Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 103030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Her anger wavers.
“You can’t be mad at me for that,” I say. “It was my civic duty.”
“I will pay you back.”
“The hell you will.”
This relights the fire inside her. “Oliver Mason, you will not start doing this.”
“Doing what, Shaye Brewer? Taking care of you?” I stand and walk around my desk. “You are mistaken.”
She braces herself against a chair, but I don’t go near her. Instead, I walk to the door that opens to the reception room and lock it. Then I close hers and lock it too.
Shaye’s eyes go wide as I face her again. She knows I mean business.
Still, she’s undeterred from her litany of infractions.
Her shoulders straighten. “Second on the list is this.” She tosses a folder onto my desk and then jerks out a piece of paper.
Oh.
I recognize the sheet she’s holding. It’s a cream-colored paper with personal information and tax deductions at the top. The bottom third is a check that I signed yesterday.
Shaye’s first paycheck.
In the rush of the day—Fridays are always the worst—I’d forgotten it was payday. And in the distractions of the week—namely, Shaye—I’d forgotten that I instructed Toni to give her a raise.
A substantial one.
Nothing she doesn’t deserve and nothing that’s out of scale. Executive assistants make this kind of coin. Just usually not a new hire. I don’t need the standard three months to know that Shaye will and already does deserve the higher bracket from what we started her on. Fact.
I blow out a breath.
“What, in the actual fuck, is this?” She shakes the paper in the air. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Maybe.”
“Oliver.” Her body shakes with anger. “Just … explain this to me. Explain what justification you have for paying me …” She looks at the check. “I won’t even say this amount out loud.”
“Google it. It’s not out of line.”
“Not out of line?” The laughter that passes through the air isn’t one of amusement. “If EAs make this much, I want to know what they’re doing to earn it.”
I tuck my tie into my jacket and walk around my desk. I don’t go near her just in case.
I’m not completely surprised at her reaction. It might’ve gone over better if it hadn’t dropped on the same day as Leo answered my call to fix Shaye’s car.
“Why don’t you have direct deposit, anyway?” I grumble.
“Because I forgot to set it up. But that’s highly irrelevant.”
“Is it?” I sit. “If you direct deposited that, we wouldn’t be arguing right now.”
She throws the check on my desk. It flutters daintily onto the wood.
“You will call Toni right now and tell her that you made a mistake.” Her tone challenges me to disagree. “Tell her you were drunk or high or that you added a zero where you didn’t mean to. I don’t care. But fix this, Oliver.”
I did. I fixed it by giving her more money. Maybe it’s a lot to her, but it’s not to me. Besides, she’s worth it. She’s great at her job. She takes care of me, Boone, and even things for Holt that she catches in the midst of everything else.
Her potential is through the ceiling, and I would happily pay her this, even if I didn’t have feelings for her.
The fact that I do have serious feelings for Shaye complicates it. So does the hundred-thousand-dollar debt she shoulders.
It’s weighed on my mind since she told me days ago. A hundred thousand-dollars? I asked a friend that owes me a favor to look into her ex-husband and dig around a little bit. Apparently, the guy was doing business with very bad people. The word on the streets is that his car accident was more of a case of someone not wanting him alive.
“I’m paying you your due diligence,” I say. “You don’t think it looks suspicious that I’m paying you—”
“Oh, shut up. That is not my due diligence, and you know it.”
Woman, just take my help. Trust me.
I can’t tell her that I snooped around—not yet. I’m afraid it’ll send her running. And I know damn well that she’ll reject any attempts I make, any suggestions, to pay off the debt for her—which is what needs to fucking happen.
I’m just trying to figure out how to do that without sending her into a rampage.
“Come here,” I tell her.
“I’m not coming there.”
“You did yesterday.”
She almost smiles. Almost.
I sigh. “Shaye, I’m sorry. I just—”
“You’ll just call Toni now or I quit.” She crosses her arms over her chest again. “Now, Oliver.”
Dammit.
I consider taking a stand, but is this the hill I want to die on? No. I can find a workaround to helping her without making things worse.
“Oliver …”
“Fine.” I stick out my bottom lip like she’s won, and I’m pouting. “I’ll email Toni.”
Her face breaks out into a smile. “Really?”
“I can’t let you quit.”
She seems satisfied with herself. “Call her now.”