The Executive Page 4

  “You heard me.” I wasn’t about to kowtow to him.

  His jaw ticked, and he turned to walk away. “I’m your boss, Miss Prescot. My job is to run this company, not to make sure your precious feelings are taken care of.”

  “That’s obvious.” I knew he heard me, but he kept on walking.

  Still, I wasn’t going to let his soured mood affect mine. There was the small question of why Mike had sent them to me—a romantic gesture or a grand one?

  Lincoln

  The mornings were always a jumping-off point. The to-do list was twenty lines deep before I even finished breakfast, which was delivered. Truth was, I had a gourmet kitchen and no time or inclination to use it. Good thing I lived in the city with a slew of restaurants to choose from.

  The day started off with a spinach and goat cheese omelet and thick-cut wheat toast. It was the standard, delivered promptly every morning at six, unless I changed the menu for whatever reason.

  At seven, my driver Austin, arrived, and we tackled the intense traffic. The office wasn’t far, but the number of cars on the road made it impossible to make it there in under half an hour. Instead of driving the distance myself, Austin took care of it, giving me those precious moments to work.

  I’d already finished up a report, gone through my email, and replied to a handful of messages by the time we pulled up to the Columbia Center.

  “Thank you, Austin,” I said as I exited the car.

  “Have a good day, Mr. Devereux.”

  When I arrived at the fifty-first floor there was an obvious issue—Miss Prescot was missing. Being that it was nearly eight, it was a surprise for the door to be locked. Since her first day she was already moving the day along before I arrived, just how I liked it. That was weeks ago, and never a hiccup. An itch started in my chest but I couldn’t identify it.

  With each second that passed in which she was not in the office, my irritation grew. By the time she arrived, it was nearly half past eight, and the cup in her hand was not enough to still my ire. Because when relief washed over me at the sight of her, I knew that I’d been worried about her.

  “You’re late,” I said without looking up as she set my morning coffee on my desk.

  “I’m so sorry, sir. Traffic—”

  “Is always a standstill. Leave earlier.”

  “Very good advice.”

  I glanced up from the document I was reading, barely catching a glimpse of the twitch in her jaw and the forced smile.

  “Yes?” I ground out.

  “What?”

  “You’re still standing there and you’re obviously biting your tongue. Spit it out.” It was a trait of hers that was getting on my nerves, especially since I knew she didn’t have a problem speaking her mind.

  “I can’t believe you are behaving like this.”

  “I run on schedule, Miss Prescot. Every second of my day is planned out.”

  “A plan that I orchestrate.”

  “And every minute is money.”

  “Are you that money hungry?” she asked.

  I looked up at her, wondering what she was playing at. “You are already on my bad side for the day—do you want to continue with this avenue?” I asked, tired of this conversation. “You’re my assistant. Your job is to do anything I assign and to be here ready and waiting for me.”

  “I’m your assistant, not your slave.”

  “You are the modern equivalent. The only difference is that I pay you.”

  “Payment doesn’t make it right.”

  “If you don’t want to work for me, there’s the door.” I threw my hand out in the direction of the opening. “I was frank with you from the beginning—I’m not easy to work for. Do you understand now?”

  “Oh, I have since day one.”

  “Good. Get out.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from watching as she stomped away from me. Her ass—I wanted to grab it, bite it, watch it jiggle as I slammed into her.

  Having her as my assistant had turned out to be a terrible idea. Every day I resisted the urge to spin her around, pin her to the wall or over my desk, and fuck her until the vibration in my veins calmed down.

  I was irritable, and even more difficult. I took everything out on her, because she was the reason I was so worked up. To top it off, I still knew nothing of Dante’s company.

  It was confirmed that when she started with Dante in the early days of his company, her contract was of the most basic form. No foresight was given to someone of her position. No NDA, no non-compete clause—two things that were the first pages of her contract with me.

  As I glanced at my calendar I took note of the new appointments that had been added. The one that stood out the most was the meeting with Chandelier. All it did was remind me that the CEO, Mike Deacon, sent Miss Prescot flowers earlier in the week, and how I hated the way my blood boiled with the thought of him wanting her.

  “You built a relationship with Mike Deacon?” I asked later that day as she set down my afternoon coffee. We’d both cooled off, quite possibly due to finally getting some coffee in our systems.

  While not intending to notice, I found that Miss Prescot was as much of a coffee addict as I was. We were both in a much better mood once we had at least one in our system.

  “Yes. He’s a gentleman.”

  I sat back in my chair and looked up at her, deciding if that was a jab at me or not. By the fire in her eyes, it was, but I let it go. “I’ll need your help securing his account.”

  “Me?” she asked, but I could tell she wasn’t surprised.

  “He obviously cares for you, and I can use that.”

  For some reason, her stare unnerved me. Miss Prescot was more perceptive than she let on, and I had to be cautious and more calculating in my word choice. She wasn’t one to blindly do whatever was asked of her, and she wasn’t gullible in the least. In a way she reminded me a lot of her predecessor, Amanda, who had been with me for years.

