Fact: I have a weakness for baked goods—besides muffins—and will eat any baked good set in front of me. Like one-bite gobbling. Bram and Roark both know this and always tempt me with donuts and croissants and Danishes, pretty much anything with gluten in it that you would find on the breakfast table.
“Charlee, this is amazing,” Julia says, taking in the display of food.
Yeah, okay . . . she did a good job on this. Very thoughtful, even though it’s painful for me to admit.
“Thank you.” She stands tall after setting everything down and says, “Bottom tier has scones baked fresh from Jenny’s Bakery around the corner. Second tier has petits fours in a variety of flavors, and then the top tier is your jam and clotted cream for the scones. I’ve paired it with a lovely afternoon English Breakfast tea. Lemon and honey are on the side. Enjoy.”
She went to a lot of trouble to make this happen and I feel bad she doesn’t get to enjoy it. The words are on the tip of my tongue, asking her if she wants to stay, but before I can offer, Julia says, “Why don’t you stay and have some tea with us?”
Charlee glances at me and then smiles kindly to my sister. “That’s awfully kind of you, but I have some things to attend to. Family time is precious, and I’m sure you don’t get much time with your brother, so I’ll leave you to enjoy your high tea. Let me know if you need anything.” She gives me one last look and then walks away.
I find my eyes trailing after her as Julia digs in. With one unexpected tea party and kind—no, altruistic—words to my sister, she found my weak spot. I’m not sure if I’m entirely comfortable with it. She’s gone above and beyond all week to not only get the assigned tasks done, but to predict what I need next. I’ve never had such an efficient executive assistant before. But what I worry about is what she’s doing to my very protected, very hidden heart. Because I know that her actions aren’t just those of an efficient assistant. They’re just Charlee. I like her. Somehow, someway, she’s chipping away at my protective walls, and I can’t allow that. But how do you stop a girl who organizes a Happy Friday dance and a high tea for my sister?
“Living in luxury,” Julia says, biting into a scone. “Does this happen every afternoon? Because if it does, I know where I’ll be daily at three o’clock.”
“No.” I shake my head, still staring off at the door. “This was special for you.”
Chapter Eight
CHARLEE
I zip up my suitcase and then flip it on its wheels. Ready to go.
I take one last look in the mirror at my traveling outfit and feel pleased. I went with leggings for comfort, but paired it with a denim button-up, brown ankle open-toed boots, and a straw fedora with a black ribbon around the base. We’re headed to Miami, after all.
I slip my brown satchel bag over my shoulder, check for my contact solution and backup glasses one more time, before grabbing my suitcase and taking off.
Joel is downstairs, and I don’t want to keep him waiting.
I turn the lights off, give my giant apartment one last glance—still not moved in, still not used to the fanciness of everything—and lock up.
The elevator ride is uneventful as I check my pale pink lipstick in the mirror and then head out the door to the black Lincoln SUV waiting by the curb.
Joel greets me with a kind hello and a cup of coffee. “Good morning, Miss Charlee.”
“Oh Joel, you’re too kind to me.” He takes my luggage and opens the door. I duck in only to be startled backward from Rath sitting on the other side, engrossed in whatever work he’s doing on his phone. “Sheesh.” I laugh. “A heads-up that you were going to be in here would have been nice.”
He looks up from his phone and gives me a slow once-over. He doesn’t say anything, but I know that look in his eyes—appreciation.
God, he must think I’m a total freak when it comes to clothing. To be honest, I went extreme this past week because why the hell not? If I was already fired, what would be the worst thing he could do? Fire me again?
My goal was to see how far I could go with this man, how far I could push him until I hit his breaking point. He might think he’s testing me, challenging me, but I’m actually doing the same to him.
I need to know his limits, what he can handle, what will make him far too angry to stay focused on work, and I think I found out yesterday. The surprise confetti tube was his limit.
He also doesn’t like to be startled. Not even in the slightest. He scares easily, which makes me giggle because he presents himself as this alpha male, head honcho with sculpted muscles under his suit jacket when in reality, he scares like a cat whose tail just got mysteriously bumped.
Just because I’m a good EA, I took note of his startling, and then I laugh to myself, replaying his scared face over and over again in my head.
Classic ugly-scare face.
“Why are you chuckling?” he asks as I strap my seat belt on.
“Good morning to you too. Yes, I slept well, thank you. The mattress on that bed you insisted I have is like a cloud. Do you always treat your executive assistants this well?”
He shifts in his seat and turns back to his phone. “It’s standard.”
“Well, if that bed is standard, please don’t ever give me a raise in a mattress because I don’t think I would ever get to work in the morning.” Which I’m sure he wouldn’t mind after yesterday’s morning greeting.
I chuckle some more as I recall him saying Motherfucker under his breath after the confetti tube.
I sip my coffee and lean my head back against the seat, the leather sucking me in more deeply. We had an early wake-up call this morning and I’m feeling it along with all the hard work I put in getting the office set up and making sure I beat him to work every morning.
“Are you falling asleep?” he asks, his voice sharp.
Nothing gets past him. “Uh, define falling asleep?”
“Closing your eyes.”
“Then yes, I am.” I tilt my hat over my face and start sliding down the seat only for my hat to be flicked off my head.
“We need to go over the schedule.”
“Thought it would be nice to have a mile-high meeting. You know, up in the sky.” I float my hand around like a plane.
“I have business to work on when we’re in the air. Schedule now.”
“Jeez Louise, let a girl have a few sips of her coffee before you start barking at her.” I sit up and then give him a once-over. “Wait . . . did you eat breakfast?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Mother of God,” I whisper. “It sure as hell does. You are more pleasant with food in your stomach.” Muttering and digging through my bag, I say, “I swear to God, it’s like working with a child.” I dig some more. “Where is that . . . aha!” I pull out a Bobo’s bar and hand it to him.
“What’s this?”
“A Bobo’s bar. Absolutely delicious, full of the nutrients you need and with a delightful lemon poppyseed flavor. You’ll thank me after your first bite.”
He looks at it warily but then opens it up and takes a bite. From the way his eyelids sink over his eyes briefly, I’m assuming he’s a lemon poppyseed fan.