This isn’t the time or place to fall down that rabbit hole again.
After all, that’s how I end up at museums on Friday nights alone, playing unwilling knight to drunk chicks being pawed at by losers I wish I could smash in the face. At least then I’d get a modicum of satisfaction for my trouble.
Miss One Glass whimpers a little and rolls over. With a sigh, I stand up and throw the loose sheet at the end of the bed over her, securing it snugly over her shoulders.
What the hell was Grandma thinking, anyway? I shake my head and read through my email to check for errors before hitting send.
To: Beatrice Nightingale Brandt
Cc: Nicholas Brandt
From: Ward Brandt
Subject: Houston, we have a problem.
Grandma and Nick,
I bumped into the new executive assistant at the art museum tonight. Quite literally.
She was drunker than a grunt, had some handsy goon hanging all over her, and didn’t hesitate to loudly advertise the fact that she works for us.
She went tumbling through the architecture room. Again, literally. Her hard head came close to busting my knee—that’s how we met.
I did the right thing. I ran off her harasser, made sure she got home, and tried to pretend I wasn’t mortified when she hit on me.
Frankly, I’m actually glad we met this way.
We can’t have her starting next week. It’s a direct threat to our image, and I’m fortunate we found out before she ever stepped foot in the downtown office.
I suggest moving forward with a backup candidate. This girl might be able to hold it together for a forty-five-minute interview, but she’d never be able to keep it together for the rigors of a sixteen-hour workday. And with the Winthrope contract coming up, we need all hands on deck without any grade-school distractions.
Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.
Thanks,
Ward Brandt
Senior Partner, Brandt Ideas Inc.
I glare down at Sleeping Beauty again. She’s out like a light, snoring with a dull purr.
I’ll stay a few more minutes just to make sure she’s truly okay, and didn’t mix that wine with a bad medication or something.
I check my investment portfolio between eyeing her.
Yeah, she’d be cute if she wasn’t a lush with the sense of a rodeo bull.
She’ll be fine.
She’s got the pep to talk herself into another job that’s a better fit.
The worst thing that’ll happen is the hangover she’ll no doubt have in the morning.
Sometimes we all need a bitter schooling from life. The sooner the better, because she’s too beautiful and brilliant to be acting this way.
Damn shame. She’d probably make a good assistant, too, if she was just a little more mature.
She’s friendly, warm, energetic as hell, and outgoing.
I remember how she gushed over Grandma’s designs at the Art Institute. The woman has sharp taste, an eye for beauty that serves a purpose.
And if she got through an interview with Grandma, she has to be smart.
She just doesn’t have her shit together yet.
And I’m damned lucky I was there when her true colors showed. If we’d met any other way, total strangers, I might’ve asked for her number.
Either way, we don’t need a chatterbox who can’t lay off the sauce working for us, especially as a C-level executive assistant. She’ll be too involved with our business dealings that have zero room for error.
Besides, the last thing my family needs—the very goddamned last—is more scandal. My parents filled the gossip mills for years, and so did my dolt of a brother.
We’re not getting our feet muddy again.
I flick through an email about new hires and find her, pinching my jaw shut. A part of me flinches and doesn’t want to follow through.
Tough shit.
Paige “One Glass” Holly is just going to have to plant her sweet butt at another job elsewhere. Ideally, far, far away from my family.
Ready to end this torture, I march to the fridge and grab another water bottle, and the Tylenol from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. She’ll need them in the morning. There’s a packet of multivitamins beside the Tylenol, so I leave it on her nightstand for good measure before I let myself out.
It’s the least I can do as the jackass who’s firing her.
Cymbals crash together so loud it rips my head off.
What the hell is that? Oh, the most annoying alarm in existence. Snarling, I grab my phone and dismiss the hellish screeching that’s apparently been going off for three minutes.