Entry-Level Mistress - By Sabrina Darby Page 0,11

an affair. But the real life Hartmann was complicated. Perhaps he was demanding and overconfident, expected to get his own way, but ruthless seemed a poor adjective to describe a man who advised me to think twice about getting involved with him.

Maybe he’d brought my father down all those years ago by mistake.

I nearly snorted out loud. A handwritten note congratulating my dad on his new reputation as a criminal? Mistake?

A few years ago, in a rebellious phase and angry at my father, I’d thrown it all at him, asked him what kind of horrible person was he that someone would want to hurt him.

The fight had changed from being about the second piercing on my right ear to something far more serious.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Emmy,” my dad had said. “Grief can warp a man, and I think Drew’s son … I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

From everything I knew, Daniel had taken his father’s place in the company just to destroy my father. The endeavor had taken him three years of careful planning. What sort of man focused on revenge for three years? And at the end of it, although financially both Daniel and my father had been ruined, it had only been the Anderson name that was dragged through the mud.

Despite his plea of not guilty to fraud, my father had spent five years in jail. I had gone back to Tucson.

I shouldn’t have anything to do with Daniel. I shouldn’t want to have anything to do with him. Overwhelmed by hormones, I might have convinced myself on Saturday night that it was fine to have a fling with him, but now was the cold light of day. Or the cool bluish-white of the fluorescent office light. I should be handing in my resignation.

My purse vibrated against my foot. Once.

I erased another pixel. It wouldn’t be him and if I grabbed my phone to check, I would be guilty of the worst sort of dating crime, looking desperate. Most likely it was Leanna, or even my dad since I’d been avoiding his phone calls.

My purse vibrated again. Once.

I glanced at the time. Only ten-fifteen. If it was Daniel and he wanted to talk to me, he could very well call the office phone. Although, as I didn’t have a direct line, anyone could pick up. Of course he wouldn’t do that. Right, he was texting so that he wouldn’t interrupt my work either.

If it was him.

Rolling my eyes at my mental gymnastics, I leaned down and reached into the bottomless pit of artfully cracked pink leather—it was one thing to wear sweater sets but I liked my purses—and searched for the phone, which buzzed again in my hand as I held it. Once.

I flipped it open.

Emily.

My office at noon.

We need to talk.

How did that take three text messages?

I fidgeted in my seat, thinking about being alone with him again. Or just near him. We didn’t need to talk. We needed to continue where we’d left off on Saturday. Although if it was talking he wanted … I started to type a reply when the phone buzzed in my hand. I pressed next.

I’ll order in Greek.

I narrowed my eyes. Next.

Bring a file or something.

I barely stopped myself from slamming the phone down on the table. The cliché of my life was getting worse and worse. I was actually supposed to bring work to pretend that this “meeting” was strictly business? As if that would fool anyone. As if it weren’t already strange that the boss took the new hire out for lunch.

Back to pixels. Delete, delete, delete.

Until 11:59 a.m., when, just as I stood up, stretching and breathing deeply to calm the nervous flutters of anticipation, James swung by the cubicle asking if I wanted to grab sandwiches with him.

I stared at him. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? No, sorry. I have a date with Mr. Hartmann. Again.

“I, um, I have some files to drop off,” I said, struggling not to look away.

He got a strange look on his face and stared at the floor. As if he heard the subtext beneath my words, knew exactly where I had to drop those files off.

“It’s a sexist world,” he muttered before he looked at me. “Listen. It’s not my place to tell you how to lead your life, Emily, but getting involved with the boss?”

I didn’t bother to pretend.

“Like you said, James, not your place.” I cut him off,