But I don’t want to hurt her anymore.
She’s an amazing assistant, to be honest. Even better than Eloise.
My life runs like a well-oiled machine, thanks to Zara.
She seems to be able to anticipate my every need, always one step ahead.
Like the artwork file she’s brought me. I’ve been meaning to ask her to get it, even scribbled a note to myself the other day.
And she’s made it happen before I even asked.
So, the fact that I want to bend her over the desk and have my way with her will have to wait. I can fuck anytime. But good assistants are difficult to find.