  “Can I ask you a question?” She laced her fingers together in front of her and shifted her weight to one leg. The movement caused her knee to pop out from her skirt. Just that little bit showed off the shapely lines of her legs, and the vision of them wrapped around my hips as I drilled into her flashed in front of my eyes.

  I really needed to rein that shit in.

  “It depends on the answer.”

  “Why did you hire me?”

  Without falter or breaking eye contact, I told her nothing more than the truth. “You were the top candidate in a search that took more than a year.”

  “And because of what I know about Kilgore?”

  I paused as I decided what way to go with my answer. If I said no, I’d be lying, something I refrained from doing, and I was certain she would catch on if she didn’t already know. Of all things in the world to lie about, my contempt for Dante would not be one of them. “I won’t lie, that was an enticing factor.”

  There was no explosion of anger or betrayal, only acceptance of what she probably already suspected. “There’s no lost love between me and Dante. However, I also have moral standards.”

  Shit. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I will help you close the deal with Mike Deacon, not because it will burn Dante something fierce, but because I believe DCS to be the superior company and will treat Mike’s account with the respect it demands. Pissing Dante off is just the icing on the cake.”

  Fuck. There it was—the wall. Getting anything out of her was going to be a chore. I was going to have to change my strategy, because simply acquiring his assistant as my own was presenting itself to be a dead end.

  “How did you start working for Dante?” I asked, changing the topic away from what could end up a highly charged conversation. Between myself, Dante, and Mike, it was obvious her loyalty lay with Mike, and I needed to change that as soon as possible. I needed to be the one all of her attention was on.

  For the first time in a very long time, I needed to earn someone’s trust. Someone’s trust that I
knew I was going to break for my own benefit.

  “I was finishing up my last semester at Kelley School of Business when I was approached by a headhunter who’d found my resume. The company was still in its infancy, and I was excited to help it grow. Only I thought I would advance in the company.”

  “And you didn’t.”

  “No. I started out as second assistant and when he was done with her, I became the only assistant.”

  “Seriously?” What kind of fucked up system did he have going on? I knew he was a philanderer, but hiring women solely on the basis of fucking them was a waste of money and, sometimes, good employees.

  “She was there to look pretty.”

  My brow furrowed, and I stood. Miss Prescot was such an unusual creature, and every response intrigued me more. “And you weren’t?”

  She didn’t move back when I towered over her, or when I began to invade the bubble of personal space. I didn’t stop the draw as it pulled me closer.

  “Well, possibly. Only I wasn’t just a pretty face.”

  “True.”

  Her eyes went wide, and she blinked at me while her hands relaxed to her side. “Wow.”

  “What?” I asked, confused by her obvious shock.

  “Was that a compliment?”

  I let out a low groan and stepped closer, our bodies inches apart. “Not only are you the most beautiful thing in this building, but one of the most intelligent. A deadly combination for a man like me.”

  Her breath hitched, skin flushed.

  I traced her lips with my fingers, unable to deny the need to feel just how soft and plump they were.

  Beautiful. Alluring. Sexy.

  Fuckable.

  It took all my strength to step away from her. To create a gap from the tension that generated when we were close together. Her blown pupils and pink cheeks were her tells. If I slid my hand up her skirt, I knew I’d find her wet and wanting. I’d already gone too far and I had to stop.

  “Back to work, Miss Prescot.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said in a whisper that was intoxicatingly breathy.

  After she left, I stared at the door contemplating how to proceed. The only way for my plan to advance was with her knowledge. I needed something to open the gate, and she held the key. The question was—how far was I willing to go to get it?

  Ivy

  Two weeks later

  “Miss Prescot, get in here,” Mr. Devereux’s voice growled into my ear.

  There was not a second to respond before the click echoed in the receiver. I blew out a breath and stood, making sure to straighten out my skirt.

  It was hard to believe over a month had passed in his presence. An entire month that I had managed not to murder him.

  When I said I liked a challenge, I wasn’t expecting the kind of demands and level of perfection he commanded. While I prided myself on those things, on being able to present that level of attention to detail, it never seemed to be enough.

  During the interview I could have sworn he was flirting with me, or at least interested, but after my first week and the disastrous coffee incident, those thoughts went out the window.

  Still, that didn’t change the way my body reacted to even the sound of his voice. There was no denying that I was very attracted to him. Standing too close to him was to be avoided at all costs.

  We may have been one to butt heads, but physically we were drawn to each other in ways I didn’t understand.

  He was on the phone when I stepped into his office. There was no acknowledgment, but I’d come to expect that, and so I waited.

  As I stood there, I noticed that the lid was missing from his coffee cup and that it was empty. I immediately placed an order for a new one through the app and texted Stacey, the intern, to go pick it up. The man was insufferable when he was in a good mood, and I would do anything to keep away from his bad side. We were both coffee junkies, and keeping a full cup in front of him was a great pacifier.

  Days weren’t eight hours long, they were as long as Mr. Devereux was in the office, which was often over ten hours.

  My feet hurt every day, my head was killing me, and I didn’t have the energy to get undressed half the time when I got home—let alone be social. Unopened text messages filled my inbox, friends were ignored out of sheer exhaustion.

