ARROGANT BRIT (A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE) (29 page)

“Not when I catch you hiding under my desk right before a
regional board meeting!”

“You could have stopped me,” Jane said.

“I
am
stopping you
Jane, we’re not doing this again. This is over. This has been over for weeks
and the sooner you get that through your head, the better. I don’t want you in
my house, I don’t want you in my bed, and I don’t want you in my fucking
office. We’re done Jane. Don’t bother coming to work tomorrow, I’ll mail you a
severance package.”

Maddy’s words were echoing in my head as I put the nail in
this relationship. She was right, if I was going to end this I couldn’t leave a
shred of hope… even if it hurt.

“You’re not going to fuck me, and now you’re firing me? We’ll
see about that,” Jane said coldly, slamming the door behind her and ending any
chance at getting the last word on the matter. The sonic boom she left behind
mingled with her words as they echoed through my house.

I sighed, rubbing my face with my hands. “She’s insane,” I
mumbled, trying to make my dick forget about the warmth of her hands, the
gentle press of her chest against mine. “She’s utterly
fucking
insane.”

“You’re telling me,” Carla said, and I looked up to see her
standing in the archway to the kitchen down the hall. “If I’d known what I was
getting into, I would have never opened the door.”

“Sorry, Carla,” I said. “I had no idea. It won’t happen
again.”

She eyed me harshly. “She’s really not your girlfriend?”

“No,” I answered with a rueful laugh. “Dear God, no.”

She nodded slowly. “Hm. Better figure out some way to let
her
know that. She don’t seem to listen
so good.”

“Thanks, Carla,” I said, listening as her footfalls took her
back to the stove.

I took a detour into the living room, grabbed a bottle of
vermouth from behind the bar, and made myself a martini, but all the alcohol in
the world couldn’t drown the sick feeling Jane had left me with that evening.
Things were getting worse between us. She was pushing even harder for us to
legitimize things, and in a way that reminded me of
Fatal Attraction,
or for that matter,
Misery.

I shuddered at the thought and took another swig. As good as
that veal Marsala had smelled on my way in, my stomach turned now at knowing
that Jane had had a hand in it.

It was time for Jane to go. I needed Madison to take me up on
my offer, and I needed her to do it soon.

I
thought all weekend about Preston’s
offer. Frankly, it seemed too good to be true, but who was I to judge? I had an
unhealthy view on all things family-oriented, to the point where a simple
kindness might seem like a set up to me. I knew I needed to be more trusting
about this, especially given the direness of my situation, and in the end, I
caved.

Saturday afternoon, I sent Preston a text. I used the number
he’d left me on the card, though I didn’t know if that phone was for business
or personal use. He didn’t respond right away, and maybe he wouldn’t until
Monday morning. Still, he’d told me to show up when I was ready, and I believed
in making a good first impression, even for my stepbrother.

I spent the rest of that day sorting through my wardrobe.
Preston’s office was unlikely to be anything like ExecuSpace, and I knew I’d
have to exhibit a certain amount of decorum. I couldn’t use the check to afford
new clothes—not until Monday, anyway—so I chose the only dress I had that could
be considered anything close to “high fashion” and paired it with some nude
heels I hadn’t worn since I’d got them.

I would have preferred not to wear heels at all. They weren’t
my thing. They made my feet hurt, my knees ache, and I’d read all the studies
warning me about the long-term damage I was inflicting upon myself by wearing
them. Unfortunately, the men who ran these kinds of companies hadn’t gotten the
memo—or otherwise didn’t care—which meant that heels were still considered
“professional attire” for women, and that meant I had to either put up with
them or settle for an equally-unsupportive pair of flats.

In the end, I chose the heels. Flats might have saved my
calves, sure, but I could never find a pair that fit right. I’d spend the whole
day feeling the backs of them scraping off the skin from my ankles and heels,
and I’d come home either bleeding or blistered. Until I got a feel for what
Preston would and wouldn’t allow, heels it was.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I was too nervous, too excited,
too terrified to doze off. I kept wondering what Preston the boss, rather than
Preston the brother, would be like. I wondered if I wasn’t in over my head.
Maybe personal assistants to men like him did a lot more than what I’d learned
in my ten years of experience working in the field. I didn’t want to screw up
and find myself out on my ass yet again for the second time in less than a
week.

