Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
DOES A CERTAIN B-LISTER KNOW HE CAN’T HAVE HIS CAKE AND EAT IT, TOO? DOUBTFUL
GREER
Rather than taking the seat across from me where he’d been when I arrived, Tripp collapsed into the one next to me at the head of the table.
He slouched back and used his long legs to rock the chair from side to side as he gestured to the cake.
“Since you had to leave before the mystery was solved.”
I was surprised he remembered the discussion from the night before. There’d been a lot missing from the bottle of liquor he’d hoarded on the roof. That didn’t even account for what he’d had before or after that point.
I didn’t touch the plate, but I did look at it. The dark cake was broken up by thick layers of brown frosting. The top had even more frosting, and as if that wasn’t enough, there was a glaze of melted chocolate that coated it and dripped down the edge. “I take it you’re a fan of chocolate?”
“I hate it.”
His answer took me off guard, and a laugh broke free. “Really?”
He forced solemness as he nodded.
“But…” I gestured to the chocolate overload. “Why?”
“Alex was in charge of ordering the cake.”
“Oh.”
Maddie had already made it clear that Alex deserved to be fired, but him getting the cake so very wrong was really the icing on the shitshow—pun intended.
Unlike Tripp, I didn’t hate chocolate, but I also never really ate sweets—except my weekly French toast at brunch. It was still a thoughtful gesture, though.
“That mystery would’ve kept me up at night,” I said. “So thank you.”
An unreadable expression crossed his face, there and then gone.
I wondered if it was rude to not eat any of it. It kind of seemed like it.
But before I could decide how to handle it, he cleared his throat and nudged the cake away from me. “Maddie already said you’re not a dessert person, so you don’t have to eat it.”
I braced for the inevitable jokes about me being an LA stereotype obsessed with clean living. Or the sexist comments about my eating habits being better than others’. Or the ones on the flipside of the winless argument that critiqued my lack of curves because men preferred meat on the bones.
But it was for nothing. Tripp gave zero commentary, good or bad.
Thrown off-kilter by how bizarre the interview was shaping up before it’d even begun, my words came out like a question. “Uh, thank you?”
He simply lifted his chin before tilting his head toward the table. “Is that your resume?”
“Oh. Yes.” I handed the paper to him. “A lot of my work has been on a volunteer basis, but I still took it as seriously as a paying job. My expertise is in organization, but I’m also great with communication.”
“Does that include phone calls?” he asked, glancing up at me.
“Of course.”
“Good because I hate making them, and Alex never managed to, either.” He continued scanning the minimal list of my unsalaried accomplishments.
I untucked my blonde hair before sliding it back into place as I gnawed on my bottom lip.
Unable to keep the words in, they tumbled out in a breathless ramble.
“I know most of that is helping with medical fundraisers and events, but the organizational concepts are the same. Those were just the opportunities I had because my father is a doctor.” Realizing how that came out, I quickly amended, “Not that I got them because of him. I worked very hard. And I did very little work for him.”
Likely because he was selling prescriptions. Who knows what else he was hiding?
Tripp raised his focus to me, and—thank God—it was enough to halt my words before that inner thought became an outer one. He already sat close, but he leaned closer still, his gray eyes seeming to sear into me like he could read my every inner thought anyway.
I wonder if he wears colored contacts.
Or maybe he got some experimental rich person surgery to change the color.
I don’t think I care either way, I just want him to keep looking at me.
He smiled, and a surge of panic shot through me that he really could read my mind.
Or, more likely, that I’d been so mesmerized by his handsomeness that I’d said it out loud.
But that wasn’t it. “Don’t worry. As a certified nepo baby, I know that you aren’t one.
” He shook the paper. “You have too many sensible skills.”
My brows lowered. “You’re a nepo baby?”
It was his turn to look a little confused. “My dad is Clark Carter.”
“Oh,” I murmured, not knowing who that was but being polite enough to pretend.
Tripp saw through my weak act. “I take it you never watched soaps when you were home sick?”
“I was a The Price Is Right kid.”
“A better choice. Clark was the longest running star in the longest running soap opera before he retired.”
“That’s really cool.”
“It’s something,” he muttered as he looked back down at the paper. “All of this looks good.”
I worried he would offer me the job.
I mean, I wanted the job. But I didn’t want him offering it on the same breezy whim that he might eventually fire me on.
But he wasn’t done with the interview.
Sitting up straight, he rotated the chair so he was looking directly at me. He had a knack for that. Focusing in like there was nothing else around. It was disconcerting and distracting, but I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.
Which I didn’t.
Should I count his attractiveness as a con to working for him?
Tripp was all business, and I felt guilty for inappropriately ogling him. “Since you’ve never been a personal assistant, it would probably be easier if I told you about the job. After that, you can let me know if it’s something you’re interested in.”
At my nod, he listed off the day-to-day obligations I’d expected. Setting and tracking appointments. Running errands. Reservations. Travel arrangements.
All things that I could easily handle. All things I liked to handle, and that would help strengthen those needed skills for when I moved on to my actual career.
But then he got to the nittier of the nitty gritty, and the looming doubt grew more encompassing. “Of course, you would also be attending events, press junkets, and filmings with me.”
I might’ve been a whiz with a highlighter and a pack of file folders, but I wouldn’t know the first thing about what to do at any of those places. I also wasn’t dying for a peek behind the Hollywood curtain to learn.
More than that, the time commitment was outside of what I could give.
“As long—” he started.
“Unfortunately,” I said at the same time, our words getting jumbled together. When he tipped his head for me to continue, I forced the words out through a shocking amount of disappointment. “I don’t think this will work with my school schedule.”
“As long as you aren’t in class,” he finished his own thought. “That comes first.”
