Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
I hate being caught off guard.
Biting off a messy chunk of pizza, I search Nick Brandt’s name first.
There’s kind of...a lot. Mostly what looks like tabloid pieces either drooling over him or scorning him for bad behavior on exotic beaches, especially from the local muck pool, The Chicago Tea.
A photo pops up with a guy who looks thirtyish. He’s hot, but more pretty-rich-boy hot. Not really my type.
He’s wearing a wetsuit and a lei on some stunning Hawaiian beach. His longish dark hair is soaked and matted to his face. He beams a million-dollar smile, holding a surfboard above his head.
Reese is right.
This guy looks harmless, but going down the side of my screen there’s a long list of Instagram influencers, glam models, and actresses he’s dumped. The guy is a player to the core, but I’m not looking for an office fling. I’ll be fine.
I take another bite of the pizza and somehow get the spiciest piece of sausage on the damn pie and a smattering of crushed red pepper at the same time. I wash it down with a heaping swig of tea and Google “Ward Brandt.”
A handsome face slowly appears on my screen.
A familiar handsome face.
Oh, crap on a cracker!
It’s a good thing I don’t have to twist my head to do a double take, or I think I’d need a neck brace.
Strong jawline.
Cut chin.
Mocha-brown hair—cacao-dark even—and liquid eyes that shift from teal-green to dusky blue, depending on the light.
Feral dusting of a beard designed to knock out the knees of every woman ever, haloing a smirk that looks like he knows your darkest secrets.
Holy hell, no. No.
The worst part is, I haven’t even swallowed yet. I start choking on my last bite, panic, and blow pizza and tea across my laptop.
Gross!
I have to focus on breathing to stay upright and not keel over.
When the shock wears off and I can move, I grab the cell off my desk and call Brina. Of course, she’s off with her perfect husband, living her blissful life, so she doesn’t answer.
God, Brina. Pick up.
Pick. Up.
I need you.
Call me ASAP. 911! I text, hitting send.
When my phone doesn’t ping back instantaneously, I call her again.
She picks up finally, thank God.
“Paige? Are you okay? I was just about to call you.”
“No—yes—I...I don’t know. I effed up. Bad.”
“Shhh,” she whispers. “Can you calm down and tell me what happened?”
“It’s the new job. Um, I think I’m about to get fired. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I’m a massive idiot.”
“Brandt Ideas, you mean? How? You just started. There has to be a fix unless you like...set the place on fire...” She pauses.
Somehow, I feel like it couldn’t be crappier than coming face-to-face with a grumpalicious bossman who saw me at my absolute flaming worst.
“...Paige? You didn’t actually set the place on fire, did you?” she squeaks.
“No! Nothing like that. I just...” I trail off, struggling to find the words.
“Okay, look, I don’t think they’d fire you for a mistake you made on the first day if it happened on a spreadsheet or something. Even Mag wasn’t that big a tyrant when I started at HeronComm.”
“I heard that!” Her hot tyrant of a hubby calls in the background.
Where to begin?
“Do you remember Dark Knight?” I ask slowly.
“The guy you told me about last weekend? The dude who rescued you from the Tinder vampire and played doctor sexy but never left a number?”
I smile at how good her memory is.
“That’s the one.”
“What about him?”
“Turns out, I’m his flipping executive assistant!” I cover my face with my free hand, feeling heat pulsing in my cheeks, and trying not to cry.
Deep breath.
When I can talk again, I say, “Working with Beatrice Brandt is a dream but...I don’t know how I can face this guy. And I don’t want to be his assistant. I mean, not unless it’s like one of those eighties romance novels where 'secretary' really means 'take me against the wall.' And even then, I’d rather just skip to the fun parts and block off everything else.”
Brina’s laughter fills the phone.
“Not even trying to deny it, huh? You’re already smitten.”
“I brought him home, Brina. I let him put me to bed right after I narrowly dodged a drunken mess. Kinda hard denying he’s attractive at this point. I think I told him to his face. After acting like a total damsel-in-distress idiot in front of him. And I think I was messed up that night, who knows, maybe Count Dick-ula slipped something in my drink.”
“Not your fault. Ever,” she throws back.
“Sabrina, whether I was in my right mind or not, I hit on my boss.” I wince and then shudder at how bad my night could’ve ended if said boss hadn’t come to my rescue. “God. How do I ever deal with that? Especially daily...”