  The weekends were my only period of rest, and I spent them like a hermit, safe in my shell made of fuzzy blankets recuperating. Along with all the chores that went along with being an adult, like grocery shopping and laundry. Almost two years prior, I managed to snag the cutest apartment near Pioneer Square. Sure, it was only a studio, but it was larger than my old one bedroom by almost double.

  It was an end unit and had three walls of exposed common bond bricking, twelve-foot ceilings, large windows, a huge set of closets, and a stone-cladded bathroom with a large walk-in shower. I’d divided the space up into a living room by the way I faced the sofa opposite the large shelving system that framed my television. The kitchen wasn’t very big, but had stainless steel appliances and a butcher-block breakfast bar. Anytime I needed more counter space for cooking and prep I used the dining room table, which sat in the space between the kitchen and my bed. It was a large enough table that it handled multiple uses with ease, including Christmas cookie baking and decorating.

  I made decent money with Dante, but even better with Mr. Devereux. For the first time, I was actually able to save a good chunk with every paycheck.

  “Yes, sir?” I asked once he finished his call.

  He threw a file down in front of me without even bothering to acknowledge me. “These are wrong. Fix them.”

  I picked up the file and thumbed through the pages. Three hours I’d spent collating all the information, nitpicking every single detail until it was perfection.

  “How is it wrong?” I asked, my brow scrunched as I attempted to find an error.

  “That’s your problem to figure out.”

  I ground my teeth and counted to five. “How am I supposed to fix something I see no problem with if you won’t tell me what the problem is?”

  “I want it back in an hour and able to read it,” he said, completely ignoring me.

  “Perhaps you need glasses, sir,” I shot back.

  His eyes narrowed on me. “If I have trouble reading the information, our sixty-year-old client will.”

  “He’ll be wearing his glasses, though, sir.”

  “Stop arguing and do it. Now, where’s my lunch?”

  “Right away.”

  I held my breath as I walked out and shut the door behind me. Stacey stared at me from behind her desk, her eyes wide. My jaw was locked, and I stood there trying to reign my anger in.

  “Can I help?” Stacey asked, her voice barely above a squeak.

  For weeks I’d had trouble finding things for her to do, especially since I was still figuring out my own job, and I wasn’t sure she was getting a true intern experience.

  “Are you up to it?”

  “Yes?” she replied tentatively, her face showing no signs of confidence.

  “Yes?”

  She nodded and with more strength behind it. “Yes.”

  I handed her the file. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but he says there’s something wrong. Also, make it bigger.”

  She took the file and eagerly dug in while I picked up the phone and dialed Alex.

  “Hi, how’s your day?” she asked as soon as she picked up.

  “I need a break, badly.”

  “That new little pastry shop was calling my name,” she said, not even taking a second to think on it. “Want to check it out?”

  “Perfect. I’ll pick you up on my way down.” After she confirmed, I turned back to Stacey. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. If he asks, I’m changing my tampon.”

  Her eyes popped wide. “Why would you say that?”

  “Men hate period talk. He’ll go away real fast.” A quick grab of my wallet, and I was out.

  When the elevator doors op
ened on the forty-eighth floor, Alex stood there with her ever cheerful smile.

  “Can I bottle your spirit?” I asked as she stepped on.

  The cutest giggle came out of her mouth. “My mother-in-law has been saying that for years.”

  “Are you just that happy?”

  She shrugged. “I’m resilient and figure it’s better to be positive than negative.”

  “I wish I had that outlook.”

  “Well, you are the assistant to Lincoln Devereux. I’m sure he’s beaten down some of your shine.”

  I nodded in agreement. “I think so.”

  The elevator doors opened and we stepped out almost right in front of the new bakery that had just opened. The smell of freshly baked pastries assaulted us before we even reached their door. Somehow just the simple flavor in my senses was calming. Maybe a nice big bag of pastries would help.

  “Oh, that smells so good,” Alex said with a dreamy look on her face and a sigh.

  A few minutes away with her was exactly what I needed. “You really like pastries, don’t you?”

  “This place will be my downfall.” She began dreamily walking around, oohing and ahhing about all the different products they offered.

  “Is there a favorite?”

  She shook her head. “The mister always knows that when I’m mad at him, all he has to do is pick up a fresh baguette or a fluffy cream puff or croissant or a tart—really anything—and all is forgiven.”

  “Wait, you get mad?”

  Another giggle. “Sometimes. So, what’s going on upstairs?”

  I blew out a breath. “I don’t understand him. I’m trying so hard, but he’s hot and cold and he puts this barrier up and it drives me crazy. This isn’t what I signed up for.”

  “It’s been, like, six weeks?”

  I nodded. “Six very exhausting weeks.”

  “You’re still in that adjustment period. From what I can tell, you both have strong personalities, so chances are you’re going to butt heads. Give it some more time. Things will get better.”

  My lips formed a thin line, and I resigned myself to her being right. We were still in that “newlywed” phase, still trying to get to know one another. Maybe it was because I figured out Dante right away, but Lincoln Devereux wasn’t so easy.