Page 10 of Abyss

Hoping there’s some sort of explanation for why she’s here—because why the fuck is she here?!—I clear my throat, making her jump. In her scramble to rise from her seat, she knocks her coffee off her coaster, catching it right before it topples, but not before a drop of it lands on the corner of her paperwork.

“Shit!” A flustered pair of amber eyes find me before recognition sets in and they widen to saucers. “What are you . . .”

“I’d like to ask you the same thing.” My gaze rushes down her attire—a faded gray T-shirt with a fucking orange slice illustrated on it that says, ‘Peeling Good,’ tucked inside worn denims, secured by a sparkly white belt, and an oversizedmen’s blazer folded at the sleeves. “What the fuck areyoudoing here? And what are you wearing?”

She looks down at her ridiculous outfit as if noticing it for the first time. Her head snaps up and a glint of something—annoyance, perhaps—sparks in her eyes before it turns to uncertainty again. She closes her eyes and murmurs something that sounds like,“You’ve gotta be kidding me,”before she straightens her shoulders.

“Are you . . . you’re Mr. Case?” She doesn’t wait for my response, gleaning the answer, possibly through deductive reasoning or likely from the thunderous look on my face. “Right. Well, I’m your new admin.”

“No, you’re not.” I scoff because this has to be a joke. And not a very good one. “Where’s Belinda?”

“She’s—”

“I’m right here. Sheesh!” My very pregnant admin waddles in behind me, holding the side of her belly and breathing heavily. “I was just using the little girls’ room.” She looks from me to the still-bewildered-looking woman behind her desk before swinging her head back in my direction. “What’s the problem? Hudson, this is Kavita Jain, the woman Madison—”

No.

Hell no.

“She’s not going to work.” I stride right past her desk, not sparing another glance atMs. Peeling Goodand her frayed jacket.

“But—” Belinda’s heels tap furiously on the tile behind me as she tries to keep up. “Hudson.”

Behind my desk, I move a few manila folders off my laptop, still grappling with the fact that the woman I fired last week from my restaurant—a woman who’s flitted through my thoughts more than I care to admit—is thesameone my daughter recommended and is now back to working for me.

What are the fucking chances?

The door to my office shuts as an irate-looking Belinda stares at me. “Want to tell me what your problem is? Why are you acting like a child this early in the morning?”

I open my laptop before shrugging off my suit coat and managing an inscrutable expression. Something I’m adept at. “There’s no problem. I get a say in the people we hire, especially when they affect my job directly, and I don’t want her.”

Belinda steps closer, her head tilting. “Is it her attire? I admit, it’s a bit on the casual side, but I can—”

“It’s not.” I take a seat in front of my laptop, keeping my eyes on the screen. “Her attire is only a drop in the bucket of all the reasons she’s not a good fit. I just don’t want her working here.”

“What?Why?” I don’t have to look at her to know her eyes have practically turned to slits. She’s nothing if not skilled at poking and prodding until one of us loses our shit.

I pretend to be intrigued by something on my screen.

“Hudson, you’re being unreasonable.”

“Fire her. Find someone else.”

Belinda’s hands land on the edge of my desk, and I make the mistake of meeting her fearsome and tired gaze. “Hudson Case, either you tell me exactly what’s gotten up your wealthy ass or prepare to hear an earful.”

I snort, letting that be my response. Aren’t Ialreadygetting an earful?

Apparently that wasn’t the most prudent thing to do, because Belinda’s hands land over the top of her belly as she fumes, “I hired that woman out there; a woman your own daughter vouched for, by the way. When I messaged you on Friday about her, you told me to trust my instincts, which is precisely what I did. She’s sharp, attentive, and a quick learner. So, you either give her a chance or end up with no admin in the matter of a few weeks.”

I squint at her. “Is that a threat?”

“No.” She shakes her head, picking off a non-existent crumb from her belly with eerie calm. “It’s a fact.”

My eyes flick back to my screen and I keep my mouth shut.

How do I explain that I want that woman out there at a minimum of a ten-mile radius from me with no knowledge of her whereabouts or address?

How do I reveal that, for reasons surpassing the incident at the restaurant, everything about her irks me?

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