“I still don’t think this will work as a part-time position. You need someone with more availability, not the half days I can offer.”
“That’s still half a day more than Alex worked.”
I lifted my brows since he’d made the point for me. “And look how that ended.”
“This is different, though. Maddie said you’re the best, and honestly, my shit is a disaster zone.” His expression tensed, but not with deserved ire at his ex-assistant. It was with earnest vulnerability. “I need more help than someone who just wants to party with me.”
I lifted my hands to untuck my hair before catching myself. I folded them tightly in my lap instead, staring down at them to stay resolute. “I’m out of my depth with most of what you need.”
“Then I’ll teach you to do what I need.”
My head shot up at the unexpected thickness in his rough voice, heat scoring through me. But I must’ve imagined it because his expression was blank as he scanned my resume.
What’s gotten into me?
Ignoring my overactive—and overheated—imagination, I focused on the functioning part of my brain. The portion that was scratched just right by a new challenge. That love of an adventure had always driven me to try new trails, new fitness classes, new experiences.
It also pushed me to whisper an unsure, “Okay.”
Tripp didn’t ask for clarification. He didn’t needle away at my doubt. He took my reluctant agreement and ran with it.
Literally.
Okay, he didn’t run, but he did stride from the room as he said, “I’ll get the paperwork.”
“Wait,” I called after him since we hadn’t discussed actual hours, pay, or any other logistics.
But he was gone.
This is either going to be the best decision I’ve ever made, or it will be an epic, fiery disaster.
I scanned the shockingly swank conference room as I fidgeted with my papers. When that did nothing to dull the growing uncertainty getting louder in my head, I slid my phone out of my bag to check my email.
I quickly swiped away the spam that promised me a bigger dick, a good deal on my car’s extended warranty, and a low interest rate on the fictitious loan I’d never applied for. I nearly deleted it all before realizing one of them wasn’t junk.
No way.
I opened the email and scanned the request for an interview.
One with a heavily implied job offer at the end of it.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Seriously, what’re the chances?
I’d applied to the big tech firm on a whim, not expecting to ever hear back. A position there had been a pipe dream. It was just my rotten luck that they got in contact right then.
Maybe this is a sign from the universe.
Tripp came back into the room, and I hurriedly put my phone screen down like I was doing something wrong. My brain was a whirl of confusion and panic.
Unaware of my internal dilemma, he took his seat and gestured to the door. “One of Easton’s paralegals will be in soon to go over the paperwork.”
I opened my mouth to… do something. Rescind my acceptance. Tell him I needed time to think it over. Make up an excuse and go running from the room to escape the awkwardness.
Before I could do any of that, Tripp twisted in his chair. I didn’t fully register what was happening before he turned back and took a surprise picture of me.
Again.
I narrowed my eyes. “Stop doing that.”
But my annoyance faded when he smiled at me. Not a big one. Not a charming grin that could be—and often was—splashed across TVs and movie screens. It was small and genuine and raw. His voice held that same earnest edge. “I’m really fucking glad you agreed to this.”
Fuck the universe and its signs.
I returned his smile. “So am I.”
Tripp
I’m a damn genius.
Hiring Greer might’ve been as impulsive as my last few assistants, but it was still different.
She was different.
She wasn’t a friend who came to me with a sob story, manipulating me for a job she never intended to work. She hadn’t documented the process to post all over social media for clout. She might not have experience, but she clearly intended to work hard.
It was pathetic as shit, but I probably would’ve hired her even if she didn’t. Her salary was a small price to pay for her company.
I barely knew her, but I was a good judge of people. I just didn’t always listen to my instincts.
I would’ve stretched the interview longer to enjoy that company some more, but as soon as the papers were signed, Greer and Maddie took off to the front lobby, mentioning something about a new aquarium. I went to check in with Easton, whistling as I made my way through the building to his office.
“You didn’t blow it,” he said by way of greeting when I reached his open doorway. He didn’t look up from his computer, though I noted the pillow by his desk that hadn’t been there earlier. It was an easy guess that once Greer was gone, Maddie’s ass would be planted on that spot at her man’s feet.
The lucky bastard.
The image of Greer on her knees next to me like that didn’t form in my head. It’d been there, taking up all available real estate and living rent-free since the moment I saw her on the roof.
Like earlier when she’d mentioned being kept up all night, and again when I’d told her that I would teach her what I needed, I fought against my body’s reaction to her. Since it was futile, I shoved my hands in my pockets to hide the growing bulge.
Easton finally tore his focus from the screen, arching a brow and reminding me he’d said something.
“Not yet,” I said.
“Well don’t. You need a better assistant than the Alexs of the world.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Hey, it’s not me you have to worry about. I’m a motherfucking delight.”
He arched a brow but didn’t respond otherwise.
“But we’re meeting with Tony on Monday,” I continued. “So the real concern is she’ll be bored to death and quit.”
“Ah yes. The inner workings of Hollywood, known for being boring.”
It is to me.
It didn’t used to be, though. Every day used to be a new adventure. Something exciting. After a while, it all became dull as shit at best and annoying as fuck at worst.
“I think this will be good,” I said. What was shocking was that I honestly believed it.
“As long as you’re smart about it.”
“Again, it’s not me you have to worry about. I’m a great boss.”
And I was.
Kind of.
Except the being a boss part.
The idea of bossing Greer around definitely appeals to me…
Like he could read my inappropriate thoughts, Easton raised a finger. “That. That’s what I’m talking about. You need to treat her like your employee because that’s what she is. Not your friend. And sure as shit not someone whose pants you want to get into.”
Fuck.
I’d been so desperate to get more time with Greer—with the added benefit of her taming my chaos—that I hadn’t thought about that.
I’m a damn idiot.