Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Shaye
Holy shit.
I wasn’t ready. The little pep talk I gave myself before walking into Oliver’s office wasn’t enough. Then again, I’m not sure if I could’ve been prepared for this vision.
This vision of power.
A large, stately desk with a white marble top sits toward the back of the room. Two leather chairs face it. Behind the desk are floor-to-ceiling windows with unparalleled views of the ocean.
A fireplace with faux logs, complete with a mantel adorned with a few framed photos, anchors one wall. A sofa in a deep velvety blue is placed in front of it. On the opposite wall facing the fireplace is a bar with a gold mirror hanging over it.
And, in the middle of it all, stands an Adonis with a furrowed brow and a hint of a smirk. Maybe it’s that we’re in his defined space—I don’t know, but it’s different in here.
More private.
More real.
More official.
I try to tell myself to play it cool—to keep it together, for the love of God because I need this job—but it’s too late. I bet he can see my heartbeat pound through my blouse.
“Close both doors, please,” Oliver says.
I shut both the door to my office and the one to the main lobby area. Breathe, Shaye.
“Our offices can remain open to each other throughout the day if that works better for you,” he says, looking at a piece of paper.
Probably not. “Okay,” I say instead.
“I do prefer to keep a barrier between my office and the reception room.” He looks up. “I’ve had people walk off the elevator right into my office before.”
“Are we talking about Boone?”
Oliver sets the paper down and laughs. “Yes. Mostly.” He sits in his office chair. It squeals with the movement. “Have a seat.”
I sit across from him, the cool leather seeping through the thin fabric of my pants and into my skin. It’s enough of a shock to my system that I shake off the apprehension of the moment and focus on what I came here to do: work.
“Are you cold?” Oliver asks, his brows raising. “I keep it so fucking cold in here because it keeps me awake. But I can warm it up.”
He starts to stand, his chair squalling again. His brow furrows.
“No, I’m fine,” I say, motioning for him to return to his seat. “I think the adrenaline of my first day is starting to wear off. I always get cold after I go into fight or flight.”
“You were in fight or flight? About working for me?” He sits down and grimaces as the chair squeaks through the air.
“Well …” I smile sheepishly. “Maybe that was a slight exaggeration. But it is a little overwhelming to walk in here.”
Oliver cocks his head to the side, running his thumb over his bottom lip in thought. I rip my eyes away from his mouth and pick up my pen instead. It takes only a second to make a note to research a good chair for him.
“I have a question,” I say, raising my gaze to his. I’m momentarily silenced by the intensity in his eyes, so I clear my throat. “What time do you want me to start? I know it was eight today, but I’m unsure if that’s the usual starting time or what.”
He leans back in his chair. “I wanted you here early today so we could get started. My day is usually a shit show by nine. If you would’ve started any later than eight, I wouldn’t have had time to see you at all.”
I force a swallow at the implication in his words. Was he looking forward to seeing me?
Of course, he was. You’re his assistant.
I wipe my palms on my pants again.
He rests his elbow on the armrest and runs a finger down the side of his face. I have to fight the urge to follow the motion instead of looking him in the eye.
“Does eight work for you?” he asks.
“I’ll be here at whatever time you need me.”
“Eight it is then.”
“Sounds good,” I say, making a note of that on my pad.
“We have a meeting the first Friday of the month at six o’clock.”
I recoil. “Six? I’m not that much of a morning person.”
He grins. His eyes flicker into a deep shade of green. “Guess you’re going to have to adjust.”
I grin back, the playfulness in his tone helping me relax. “Guess so. Are they the only ones we have regularly?”
“For you? Yes. There will be a variety of others I’ll ask you to attend. We keep track of all of that on the calendar. Have you gotten access to that?”
“I was looking through it earlier. It’s quite colorful.”
“You are Orange, I believe. I’m Purple.”
I write that down. “May I ask who is Olive Green? Because Olive Green and Hot Pink have some … interesting conversations there.”
Oliver rolls his eyes and sighs. “Olive Green is my brother, Wade. Should’ve been me since I’m Oliver, I know. But someone fucked up.”
