Page 4 of Silver Fox's Christmas Scandal
What should have been a twenty-minute ride stretched closer to an hour, but I found myself reluctant to complain.
Tessa perched on the edge of her seat across from me, hands folded in her lap, shoulders rigid with tension that radiated from every line of her body.
The champagne stain on her dress had dried to a darker shade, and she kept glancing at it with mortification written across her face.
Her hair had escaped its usual perfect arrangement, loose strands framing her cheeks in a way that made her appear more mature than her twenty-six years.
"I'm so sorry about tonight," she said for the third time since we'd left the office. "The caterer, the lights, the storm—everything went wrong at once. I should have had backup plans for my backup plans."
I opened the mini fridge built into the partition and withdrew a bottle of champagne, the good stuff I kept for clients who demanded the best.
Dom Pérignon, vintage that cost a small fortune as far as champagne goes. "You can't control the weather, Tessa." The cork released with a satisfying pop, and I caught the bubbles in a flute as they rose and spilled out. "Natural disasters aren't part of your job description."
"But the gala?—"
"Will be rescheduled." I poured the golden liquid out into one flute, then a second, watching the bubbles rise in perfect streams. "The world won't end because we postpone a party."
She accepted the glass with careful fingers, as if afraid she might drop it and add another disaster to her evening's tally. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who spent three months coordinating with vendors and venues, dealing with temperamental florists and caterers who think they're artists."
The champagne bubbles tickled my nose as I took a sip, studying her over the rim of my glass.
Since the day she started working for me, Tessa had never shown this level of visible distress. She handled crises with remarkable composure, fielding angry board members and impossible deadlines without breaking stride.
I'd seen her manage hostile takeovers with more equanimity than she displayed now. Seeing her rattled revealed something new—she cared deeply about her work, perhaps more deeply than I'd realized.
"Let's talk about work," I said, settling back against the leather. The seat molded to my body, Italian craftsmanship I had insisted on, sparing no expense. "Do you enjoy being my assistant?" Shifting the conversation to something more familiar, I hoped to help her calm down a little bit.
Soon, we'd be at my penthouse with bottles of wine, and we'd return to the office to save the day for the few stragglers who remained.
The question seemed to surprise her. She took a tentative sip of champagne before answering, her throat working as she swallowed. "It's challenging. I learn something new every day."
"That's not what I asked."
Her eyes met mine, then darted away to focus on the bubbles rising in her glass. The movement exposed the elegant line of her neck, pale skin that looked impossibly soft. "I do enjoy it. Most of the time. The work is engaging, and I get to see how the company operates from the inside. But…"
"But?"
"I'd love to be more involved in the actual investment side. I'm finishing my finance degree—night classes when I can manage them—and I hope to eventually transition into a more active role." Her voice grew stronger as she spoke, confidence replacing uncertainty.
I raised an eyebrow. In four years, she'd never mentioned pursuing additional education. The revelation was a pleasant surprise. "What's your timeline for graduation?"
"Another year, maybe eighteen months if I can't maintain full course loads every semester." She took another sip, liquid courage working its magic. "The schedule's brutal between work and classes, but I'm managing. I've been studying our portfolio companies, analyzing market trends in my spare time. I have ideas about emerging sectors that might be worth exploring."
"Such as?"
Her entire demeanor shifted, shoulders straightening as she warmed to the subject. The transformation was remarkable—gone was the flustered assistant, replaced by someone with genuine passion for the work. I knew the subject shift was good, but I had no idea she was this invested in her future.
"Sustainable technology infrastructure. Not the flashy consumer products everyone's chasing, but the backbone systems that make renewable energy scalable. Grid storage, smart distribution networks, materials science for more efficient solar cells."
I found myself leaning forward, genuinely intrigued. The woman who organized my meetings and managed my calendar possessed a strategic mind I'd never tapped.
Four years of untapped potential sitting outside my office. "You've done research on this?"
"Extensive research. I have spreadsheets breaking down market penetration rates, regulatory environments by state, projected ROI timelines." Her cheeks flushed, whether from the champagne or enthusiasm, I couldn't tell. The color made her eyes appear more green than hazel. "I know it's presumptuous, but I thought maybe someday, I could present my findings to you formally."
"Why haven't you?"
The flush deepened, spreading down her throat. "Because I'm your assistant." Her eyes darted away as she looked down at her hands, then back at my face. "You hired me to handle your schedule, not pitch investment strategies. There's a hierarchy, boundaries that shouldn't be crossed."