Preston didn’t strike me as the type, though. Despite
everything I’d ever thought about family, he treated me with respect and
kindness, if our outing on Friday was any indication. He seemed genuinely to
like my company, which hopefully meant that we’d get along. I just hoped he
wasn’t expecting perfection and that he would help me correct my mistakes
instead of jumping down my throat about them.

Calm down,
I told myself when midnight rolled
around.
Not everyone in the world is your
mother, or Tyler, or Miguel, for that matter.

It was still nerve-wracking, though, and when my alarm went
off at six a.m., I’d barely slept a wink.

“What a great way to start my first day,” I muttered, rubbing
the sleep from my eyes as the first amber rays of sunlight tickled my face
through the blinds. I needed a hot shower and an even hotter cup of coffee if I
was going to be able to count this day as salvageable.

I’d made plans for what bus would take me to Preston’s office
and when, but when I hurried downstairs, I found a car waiting for me. This one
looked more like what I would have expected from the Harveys: a black town car
with a white-gloved driver standing outside, looking up at me and shielding his
eyes from the sun.

“Miss Hearst?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I said, carefully taking the next few steps down to
where he was parked. I felt like I was going to snap my ankle. I knew I should
have gone with a kitten heel. “I take it Preston sent you?”

“Yes, miss,” he replied, opening the back door for me. “I’ll
be taking you to his office today. But first, I’m to ensure you’ve had a good
breakfast. Let me know where to stop, miss. Anywhere you’d like.”

I slid into the backseat, buckling my seatbelt as the driver
closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. As he sat down and
shifted into drive, I told him, “Honestly, I’m not really a breakfast person…”

The driver frowned. “Mr. Harvey asked me not to bring you to
the office until eight-thirty, miss. I think he has some sort of meeting to
attend to before then, and he doesn’t want you waiting around.”

“I’m fine with waiting,” I assured him. I met his eyes in the
rearview mirror. “I’m sorry—we haven’t really been introduced.”

“I’m Gordon, miss. Or Mr. Fletcher. Whichever you’d prefer.”
He was an older man, white-haired and rugged, but when he spoke it was like
listening to pure velvet. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, if Mr. Harvey
offered me a free breakfast, I wouldn’t waste the opportunity. There’s a place
downtown called Nero’s that does a fantastic omelet, or if you’d prefer, we
could stop at one of the chains…”

I smiled at him. “Really, it’s not necessary. I’ll let
Preston… er, Mr. Harvey know that he can treat me to lunch, instead. Besides,
if I get in a little early, I can get the lay of the land before he gets out of
his meeting. I’d count that as an advantage, wouldn’t you?”

Mr. Fletcher shrugged. “I suppose so. If you insist, Miss
Hearst…”

I leaned back and relaxed as Mr. Fletcher pulled away from
the curb and turned out of my apartment complex. It calmed me to know that I
might have some time to myself in the office before Preston knew I was there.
His previous assistant might have left some notes I could go over while I was
waiting, something that could give me a head start on performing my new job
duties. I always liked having a leg up, and for the first time since Preston
had offered me the position, I felt confident.

It was a deceptively long ride to his office. Maybe it just
felt that way because he wasn’t in the car to have a conversation with to pass
the time, although Mr. Fletcher did a good enough job of keeping me
entertained. He was a really kind man, and I felt a little guilty that he had
to come all the way out to my apartment so early in the morning to ensure I
made it to work. I’d have to look into getting a car sometime soon—a used one.
I didn’t want to blow my signing bonus all in one place.

Mr. Fletcher pulled up to a building that didn’t look at all
like an office. In fact, it reminded me of a small Tuscan villa more than
anything else. It had those terracotta roof tiles I’d always seen in pictures
and columns out front that seemed way too majestic for a mere base of operations.
With the gate out front and the fountain gushing beyond it, it was definitely
not what I was expecting.

Hell, I could fit my apartment in
there five times over,
I thought as I looked up at it. And I owned a two-bedroom.

