Chapter 17
Evie
I’ve been Brandon’s assistant for three days, and I already want to end it all.
It isn’t because Brandon is acting unprofessionally. No, the total opposite. After that first day, when he poked my chest and told me that I was his “subordinate,” I thought for sure that he was going to make my life miserable by flirting with me nonstop.
But no, I stand corrected. He’s all, “Please and thank you, Evie.” “That will be all, Evie.” “Place that call on line one, Evie.” “No-show my last patient, Evie.”
Basically, if he were a hairstyle, he’d be both business in the front and business in the ba—
“What are you doing?”
Startled, I spring from my seat and whirl toward the sound of Brandon’s voice.
The pen I’m holding flies out of my hand and hits him square in the eye—and if not for the spasm in my lower back, I would be laughing at the way his chin jerks back and his lips pucker in surprise, making him look like one of those blobfish.
Instead, I barely manage to keep myself upright as a sharp, shooting sensation radiates down my legs.
My knees buckle, and I grab the edge of the desk for support.
Brandon grabs my arm when he sees that I’m about to crumble to the floor. I flinch as he steadies me. “Are you alright?” he asks, holding me upright.
“I’m fine.” My ears warm as I shake off his touch. He releases me slowly, but his hands hover around me for another few seconds. “You just scared me, that’s all.”
He peeks over my shoulder. “Busy?”
Sheepishly, I shake my head and reach back to snap the diary closed.
I was in my own little world just now, journaling away.
There’s nothing else to do during these afternoon lulls when Brandon and Gladys are between patients.
I’ve tried cleaning to keep busy, but Brandon scolded me when he caught me mopping the bathroom floor yesterday.
Apparently, they have a cleaner who comes twice a week, and Brandon didn’t like the idea of me doing physical labor “in my condition.” His words, not mine.
“Why? What’s up?” I ask sweetly, snapping back into secretary mode.
“I need you to fax this to the pharmacy urgently,” he says, still gazing at my new diary. I shift forward, attempting to hide it behind my body. Nothing to see here. Just me complaining about how insufferable you are. Carry on.
He lifts a brow and hands me a prescription order, craning his neck to try and see around me.
You know what? I’m convinced he became a shrink because he likes poking his nose in other people’s business.
He nods at the diary, still fixated on it. “More questions for me?”
I shift on my feet, unsure what to say. Navigating our new boss-employee relationship is kind of like wandering through a minefield. “Uh . . . no. Not exactly.”
His gaze slides back to me. “Were you slacking off, Miss Montgomery?”
Oh, for Pete’s sake. Miss Montgomery. If I’m honest, I much prefer flirty Brandon. I can handle his flirtatious banter and volley it back. I don’t know what to do with this brooding, taciturn version who takes the whole “I’m your boss” thing way too seriously.
“No.”
“What were you doing, then?” he presses.
“Writing . . .”
“Writing what?”
“My . . .” I rock back and forth on my feet and twist my lips. “Thoughts . . . and feelings . . .”
His eyes narrow. “About?”
“Yo—” I clear my throat and shrug. “Yuletide.”
“Yuletide,” he repeats.
“Yuletide.”
“Christmas?”
“Yeah,” I squeak. “I’m always thinking about Christmas. It’s my favorite holiday, you know.”
He looks like he wants to say something else but thinks better of it and nods at the paper in my hand. “Right. Well, get back to work, please.” Then he stalks off.
Ugh.
I salute his retreating form. “Aye aye, captain.”
Facing the fax machine, I poke a couple of buttons, not sure what I’m doing. Brandon never showed me how to use it, and I’m reluctant to ask for his help right now. He’s obviously in a mood, and he’s been acting all moody and aloof since our altercation on Monday morning.
The machine spits an angry rejection noise at me, and I sigh.
Brandon said he wanted this order faxed ASAP, so I keep pressing random buttons, hoping it’ll prompt me to enter the pharmacy’s fax number.
It never does. Feeling stupid, I play around with it for a few more minutes, but it won’t cooperate.
Ugh! I’m most likely the only person on planet Earth who doesn’t know how to use a simple fax machine.
Squaring my shoulders, I steel my nerves and march toward Brandon’s office. He’s my boss, for crying out loud. I should be able to ask for his help. This is no big deal. I knock softly on the door, even though he’s left it ajar.
Warily, I poke my head into the room. “Brandon?”
He’s writing something on a notepad. He doesn’t look up. “Come in.”
I tiptoe into his space, feeling small and stupid around him—per usual. I don’t know how to say it, so I end up just standing there, wringing my hands in front of me while I try to think of the least annoying way to ask for help. Several seconds tick by.
“Yes, Evie?” he drawls without looking up. I hear the implication in his voice. I haven’t got all day.
“Um, I think I need help.”
His hand pauses on the notepad. Only his eyes lift to me. “With what?”
My heart hammers in my chest. The way he’s looking at me, with no emotion whatsoever, is triggering .
. . memories. I shift on my feet and try to ignore the dull ache in my back that, oddly enough, seems to be getting worse the longer I work at this desk job.
“I need help faxing that prescription order.”
He glances at his watch and rises. “You haven’t sent that yet? I told you I needed that faxed urgently.” He waves me forward as he rounds his desk.
I skitter backwards out of his office.
“Why didn’t you ask for help sooner?” he demands as we head down the hall.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” I defend, fighting to keep my tone light. “You’re the one who hired me without looking at my resume. If you had, you would have noticed that nowhere in there does it say, ‘tech savvy.’ I used to wipe butts for a living.”
He sighs. “Really, Evie? Why must you always argue with me?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. My filter snaps like it was hanging on by a thread.