We laugh. A comfort between us settles the bubble of uneasiness in my stomach and reminds me of our interaction at the accident. It was easy, despite the circumstance, and if I hadn’t walked away with such a good vibe from him then, I wouldn’t be here right now.
“You met Boone, otherwise known as Hot Pink,” Oliver says. “Wade is his exact opposite.”
“Oh, yes, Wade the wizard, right?”
“Yes.” Oliver leans forward, lacing his thick fingers together on his desktop. He smiles. “Speaking of wizard, way to throw me under the bus with Boone.”
I grin. “Sorry. I got confused.”
“You did not.” He laughs. “You wanted to watch me squirm.”
My shoulders rise and fall as I play coy.
“I will get you back,” he teases.
My stomach warms, and the heat flows through my veins. I’ll look forward to it. Visions of Oliver and zip ties rush through my brain. A flush creeps across my cheeks. I keep my head down and doodle a flower in the corner of the notepad while I wait to return to a normal color.
“What time do you go home? Or do I go home, I guess?” I ask, coloring in the center of the flower.
“You can leave around five, depending on what we’re in the middle of.”
I nod. And gulp as I force errant thoughts out of my head.
“I stay until …” He laughs, leaning back in his squeaky chair again. “I work too much. I don’t get out of here until six or seven most nights.”
My gaze lifts. “Even though you start at four?”
He smiles ruefully. “I see my whole family here, so it’s not like I’m locked away in some castle.
I have lunch with my mother once a week.
I usually play golf with my dad a couple of times a month …
” He grimaces. “Touchy subject. But the point is that work and family life come together here for me. It’s not as bad as it sounds. ”
I make a face.
“What?” he asks.
“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that no matter how much you love your job, being there for twelve, thirteen hours a day for five days …” I take in his reaction. “You’re here six days a week, aren’t you?”
He holds his hands out in defense. “What? I like my job.”
“You need a hobby. Here—I’m writing that down. Find Oliver a hobby,” I say, writing those very words in all caps across the top of the paper.
He laughs as he watches me.
“What do you do for fun?” he asks. “What are your hobbies, Shaye?”
The pen hits the paper with a thud.
I think about lying to him and making up something crazy. How fun would it be to say that I scuba dived on the weekends or flew planes? I’m this close to telling him that I skipped stones on the water in my free time but stop when my gaze catches his.
My lips are parted, but my fabricated hobbies don’t come through. I know he’ll call my bluff.
“I don’t actually have any hobbies,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have any.”
“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Or maybe that should be reversed?” His forehead wrinkles. “Which is the boy—the goose or the gander?”
“I have no idea.”
We laugh, the sound of our voices blending together in easy waves.
One solid knock rips through the room before the door behind me opens, and two men walk in.
“Sounds like you two are hitting it off,” one of them says. He approaches me with a hand extended my way. “You must be Shaye.”
Oliver groans. It’s amusing.
I take the stranger’s hand, keeping one eye on a watchful Oliver. “I am. And you are?”
“I’m Holt. The CEO.”
“Co-CEO, thank you,” Oliver says pointedly at his brother. “Shaye, these are my brothers. That’s Holt, which you now know. The other one is Wade. Wade, this is Shaye.”
Wade looks much less interested in chatting me up. However, he shakes my hand dutifully.
Holt and Wade are nearly exact copies of Oliver—and Boone, for that matter.
They all vary in the slightest degrees. Holt would be the older one of the group, if I were to make a snap judgment, thanks to the lines around his eyes and mouth.
Wade, in my estimation, might be the most interesting.
There are stories behind those walled irises. I’m sure of it.
Oliver, on the other hand, is a blend of the two—an exquisite one and the best looking.
By far.
I have no idea how people get any work done around here. It’s no wonder Genevieve just sits at her desk smiling.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” I say, maintaining my composure despite the company.
Wade sits in the chair beside me. A wave of expensive cologne ripples through the air. “Are we getting work done today, or are we having orientation?”
“Wade, why do you have to be a dick?” Oliver asks.
“Let him orientate, Wade,” Holt says, his words bordering on caution.
“It’s all right,” I say, taking a deep breath.
They all look at me.
I push a strand of hair behind my ear and focus on Oliver.
