Page 19 of Wrong Car, Wright Guy
With a sigh, he pushes away from his desk and stands, walking over to me with purposeful strides. From the look in his eyes, it seems like he’s either going to kiss me or slap me. Out of the two, I’d prefer the kiss. But that would complicate things, so maybe I’d rather the slap. Actually, no, I don’t want either.
He snatches the contract from my hands and flips it open, lifts his pen and scribbles on one of the pages before handing it back.
“I trust that amount is fair.”
When I look down at what he circles, I see a figure that doubles again what I was making as his PA. The amount gives me a sudden stutter. “A-a-and y-you don’t m-m—”
“Spit it out, Ruby. I was busy before you walked in.”
“You don’t mind working that closely with me?” I force out.
“No, princess,” he says, running a hand through his already messed up hair. “I’m not the one with a problem, you are.”
“And the name: ‘Beauty and the bigot’. You’re fine with that too?”
“Of course. I chose it.” He walks back to his desk. “Just…read the contract before this afternoon and let me know if the terms work for you.”
“OK,” I say, turning to leave him alone. But before I can even open the door, it creaks open and a set of dark eyes peek through. “Is he there?” a set of pink lips whisper.
“Ah… yeah.” I look from the door to Tanner who’s bent over his desk looking like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“What is it?” he snaps.
The door pushes open, and a small mousy-looking girl steps in. “Mr. Wright, sir?” I feel like if I touched her, I’d feel her shaking.
“What, Karen?” he barks, and she practically jumps out of her shoes.
“There’s a man on the phone for you. Menzies, something.”
“Don’t be so vague. Get his full name and number, find out what he wants, then tell him I’ll call him back.”
“Oh, um, of course.” She does a little curtsy then backs out of the room. I stifle a laugh. Between Tanner and Mr. Brooks, this whole place will be on stress leave by Easter.
“Who was that poor little thing?” I ask, my thumb pointing toward the now-closed door.
“New assistant,” he says to his computer screen. “I doubt she’ll work out.”
“Why?”
“Because she isn’t as good as you.” He still isn’t even looking at me, too busy to change his focus, but Ido notmiss the fact that he just gave me a compliment.
“As good as me?” I laugh. “I worked for you for a week.” OK, I’m fishing a little here.
“And look how far you’ve come in such a short time.” He glances up and catches my eyes, giving me a brief smile that sends tiny little jitters skipping through my stomach. That smile of his is lethal, and I’m going to have to be careful working closer with him, or I’ll forget how much I dislike him.
“Wait. Is this what making me do all that research and topic breakdowns was about? You were testing me?”
“Who knows what I’m doing half the time,” he says, back to his work. “I’m the asshole, remember?”
“I want you to be. But I don’t know, I keep finding myself wavering on that. So maybe you just want us tothinkyou’re an asshole.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m a bone fide asshole,” he says. “Sometimes I just splash on a little charm to get my way. Don’t mistake it for kindness, Miss Casey, or you’ll be sorely disappointed. Don’t forget to close that door on your way out.”
“Can I ask you something first?”
He sighs and pauses again. “Does my answer really matter? I’m sure you’re going to ask, anyway.”
“How can the station afford this?” I lift up the contract. “You know: salaries for me, another assistant, and you at the same time. Mr. Brooks told me we were struggling. Like, almost out of business struggling.”
