Catch - Deborah Bladon Page 0,2
shove a hand in the front pocket of my navy blue pants. “I should have spoken to Jamie in private.”
“No harm, no foul.” Maren shrugs. “I do need to go.”
She approaches me. For every step forward she takes, I retreat by a larger step.
“I’m trying to give you the dog.”
I stare at her. “I can’t take the dog.”
The toe of her black-heeled sandal taps against the floor. This woman might not have dressed to impress anyone today, but fuck me , she’s hot in her boyfriend jeans and white button-down shirt that’s tied in a knot at her waist.
The sound of a phone buzzing lures her gaze to the black bag slung over her shoulder.
She adjusts Dudley in her arms before she fishes in the bag and yanks out a phone.
I watch her lips move as she reads the message on the screen.
Can you come in for an interview today?
The spy camp my folks sent my brother and me to during summer breaks when we were kids has paid off. The instructors taught us how to crack codes and dust for fingerprints. It was my roommate at the camp who showed me how to pick a lock. He also schooled me in the art of reading lips.
That’s a skill that comes in handy when you negotiate for a living.
Maren looks up from her phone. “I have an appointment, so you’re going to have to take Dudley whether you like it or not.”
“I’m allergic,” I say honestly. “That dog and I are not compatible.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s not my problem.”
I can’t argue with that, so I take another approach. “My sister dropped him on my doorstep when she went on vacation. She told me that Yorkies are hypoallergenic and I’d be fine, but Dudley didn’t get that memo.”
“There must be someone here I can give him to.” She glances over her shoulder. Two people pass by the open door of my office.
I’ve already tried to convince every single one of my employees to adopt Dudley temporarily. No one was willing to sign up even with the promise of a vacation in the tropics or a bonus added to their paycheck.
Jamie was my last resort.
Dudley licks Maren’s hand, so I make my first offer. “I’ll pay you to take care of him for me.”
Her blue eyes widen beneath long lashes. “You’ll what?”
“I need someone to watch him for the next six weeks,” I say.
That’s a give or take because my sister, Sinclair, is somewhere in Europe. She’s been gone for three months, and before that, she took off for two months to Australia. Eventually, she’ll land back in New York and take possession of her dog. I hope.
“I can’t take care of him.” She brushes the idea away with a terse chuckle. “I have to be somewhere, so just take him from me.”
“Why can’t you take care of him?”
I know it’s a ludicrous question. This woman doesn’t know me. She sure as hell doesn’t look all that comfortable getting licked by Big Dud, but I need her help, and I don’t want her to leave. I like her.
I don’t know why the fuck I like her, but I do.
“I have a job interview, Mr. Morgan.” My name comes out like a dirty word from her lips. “I have to go home and get ready for that.”
“I’m offering you a job,” I point out. “I’ll pay well.”
“I work in public relations.” She shifts Dudley to her other arm. “I’m not taking on a job as a dog sitter.”
I get it. She thinks it’s beneath her. I’ve been there. I bagged groceries during my teenage years. I hated every fucking second of it. The truth is that job taught me that if you work hard, you’ll be rewarded. I missed it when I quit after high school.
“Are you open to taking on a job as my assistant?” I scrub my hand over my forehead. “I need a new one.”
“Since you just fired yours,” she says in a whisper.
“You’ll start at seventy five a year and perks.”
That lures her eyebrows up. “Seventy five thousand dollars?”
Nodding, I rest my hip against my desk. “You’ll have a car and driver at your disposal, and you’ll receive a monthly expense account for incidentals. Jamie used hers for manis and pedis, and whatever the fuck an astrologer does.”
Maren’s eyes narrow. “How many assistants have you had in the past year?”
Well, shit. We’re going there?
“Several.” If I keep it general, maybe she won’t press.
“How many?”
Jesus.
“Not counting Jamie,