I need to win them over—show them that I belong here.
There’s an undulation of something between them—about me—that I sense but can’t put my finger on.
It was there in Holt’s Sounds like you’re hitting it off, it was thick in Wade’s Are we working today?
, and the vibrations pulsed through the office with Holt’s thinly veiled warning to let Oliver be.
Assistants are probably befuddled by them, at least at first. I need to show them I’m not … even though I kind of am.
I sit up straight. “Wade is right. Oliver has a full day scheduled, Holt has a briefing with Boone about Greyshell at one, and Wade has an appointment in forty-five minutes. He might need to hurry things up in here.”
I hold my breath. Wade’s head whips to mine.
“How do you know that?” he asks. “How do you know where I need to be in forty-five minutes?”
“You’re Olive Green, right?” I ask.
A slow smile spreads across his handsome face.
“I took a brief look at the calendar this morning,” I tell him. “I saw it. There was a note that you should take your Brekker sketchbook.”
Wade looks dumbfounded as he turns to face his brothers. “Why are we wasting her on you guys?”
I beam.
“Shaye is my executive assistant,” Oliver says quickly.
For whatever reason, this makes Holt laugh. Oliver fires him a warning look.
“Shaye,” Wade says as sober as a judge, “when these two idiots—three because Boone is also in this office—push you over the edge, you have a standing invitation to work for me.”
“Why, thank you, Wade. That’s nice of you.” I glance at Oliver. “I’m hoping things will go swimmingly with Oliver.”
Wade scoffs. “I wish you the best of luck with that.”
Holt taps on Wade’s shoulder, and Wade gets to his feet.
“We just wanted to come by and say hello,” Holt says. “Welcome aboard, Shaye.”
“Thank you, Holt,” I say.
They walk to the door and, with a soft thud, it closes behind them. I stare at it for a long moment.
Four incredibly, ridiculously nice men. In one place. At the same time. Who knew that was even possible?
Oliver’s chuckle greets me as I turn back around in my chair. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he’s wearing a playful grin on his face.
“What?” I ask.
He looks at the door for a moment before shaking his head. His tongue rolls around his mouth as his hands drop back to his side. He sits up.
“Nothing,” he says. “Brothers.”
“They seem delightful.”
He snorts. “Yeah. Delightful.”
An alarm goes off on his phone. He picks it up, reads the screen, and shuts it off.
“I have a meeting downstairs—” he says.
“Marketing at eleven. Do you need anything for that?”
He smiles at me. And I really do like his smile.
“No, thank you. Grab a coffee from the kitchen—it’s on the same floor as HR—if you need one. Make sure you review the welcome packet Toni gave you,” he says.
I nod.
“Kelly will help familiarize you with the computer systems, and I think there is an intake form that you’ll need to complete this morning. Again, Kelly will help you with that,” he tells me.
“Easy enough.”
He fiddles with his tie. “Otherwise, I’ll be back upstairs in a few hours, and we can head up to legal. You’ll be communicating with them a lot, and I want to make the introductions.”
“Okay,” I say, following his lead and standing.
He comes around the corner of his desk and stops a few feet in front of me.
Our eyes lock, his irises shifting colors again—deepening—as he takes me in. If we were in another place—any other place—at another time—besides the office in which we both work—I’d raise on my tiptoes and kiss him.
At least, I think that’s what I would do. It’s been so long. But the version of me that lives in my head and plays out fictional romantic interludes believes that’s what would happen.
My mouth goes dry, and my lips are downright parched.
But as the reel of the make-believe kiss we’d share finishes in my head, I scamper back to reality and the fact that he’s my boss.
And no matter how kissable he is or what I wouldn’t give to lean in to this feeling—the one that feels pretty and desired—I don’t.
I can’t.
Because life is about priorities and having a roof over your head is a big one. So, too, is ensuring that you don’t give people the ability to screw up your life.
Kissing my boss would surely put me at risk for the first one. It would definitely be wading into the waters of the second.
“Let me know if you need anything from me today,” I say, my voice a little raspier than I would like.
His eyes darken, but all he does is nod.
I lift my chin and give him my best-practiced smile. Then I turn on my heel and escape into my office.