Mr. Fletcher waited at the gate as it opened, prompted by the
transponder attached to the visor of his car. “Mr. Harvey likes to keep things…
homey,” he explained, driving through. “He spends a lot of time here. He’s even
got a small bedroom set up for those nights when he just can’t get away.
There’s a kitchen, too. Do you cook?”

“Yes,” I answered. “But only for myself…” I thought my skills
were adequate, but what if Preston didn’t? Was that something he expected out
of a PA? It wasn’t even something I had considered.

A new level of apprehension washed over me as Mr. Fletcher
made his way up the circular drive to the front of the office. He parked,
looking over his shoulder at me as he said, “You’ll be fine, miss. Mr. Harvey’s
not a bad guy, and you seem like a smart girl. You’ll do well.”

“Thanks,” I said, though I was sure my lips were trembling. I
let him open the door for me before stepping out of the car and mounting the
stone steps leading up to Preston’s office-cum-villa.

Two beautiful wooden double doors towered above me at the
entryway. As I neared, I saw they were marked by an intricate set of carvings,
filigree mostly, but with a touch of vines and grapes here and there. They were
beautiful yet imposing, just like the office itself was, and I found myself
turning over my shoulder to look down at Mr. Fletcher and his car once again.

Mr. Fletcher nodded reassuringly. I could see confidence in
his eyes, a confidence I myself no longer had. But it was enough to spur me
forward, and I took a deep breath before pulling on one of the great handles
and letting myself in to Preston Harvey’s inner sanctum.

The inside was just as impressive as the outside, a gleaming
chamber of earth-tone walls and rustic stone tile. It felt so warm, so
inviting, not at all like I’d expected his office to be. Not that Preston
wasn’t a warm and inviting man, perhaps in more ways than I wanted to admit
right then, but I’d always figured a billionaire’s office for something cold
and harsh, a testament to his power and authority. Mr. Fletcher was right. This
felt like a home.

“Hello?” I called out, unsure of where I ought to turn to
next. I was a little overwhelmed by the size of it all. Should I have ascended
the stairs up to the second floor, or stay on the first and poke my head into
all the rooms in search of what I was looking for? Someone else had to be
working there other than me, surely. I walked in a bit farther after not
receiving an answer.

I froze as I heard a door slamming, followed immediately by
the unmistakable sounds of a woman crying. Then the door in front of me burst
open, and I saw the source of all the sobbing.

“You bastard!” she screamed, her voice already hoarse from
what must have been a prolonged outburst. “You unimaginable bastard! I can’t
fucking believe you! You can’t do this. You
need
me!”

I wanted to duck around the corner and hide, but there was no
use. My knees were jelly and my high heels would give me away besides. I stayed
still, hoping that somehow the red-haired woman screaming at who I could only
imagine to be Preston wouldn’t see me.

“Fuck you!” she added as black rivers of mascara poured down
her face. “You fucking used me. I swear to God, Preston, I’ll make you sorry if
it’s the last thing I do!”

And with that she turned, barreling straight toward me. I
thought she might crash into me, but as I backed up a pace, she seemed to
realize where she was and stopped.

Her big brown eyes widened even further, though her brow
furrowed first in shock, then in rage. I could see her clutching the strap of
her very expensive purse so tightly that her nails were digging into her palms.

“Oh,” she said. “I fucking get it. It’s
you,
isn’t it? You’re the one who’s replacing me.”

I opened my mouth to speak, unsure of what I was supposed to
say. My cheeks burned.
I’m such an idiot.
I should have gotten breakfast.

“I’m sorry,” I managed, my heart racing. “I… I didn’t know…”

“I’ll bet you didn’t,” she hissed, taking a quick step toward
me. I backed up, but she continued advancing. “You’re not anything special, you
know. You don’t mean anything to him. He used me up and threw me away like I
was… like I was
trash
to him, and
trust me when I say he’ll do the same to a bitch like you.”

My back was almost to the front door. I had no idea what
would happen when I reached it. The look in this woman’s eyes was unlike
anything I’d ever seen. It was like staring at a rabid animal.

“I’m warning you. Run. Run away right now. Just… get the fuck
out of here and don’t look back. Preston Harvey will destroy you, just like he
destroyed me. You don’t really matter to him. No one does.”