It’s what dampened the burn inside me to find her.
A hand goes to my head and I scratch at my scalp.
I’ve fought all morning not to think about Shaye. Each time she started to slip into my mind, I shoved her right back out. But now that Holt has placed her in the forefront of this conversation, the nugget in my gut that I fought with all night is back.
“You being quiet is concerning,” Holt says.
“Yeah, well …”
I frown.
My thoughts remind me of a hurricane, tumbling over themselves so fast and hard that it’s impossible to make any real sense of it. I don’t know why I keep thinking about her. This isn’t a problem I encounter often. Or ever. I can push a woman out of my brain and focus on work like the CEO that I am.
Sure, she was gorgeous. And funny. And charming in an entertaining kind of way. It also probably didn’t hurt that she didn’t fawn over me. I like a chase as much as the next guy. But, in reality, I’m sure it was just the fact that I’m not sure if she was okay or if she got her car checked.
Yeah. I’m sure that is it.
“I’ll give you a pass,” Holt says. “What are we doing about Greg?”
I blow out a breath. “I don’t know. I think we need to go out there and take a look at the Jewell site and see what he’s overlooking. There has to be a better way to get in and out of there.”
“Probably a good idea. You free around four?”
I fiddle with my keyboard until my screen awakens. My calendar is splashed in front of me. “Yeah.”
“I’ll drive. Meet me in the parking garage at four.”
“Okay.”
“Also,” he says, “I was just in Toni’s office. She’s interviewing a handful of possible assistants this morning for you. I told her to weed them out and send you copies of any of the resumes that might work.”
I open the folder in front of me and take out an invoice. “Yeah. I talked to her this morning.”
“One more thing.” He clears his throat. “The Landry family sent an invitation over on Friday for the annual Landry Charity Gala.”
“Can I just send a check?”
“Negative. Blaire and I are going since her brother, Walker, will be in town for it. That means you have to go too.”
I scan the invoice in front of me. I slap my signature in bold, black ink in the red box, thus approving payment for a new accounting software system.
“You’re the family representative. I think that gives me a pass,” I say.
“This is good press, Ollie.”
“This is a pain in the ass,” I mutter.
He sighs. “It’s Saturday, so make plans. I’ll see you at four.”
The line clicks, and he’s gone.
I glance up at my computer screen as a purple-colored box magically appears on my calendar.
Landry Family Gala—Saturday, 6p.m. EST
“Fucker,” I mumble.
My stomach growls, desperate for something other than more coffee. I check my watch and see that it’s nearly lunchtime.
I toss my pen on my desk and reach for the phone but pause. My hand dangles in the air.
In another time, before the administrative mess in our office, I would’ve asked my assistant to order me lunch. I wouldn’t have to tell her what I wanted or where from. She’d know. But as my gaze flips to the door that separates my office from the reception area, I know that time has passed.
“I can’t work like this,” I say to an empty office. “I need help.”
I grab a mug of cold coffee and march to the door.
“Good morning, Mr. Mason,” Kelly says from her perch at the large black marble desk that faces the elevator. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you, Kelly.” I nod to the other two women standing at her desk. I also ignore the hearts in their eyes. “Hold my calls, please.”
“Of course, sir,” Kelly says.
I hit the button on the elevator and try not to acknowledge the weight of their eyes on me. As soon as the doors open, I step inside and punch the floor for human resources.
My stomach growls again as I descend to the fourth floor.
The doors pull apart, and I step into the lobby. Genevieve smiles brightly from the front desk.
“Hello, Mr. Mason,” she says.
“Is Toni in her office?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thanks.”
My coffee sloshing in the cup, I head down a long hallway to the right. Offices pass on my right, and two large conference rooms are on my left. As I pass the second one, my feet falter.
I step closer to the half-closed blinds and peer inside the room.
My body knows what, or whom, I see before my brain registers it.
I draw in a quick, heated breath as goose bumps prickle my skin. My stomach knots. My heartbeat picks up in to a frenzied pace.
Sitting at the table is her. Shaye.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
Her chestnut-colored hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders instead of the messy bun she wore yesterday. Her lips are a pretty pink. From this angle, her cheekbones look wildly high and the apples of her cheeks round and rosy.
She focuses on a piece of paper in front of her.
What is she doing here?
“Mr. Mason?” Toni’s voice says from somewhere to my right. It snaps me back to reality. “Can I help you? Genevieve said you were on your way back to see me.”
Shaye moves, her head beginning to turn to face me. I step away from the window toward Toni.
“Is that where you’re holding interviews?” I ask, jamming a thumb toward the conference room behind me.
“Yes.”
A hot swallow passes down my throat and drops into an acidy stomach.
My mind races, calculating possibilities that this woman would randomly show up in my life twice in as many days.
Surely, that’s a harbinger. Hopefully, a good one.
I ignore the scream in my brain that’s as loud as my squeaky chair—the one telling me that I know better than to do what I’m about to do, that it’s against every rule I’ve ever made about work—and do it anyway.
Five
Shaye
“Calm down,” I whisper, chastising myself.
My insides bubble as I try to ignore the hum of energy coursing through my body. I take a long, deep breath and blow it out in the steadiest exhale I can muster.
Am I anxious? Is it the anticipation of the interview that’s getting to me? Is it the desperation? Regardless, waiting for Toni Brooks to arrive is getting to me.
The paper handed to me by the sweet receptionist sits in front of me. It lists the job duties of the executive assistant role, the hours required, and a salary window that’s dependent upon experience.
It all looks great. The experience is an easy checkoff. I’d work twelve-hour days at this point if they needed me to. And the salary? I’d work happily for half of what they’re offering.
This job appears to be everything I’ve hoped to find. I just have to convince Ms. Brooks that I’m the person they need.
The sound of the door opening catches my attention.
“Good morning, Ms. Brewer.” A woman dressed in a crisp white button-down tucked into a neat black pencil skirt walks toward me. “I’m Toni Brooks.”