8. Marcus
Chapter eight
Marcus
“I want to hire you,” I blurt as Brooke clicks her seatbelt into place. It was probably shitty of me to test her the way I did in the pitch meeting, but I had to know how her brain works. Forcing her into the deep end with my questions was a fast and easy solution. Her mindset was in total alignment with mine, and that makes her the perfect person to be my assistant.
Hiring a woman who I’m extremely attracted to, and one who is only here temporarily, seems like a bad business move, but it also makes sense. I could use an assistant. Troy is responsible for the front end of the bar, but my back-end work is piling up alongside everything else I have going on. I tend to find it easier and faster to do things myself–it ensures everything is done correctly. But the way Brooke handled herself in there . . . She didn’t just prove her mind is beautiful, she made it clear she’s capable of helping me.
This has nothing to do with me wanting to keep her here to get to know her more. Did I go out of my way to make her tea when she first arrived? Yes. But something told me she needed it, and a cup of it sounded good to me as well. Plus, I hate tears, especially when I don’t know how to fix them or understand the situation. Did I also give her my bed? That’s just good hosting etiquette. Every choice I make is simply the best option. Just like she’s possibly my best option for help with work right now.
Brooke’s attention shifts from her seatbelt to me. “What?”
“I’d like to hire you.”
“I mean, technically I just did a job for you?” she confirms as she weaves her fingers through her hair, lifting it into a ponytail and securing the elastic.
“You’re not ready to go home, right?”
“Right . . . but I also don’t want to overstay my welcome or bartend. Again, no offense.”
I’m flying by the seat of my pants. Something I never do. “None taken. I don’t need a bartender.”
“I also don’t want a handout.”
“Not a handout. Right place, right time.”
“Ohh, okay. Well, I’m also not sure how long I’ll be here.”
I can’t tell if she’s trying to avoid my offer or if it’s just pride standing in the way. “That’s fine. I can work with that.”
“What’s the job?”
“I need an assistant.” Troy has been nagging me about hiring someone for months. I’ve piled a tad too much on my plate this year, and I’m ready to accept it. Win-win. And besides the fact that I know Brooke marginally better now, I trust my instincts. And if she's working for me, I won’t allow myself to get distracted by her in an unprofessional way. Plus, I highly doubt she’d be interested in what little I can offer with my schedule. Although, I can’t help but wonder if she’d be interested in what I bring to the bedroom.
“For the bar?”
“Yes. Amongst other things.” I shift in my seat to face her more. “What are your strengths? ”
“Is this an interview for the job you just offered me?” She giggles, and it’s damn cute.
“I am a businessman.” I smirk. “Still have to do my due diligence.”
There’s no hesitation. “I’m good with numbers and finding places to improve business.” She sits taller, and I’m impressed by the quick reply, already believing her without hard proof. “I helped the Thai restaurant I worked at increase profits significantly.”
“What about the lawyer’s office? What did you do for them?”
She hesitates this time, questions flickering across her face for only a moment. “Same. But not in a way I’m proud of.”
Humming, I debate prying further. Her honesty makes me believe she’ll tell me if I need to know. “What about your weaknesses?”
“I will throw a temper tantrum if you ask me to dry clean your underwear.”
I arch a brow, leaning back in my seat.
“There would likely be kicking and screaming involved.” I’ve never seen someone so serious about something I didn’t realize was a thing.
“I can do my own dry cleaning. You would be my business assistant, not a personal one.”
She scrunches her nose, and I have a sudden urge to kiss her. What the fuck. “So, you take your own underwear to get dry cleaned?”
I replay her question in my mind, paying attention to it this time. “I do not.” I’m curious about this as well, but I don’t have time for it.
Her eyes don’t scan me. She just locks hers on mine .
“I think you could be an asset when it comes to working with Emma and Charlotte. Figuring out a tracking and organization system for their launch will take time that I don’t have on top of securing their production.”
She pauses like she’s debating it, but I know she wants to stay as much as I want her to. “Alright. I’ll help.”
“Great. We can discuss hours and pay.”
“I can work whenever. It’s not like I have any other obligations. And I don’t need much. You can take some out for rent. Also, I can move to the couch, or find another place if you’d rather–”
“Are we friends?”
“Umm. Is this a trick question? No? Kind of? I don’t know you well enough.”
“I agree,” I say in an attempt to keep this as professional as I can but meaning it in more than one way. “So, don’t offer me a handout. This is business. Tell me what you think you’re worth.”
“Ummm. I’m not sure what’s average pay . . .”
“I hardly think you’re average.”
“No . . . I just–” She stutters her words, her cheeks turning pink.
I don’t intend to make her feel bad, but after seeing her demeanor change with the mention of things she had to do for a previous boss–who was also apparently her fiancé–I have the urge to make her confident this arrangement will be different. I put her out of her misery. “Your life only becomes what you want when you set requirements rather than expectations. If someone can’t meet those requirements, you don’t lower your expectations. You leave.”
She smooths her hands over her hair and pulls the elastic. Her ponytail falls, and she combs her fingers through the highlighted strands, the curls now resembling more of her natural waves. I wish she’d put it back up so I could pull it loose myself. Hands back in her lap, she takes a deep breath. “Alright. The first week I’d like my pay to be $20 an hour. Once I’ve completed all my assigned tasks to your satisfaction, going forward I’d like $30.”
My thumb rubs against the leather of my steering wheel, my tongue swiping over my lip to hide a grin. “That’s more like it.”
She glances at me. “Yeah?”
“Tomorrow I have another meeting. You can go with me. We can discuss more details on the way.”
“Yeah. Yes.” She sits up straighter. “Absolutely.”
“Do you have any questions?”
“I don’t think so–-oh. Where should I sleep?”
“You can stay in my bed.”
“With you? Oh shit.” Her eyes shift in panic. “I don’t know why I said that. Just pretend that didn’t happen.”
I chuckle. “I’m good in my office.”
“I thought you don’t give handouts to people who aren’t your friends?”
What I’d like to give her isn’t appropriate for someone who isn’t a friend either. What I’d like is to be in bed with her. Maybe not feel so fucking lonely for once. “Day after tomorrow I’ll be away on business on and off for another week anyway.”
“Okay, well, thank you. Your bed is really comfortable.”
I smirk, wondering if she’d feel the same if she were tied to it.