I shake my head. “They were griping about how the sponsor wouldn’t refund any registration fees, so they were essentially robbed.”
Blackwood surveys me, his bluish-silver eyes seeming to know stuff that I don’t even know about me. It’s like he can see directly into my thoughts, which is ridiculous.
He rises from the couch, managing to do so in an elegant fashion without disturbing the towel around his waist.
Thank God!
He takes a few steps closer to me, crossing his arms as he contemplates before finally saying, “Get on the phone with whoever runs that place. Find out if it’s available. If it’s not, offer to pay double their normal fee. We’ll have to notify the attendees of the venue change, then coordinate with all the suppliers.”
I stare at this man, who just ordered me to do something far outside my job duties. That he’s asking me to do it makes me want to laugh. I need this job, but I also have a backbone.
“With all due respect, Mr. Blackwood,” I say firmly, my chin lifted. “I’m a housekeeper. I have other suites to clean. I simply can’t help you with this.”
“You can’t help me with this?” he repeats a bit tightly. His expression appears curious, but his eyes darken to the color of storm clouds.
“Sir, Blackwood Hotels prides itself on customer experience. I have a tight schedule to complete the other suites I’m in charge of cleaning. Those customers will suffer if I have to drop my duties to attend to your problems.”
At my refusal, his eyes flare. He takes a step closer, dropping his arms. There’s nothing but a wall of naked, muscular chest before me and I have to tip my head back to keep our eye contact.
“You definitely don’t have a problem speaking your mind,” he muses, sounding shocked. “I’m not sure if I respect you for that or if it pisses me off, especially since I just told you to do something and you refused.”
I swallow hard, wondering if I’ll be able to find another job with early day shift hours to accommodate my schedule and jarring need for income.
CHAPTER 3
Declan
It’s been a long damn time since a woman’s interested me like this, and oddly, the way I know she’s interesting is that my palm actually itches to spank her ass for her impertinence. I’m not taking it personally as Declan Blackwood, heir to the Blackwood fortune and thus should be obeyed in all things, but as a petite, curvy, hot as fuck woman who doesn’t seem to be intimidated by me in the slightest.
Also, she appears to have a brain and some common sense. As her employer and one who exacts the best in customer service, I’m even going to give her bonus points for being concerned about meeting her duties to the other suites she’s set to clean this morning.
No, I want to spank her ass because I have a feeling she’d like it, and I sure as fuck would.
Regardless, I have a pressing problem, and she seems to have the solution. Plus, she’s assertive, quick thinking, understands the Blackwood philosophies on customer satisfaction, and appears intelligent.
Since I just fired mine, I also happen to be without a personal assistant right now.
“I’m going to have you work as my personal assistant.” My authoritarian tone comes naturally when I’m making business decisions. “I’ll call my assistant general manager to inform him to find someone to cover your duties today. You can start by calling the Desert Rose—”
“With all due respect,” she says, speaking firmly. “I decline your offer to be your assistant.”
My body goes taut. People don’t say “no” to me. Surely I heard her wrong. “Excuse me?”
She should look ridiculous with the thin efficiency vacuum gripped in one hand. Instead, she looks formidable. My palm itches even more.
“I enjoy my job in housekeeping,” she says, but I sense the lie.
I cock a skeptical eyebrow, taking a step closer. “Really? You enjoy cleaning toilets and breaking your back every day for nine dollars an hour?”
She blinks, mouth falling open in surprise. I can tell she never expected me to know how much I pay housekeepers, but I know every dollar that goes in and out of my hotel.
“Well, no, I don’t enjoy the work, but I’m satisfied—”
“The assistant’s position starts at forty thousand a year, with health insurance and a 401K. Because of your quick thinking to help save this event, I’ll even give you a five-thousand-dollar signing bonus.”
Her eyes widen. I know I’ve hooked her with the money. I expected no different because who turns their nose up at such an opportunity?
But she doesn’t jump at it. Instead, her brow furrows, appearing thoughtful. Sucking her lower lip between her teeth, she seems to be doing mental calculations.
I have a billion-dollar enterprise to run. Impatience rolls over me. I don’t have time for this, so I try to help with the math. “It’s not rocket science… um… What was your name again?”
“Bailey Robbins,” she replies vaguely, now holding up her fingers to count something out.
“I can assure you, forty thousand a year is way more than nine bucks an hour,” I say dryly. “Take the damn offer, Bailey.”
Her eyes narrowing, she snaps, “I’m sorry… but I have more than one job. I’m trying to figure out if I can manage it all, but you won’t stop distracting me with your scowl. And, for the love of God, can you put on some clothes?”
Yeah… my palm itches so badly I have to resist the urge to scratch it. When I feel a stirring beneath my towel, I realize she most definitely won’t take the job if I get an erection in front of her.
Stiffly, I nod, because I rarely do anything people demand. And if she were anyone else, not jumping to take this offer while talking to me with such impertinence, I would have shown them the door long ago. But, for some reason, I want to work with this woman. I want to discover just how much fire and sass she truly has. Need to know if I can break her sweetly or if it will take a mighty effort.
Because not only do I want her in my employment to help with the basic tasks of my daily job, but I would also love to get that luscious body beneath mine.
“You have five minutes to decide,” I bark before turning on my heel to head for my bedroom.
It takes me less time to put on my work attire. Today, it’s a custom-tailored Italian suit in charcoal gray with subtle silver pinstripes. I have business meetings outside of the hotel, so I must dress accordingly. But I give her the allotted five minutes, fiddling with my hair in the bathroom mirror to pass the time. It’s wavy and slightly too long, but it only takes a few rakes of my fingers to settle it into the natural style women seem to like. It gets yanked a lot, which is proof enough.
By the time I return to the living room, I expect her to immediately accept my offer. Instead, she has her head bent over her phone, tapping away on the screen. As I approach, I see she has a calculator app open.
Lifting her gaze to meets mine, she calmly says, “I need fifty thousand.”
Now this, I wasn’t expecting. My palm doesn’t itch, but my business savvy rumbles with respectful appreciation at her attempt to negotiate.
I’m up for the challenge. “The offer isn’t open to negotiation.”