“Um, really? Because the way I see it, I’ve been nothing but a hardworking, dutiful assistant to you for the last week, thank you very much.
I make sure to look busy at all hours of the day—even when I’m not.
Because if I don’t, you’re breathing down my neck, being the overbearing taskmaster that I knew you would be. ”
When we reach the fax machine, I face him—and immediately regret my outburst when I see the look on his face.
He’s annoyed. My stomach drops. Brandon hardly ever rises to negative emotions; it’s like he’s above anything but happiness.
I can only think of one other time I’ve ever made him mad, and I refuse to entertain the painful memory.
“You’re lucky we’re friends,” he says coolly, pivoting toward the machine. “I probably would have fired you by now if we weren’t.”
My mouth drops open with a little popping noise.
Tears prick at my eyes. He gestures for me to come close, and I step forward, my heart hammering in my ears.
Arms crossed, I watch carefully while he makes operating the intimidating-looking machine look easy peasy—although I’m already drafting my resignation letter in the back of my mind.
Accepting this job was a terrible, terrible mistake.
But what am I going to do instead? I’m injured, broke, and talentless, and I don’t have a college degree, either. Oh my gosh. I can’t even figure out how to use a fax machine! Here I come, McDonald’s. But will I be able to work the freaking ice cream machine?
Brandon gestures at the fax machine sarcastically as the number prompt opens, as if what he’s about to do is the simplest task in the world. Once he’s ascertained I’m paying attention, he jabs the fax number into the keypad and hits send. The paper goes through the machine and comes out face down.
That’s it.
My cheeks burn. “It wasn’t working before,” I mutter. “Something was wrong with it.”
“I’m sure.”
Blinking the tears away, I breathe in deeply and force a shaky smile. “Thank you,” I say, covering my ears with my hair as I turn away from him. “Sorry to disturb you like that. I know you’re busy. I’ll try and keep out of your hair from now on.”
And your life . . .
After a few seconds of silence, Brandon still hasn’t gone back to his office. Confused, I glance over at him. “Sorry, did you need something else?”
I’m shocked by the look of dread on his face. “Evie,” he stammers. “I’m sorry. What I just said was completely out of line.”
“What you said?”
“The comment about firing you.” He swipes a hand down his tie. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I would never fire you. I was just—” He pauses. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ve had a rough morning, and I took it out on you just now.”
Wow.
I offer a nonchalant shrug, although I’m shocked by the emotion thickening his voice.
“Don’t worry about it.” I force a lighthearted laugh.
“I get that I’m replaceable, okay? And we all know I’m not exactly secretary material.
” I grin. “But, hey, at least this is temporary, right? You won’t have to put up with me forever. ”
Frowning, he steps closer. I stumble back as he reaches for my hand. What is he doing? “I don’t put up with you, Evie,” he insists. “I’m happy you’re here. I want you here.”
“Um . . .”
“You’ve been a wonderful assistant. And you’re certainly not replaceable,” he goes on. “Not by a long shot. You are one of a kind, Genevieve.” He reaches out again, brushing his thumb along the inside of my wrist. I jerk away from his touch like he’s shocked me. “Beautifully and wonderfully made.”
Whoa. Beautifully and wonderfully made? He’s laying it on a little thick this time, isn’t he?
I snort in response, but I can’t deny that the earnest look on his face is making me weak in the knees.
Or maybe that’s just my bad back. Who knows.
Either way, his compliment couldn’t be cornier, and yet, here I am, melting like a stick of butter in the microwave.
The power this man wields over me is genuinely frightening. He is so smooth.
“You are not replaceable,” he implores.
I have to look away. “Yeah, well, tell that to the ice cream machine.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He looks at me like he wants to say more, but the front door opens, and one of his patients walks in. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”
“Sure.”
I hope we don’t.
My phone buzzes as soon as Brandon is out of sight.
I slide it out and glance down at the screen.
One new text from Adam Smart. Great. Now that he’s not my manager anymore, there’s really no reason for him to be reaching out.
There’s no doubt he’s calling to collect on the whole “let’s be friends again” thing.
I open the text.
Adam Smart: Hey! How’s the new job going?
Me: It’s fine . . . for now. Brandon is every bit the tyrannical overlord I expected him to be, though. And I miss my clients.
Adam Smart: Brandon? No way. I don’t believe you. He’s the nicest person ever.
I snort.
Adam Smart: And your clients miss you, too. We’ve been having a rough time finding a replacement for you with Bert. He is not a happy camper.
I smile at that.
Me: I’ll have to stop by and see him again soon.
Adam Smart: I’m sure he’d appreciate that. And I want to compensate you for those meals you made him. You really didn’t have to do that.
Me: I know. I wanted to. And don’t worry about it.
Adam Smart: Well, expect a direct deposit sometime soon. So . . .
And here it comes.
Adam Smart: Some church buddies and I were gonna see a movie tomorrow night. We’ll probably grab something to eat and do a round of mini golf beforehand. Wanna join?
Dinner, minigolf, and a movie? Sheesh, that’s my entire weekend written off. What time did he plan on dropping me back home? Three in the morning?
I type out my response with reluctant thumbs.
Me: That sounds fun.
It doesn’t—especially because we’ll be hanging out with a bunch of his church groupies—but at least he’s not asking me to hang out with him alone.
Adam Smart: Great! I’ll pick you up around 6ish. Is that good?
Shaking my head, I send him the saluting emoji and push my phone away. How on Earth did I end up working for the man who broke my heart, only to turn around and agree to hang out with the one whose heart I broke—all in the same week?
The world may never know.