Page 1 of Strings Attached

Chapter 1

Evander

I hearthe door open and it’s followed instantly by a loud crashing sound. I inwardly wince, knowing all too well that it’s Mireille. My assistant. Never in my life have I known someone to be so efficient at juggling my life but be so damn clumsy at the same time.

I rise from my seat and move through my office just as she calls out.

"Mr. Prescott, I'm so sorry about that. I'll clean it up right away."

As expected, Mireille is there, her face flushed with embarrassment, kneeling amidst a sea of scattered papers and what appears to be the remnants of my favorite coffee mug.

"What happened this time?" I ask, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice.

She looks up at me, her beautiful green eyes wide with apology. "I was trying to bring in your schedule for the week, the contracts that need signing, and your morning coffee all at once. I thought I could manage it, but..." She gestures helplessly at the mess around her. "I'm sorry."

I shake my head. "Would it have killed you to make two trips, Mireille?"

She raises a perfectly sculpted brow as she rises to her feet. "Probably not, but I do see that someone forgot to take his morning chill pill. You should probably get right on that."

Christ, this woman has no filter. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to calm down and not rise to her bait. The woman was sent to test me and she does so on a daily basis. "Mireille?—"

She smiles sweetly at me as she picks the documents off the floor. "Yes, Evander, is there something you need, or are you simply going to stare at me all morning?"

I glance at the clock on the wall and inwardly groan. It's not even eight in the morning and my assistant is already testing my patience.

I decide to ignore her jab and focus on the task at hand. "Just... clean this up, please. And for the love of God, be careful with those contracts. They're worth more than your yearly salary."

Mireille rolls her eyes as she gathers the papers. "Relax, Mr. Moneybags. Your precious contracts are fine. Unlike your poor, defenseless coffee mug."

I can't help but wince at the reminder. That mug was a gift from my late father, one of the few personal items I keep in my office. Mireille must notice my expression because her tone softens.

"I really am sorry about the mug, Evander. I know it meant something to you."

For a moment, I see a glimpse of the caring woman beneath the snarky exterior. It's these rare moments of genuine empathy that remind me why I keep her around, despite her penchant for chaos. Not to mention that she's the best assistant that I've ever had and is extremely proficient at what she does. Mireille may be clumsy, but she's damn good at her job and that outweighs her klutziness.

I wave off her apology. "It's fine. Just... try to be more careful in the future, alright?"

She nods, a determined look crossing her face. "I will. I promise."

As she finishes gathering the papers, I notice a small cut on her hand, likely from the broken ceramic mug. Without thinking, I reach out and grab her wrist, examining the wound. Electricity zaps through me like a bolt and I glance at her wide eyes. "You're hurt," I say, staring at the cut.

Mireille freezes, those big beautiful green eyes filled with uncertainty. The air between us is thick and filled with tension.

"It's just a small cut," Mireille says softly, her voice lacking its usual edge. "I'll be fine."

I realize I'm still holding her wrist and quickly let go, clearing my throat like I've been burned. "Right. Well, make sure you clean it properly. I don't need you getting an infection and missing work."

Mireille's trademark smirk returns. "Aw, Evander, I didn't know you cared."

I roll my eyes, retreating back to my office. "I care about the work getting done, Mireille. Now, if you're done making a mess of my office, I have a conference call in ten minutes."

I hear her gathering the last of the papers. "Of course. I'll have your new schedule on your desk in five minutes, and get you a fresh cup of coffee." She pauses at the door, and I turn and see that her expression has softened again. "And Evander? I really am sorry about the mug," she tells me as she closes my office door.

I find myself staring at the closed door, my mind replaying the feeling of her skin against mine. I shake my head, trying to clear these unwelcome thoughts. She's my assistant, for God's sake. Nothing more.

But as I prepare for my call, I can't stop thinking about how good it felt to hold her even for a fraction of a second.

Christ, what the hell is wrong with me? Mireille is my assistant, and it's going to stay that way.

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