“I’m working on it,” I say, and jot down “get auction items” on a post-it.
“Well, work a little faster, darling. The event is next week and high-value item donations need to go through quite a bit of red tape. It doesn’t happen overnight.”
I bite back a nasty response. Overnight? Hell, if I ask for something, it normally happens in minutes. How we stayed married for three whole years is anyone’s guess. A bloody miracle. But, Tabitha Banks and her prestigious family come from old money and have deep roots in San Francisco society. Her father, Miles Banks, and I met after I helped merge his bank with another and he took me under his wing.
Yes, he owns banks.
And, when I was younger and new to the city, that impressed the hell out of me.
One night I was eating ramen noodles and the next I was out with Miles Banks enjoying the finest cuisine the city had to offer. Then, it wasn’t long before I was enjoying his daughter.
The first time I met Tabitha Banks was at some social gathering, and I thought she was quite the high-society snob. With her jet-black hair and silver-gray eyes, she was beautiful, but aloof. She ignored me the majority of the night and I concluded that she was too cool for my blood.
Then, when I was leaving, she cornered me in the coatroom and gave me a handjob. We slept together two nights later and I discovered she could turn on the heat when she wanted. But, mostly, she preferred to be a passive-aggressive Ice Queen.
The kind of lavish lifestyle the Banks family led appealed to me and I vowed I’d become a millionaire just like them. I chased success, pursued it relentlessly, until it was mine.
And, now I have more money than they do. It’s a very satisfying feeling.
“Right. I’m on it,” I say, and stick the post-it on the edge of my computer.
“I’ll expect you to email me a confirmed list of items by the end of the week,” she says.
“Yes, dear.” I can almost hear her lips purse and I smirk. She fucking hates when I say that. Sometimes, I still like to rile her up.
“Don’t be a dick, Drew. Just do what you’re told. Oh, and maybe get a haircut before the event. Last time I saw you, it was looking a little unkempt.”
She hangs up and I slam the phone down. I run a hand through my hair. Maybe it is a little longer than usual, but it’s not shaggy or anything. She really knows how to push my buttons.
A light knock sounds on my door.
“What?” I demand. My voice sounds short and sharp even to my own ears. Tabitha has a way of bringing out the worst in me.
The door opens slowly and Ashley Monroe steps into view. A tentative smile curves her mouth. “Good morning, Mr. Carson.”
I hate being called Mr. Carson, I think. It makes me feel old. Like a grandpa. I feel a surge of annoyance and glance down at my platinum Rolex Daytona and frown.
“You’re late,” I say.
Her dark brows shoot up. “Oh, I’m sorry. Becca said- I mean, I thought I started at 8:30.”
“You start at 7:30. You should’ve asked me not Becca.”
She nods. “Sorry, Mr. Carson.”
Every time she says “Mr. Carson” it grates on my nerves. I shake my head, run a frustrated hand through my hair again. Maybe it is a little too long. “It’s fine. Look, I don’t have time to go through anything with you right now so have Becca teach you whatever she thinks is important.”
She blinks those pretty blue-green eyes of hers and seems surprised. “Okay.”
Suddenly, I feel like an ogre. Why am I being so rude? It’s her first day. My gaze runs down her body. Again, the short skirt and high heels. I let out a long, frustrated breath. “Can you-” I hesitate.
Get out? I want to say. Leave me alone. Stop looking at me with those big, sea-blue eyes?
“Can I...what?” she asks.
Can you take off your clothes and walk over here in your pretty high heels?
I swallow hard. “Just get me a coffee?”
“Sure,” she says.
“Black,” I say as she turns around and walks out.
And, I can’t help but check out her ass in that too-tight skirt.
I wish I could say the day gets better, but it doesn’t.
There’s so much I should be doing, but every other second, I find myself looking out the glass window partition and staring at Ashley Monroe.
What the hell was I thinking when I hired her? She’s nothing but a distraction. Obviously, my dick hired her because right now my mind is full of regrets. And, that is the stupid part about this whole situation.
Ashley Monroe is my assistant and off-limits.
I don’t sleep with the women who work in my office. It’s important to me that Carson Industries maintains a sterling reputation and I highly value a good work ethic and competence and above all else, I hate drama and my employees know to leave their personal problems and all histrionics at the door.
Yet, here I am admiring my new assistant and wondering what her tight, little body looks like beneath-
Okay, I need to stop. Seriously.
I literally can not concentrate and it’s really pissing me off.
I look down at the black coffee she brought in earlier and remember how her slim fingers had wrapped around the cup. I wonder what those same fingers would feel like wrapped around my cock.
I start to get hard and groan.
Hiring Ashley Monroe is proving to be a very bad idea.
Chapter Eleven
Ashley
“Is he always so intense?” I ask.
Becca looks over and her glasses slip a notch. She pushes them back up with a snort. “That’s a nice way to put it.”
Oh, great, what have I gotten myself into?
Becca trains me at lightspeed. Like she has somewhere better to be and I’m doing my best to keep up and understand everything, but it’s a lot. Especially since this is my first office job. I glance down at the intimidating phone and its ten separate lines.
I already know this phone is going to be my nemesis, and I haven’t even answered one call yet.
“Drew probably gets 100 calls a day,” she says, “so, it’s important that you filter through them. Don’t put anyone through to him unless they’re important.”
How do I screen calls when I have no idea who is important? I wonder. But, I didn’t want to ask such an obvious question for fear of sounding stupid. I guess I would eventually learn whose calls he accepted and those he declined. I’m new so I believe he will understand and cut me some slack.
At least, I hope he will.
As if on cue, the phone rings and Becca snatches it up. “Drew Carson’s office.” Even though Becca seems a bit dull in the personality department and her fashion sense is questionable, it’s her competence that makes her shine. She knows exactly what she’s doing and I envy that.
Becca hits a button and Drew answers in his office. “I have Dan on line two,” she says. Then, she puts the call through.
I try to see what buttons she hits to make all that happen, but her fingers move like some kind of professional pianist and it’s all a blur.
“Dan McPherson is Drew’s lawyer. Always put him through,” she says.
I nod. “So, how did you transfer-”
The phone rings again. “Drew Carson’s office,” Becca says. “Sure, John, hang on a sec and I’ll ask.”