The thought that he’d already gotten under my skin on the first day bothered me more than anything. He was as much the boss as I was, and in order for this arrangement to work, I needed his support.
Vance leaned over. “He’ll cool down. You can smooth it out after the meeting.”
As I buttoned up my blazer, one of the men rose to give me his spot. I thanked him as I took the chair. I was on track to earning the respect I’d need for a smooth working environment. Well, mostly smooth.
For now, I just had to focus on making it through the week—or at least to happy hour.
4
Sebastian
I’d stormed out of the morning meeting prematurely.
I returned to my office and sat heavily at my desk. I enjoyed almost everything about my job, even Mondays. Often times, I reigned from the front of the room—Mufasa, King of the Pride Lands. I sat up straighter in my seat. If I were an animal, I’d be a lion, commanding the rest of the jungle, watching from a rocky overhang as my kingdom sang showtunes.
I hummed “The Circle of Life” as I opened my yellow legal pad and wrote Quiz idea: Which alpha male cartoon character are you?
Next, I took my black leather agenda from a drawer and scribbled a reminder for my assistant: “The Lion King Broadway tickets.”
I rubbed my temples. This time last week, I’d had no idea what was to come. Within days, Vance would bring in an outsider to do my job. And not just anyone—a woman. For a men’s magazine. And Vance actually bought into her shtick. I hadn’t been worried about the exposé’s call to fire me, but Vance had never made a comment to me like the earlier one about restructuring. For years, I’d been revered for taking this magazine from near failure to hit success. I’d thought that was enough to overshadow a few bad quarters, but maybe I’d been wrong.
If Vance needed to try this to prove I was as good as it got, then so be it. It was only eight weeks. Eight weeks of dealing with the brash, rude, Yankees-loving Georgina Keller. Clearly my judgment had been cloudy this morning if I’d mistaken her for shy.
Having her around wouldn’t be pleasant, and I’d promised myself I was done with women like her, but this time, it wasn’t really up to me.
At ten-thirty on the dot, a knock at my door was almost definitely Justin with a fresh round of donuts and coffee. He didn’t do well on Monday mornings, when he was still in weekend mode—or Friday afternoons, for that matter. Or basically any weekday after three o’clock.
My stomach grumbled. “Come in.”
The door opened, but chestnut-haired, pint-sized George stepped in. Justin was nowhere to be seen. I automatically dropped my gaze to her blazer, looking for the thin tank top beneath it, for a flash of Yankees blue. She complemented a cheap jersey with Christian Louboutin pumps. I’d noticed those at the coffee shop as I’d snuck a peek at her legs—all my girlfriends had owned a pair of Louboutins or two. Or five. How could I have missed that glaring clue about the type of woman she was?
Ah—this was why. Because at this very moment, Georgina looked the opposite of how she had in the conference room. She wrung her hands in front of herself and worried her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that made me want to be that lip.
Fuck. I needed to get my head on straight. Fantasizing about the enemy wasn’t a good way to kick things off.
“Um, about this morning,” she said. “I wanted to apologize.”
“For calling me an entitled asshole? Or implying that I thought I was better than others when I was the only one to stand up for your ‘friend’? Or for the way you tried to embarrass me just now in the conference room?”
“To be fair, you embarrassed yourself,” she said, the corner of her mouth ticking up. “Storming out like a child—is that how you earn respect around here?”
“I said trying to embarrass me. You’ll have to work a little harder to pull it off.”
“Noted,” she said with a slight jerk of her head.
“Is that it?” I asked. “Did you come in here just to not apologize?”
“Oh—uh, no.” She looked thoughtful a moment. “Since Vance hadn’t planned on my services, and my position is temporary, there’s no office for me.”
“That’s a shame,” I said, leaning back in my seat. She really did have a nice figure. The old me would’ve fixated on that. The old me, I figured, might’ve even found her sharp tongue a turn on. Yes, she possessed characteristics I’d sworn off of, but in some small almost imperceptible ways—the tremor in her voice, the softness in her eyes—she also seemed like what I was looking for: the antithesis of my usual type. But my usual type wore Louboutins, spoke down to the help, and had no problem throwing the word asshole around.
“. . . and I know it isn’t ideal,” she said, “but I think it’ll be good for both of us.”
I raised my eyes. “What will be good?”
Her brows knit. “You and me. Together.”
You and me. Together. This morning, I would’ve liked those sentences strung together a whole lot more. “Huh?”
“Did you hear anything I just said? Vance would like us to share an office—”
I shot forward, and my leather chair squeaked. “What?”
She shut her eyes, sighed, and shook her head. “If you have to stare at my breasts, at least try to listen at the same time. Otherwise, this will never work.”
My mouth dropped open. Had I been that obvious? I scoffed. “Actually, I was shooting imaginary lasers at your Spankees jersey.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Modest, aren’t we? I assure you, your breasts are safe from me.”
“Why’s that?” she asked, cocking her head.
I paused. I’d expected something more along the lines of “Thank God for that.” “Because you aren’t my type.”
She glanced away for only a second. “Then sharing an office shouldn’t be a problem. We won’t have to worry about those pesky non-fraternization rules.”
She was teasing me. Or was she flirting? Certainly not—she’d be a stickler for the sexual harassment policies. But then what about that skintight top she’d just flaunted? I refrained from growling, angry that she was getting under my skin. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have the space.”
She gave me a knowing, if not terse, smile. “You have more space than anyone other than Vance.”
“Then impose on him.”
“He’s not even on this floor, and anyway, he wants me in here. Says it makes the most sense since you and I will be working closely together. And I won’t be an imposition, promise.”
“My desk is organized just the way I like it,” I said. “Everything has its spot, and I don’t do well with people touching my things.”
She glanced at my desk. “Vance is trying to arrange one for me. I mean, it certainly won’t be anything like that, but . . .”
I frowned. “Like what?”
“Did you blow your first paycheck on office furniture? What is that, mahogany?”
“It is, actually.”
She opened her purse and pulled out her phone as she murmured something about overcompensating.
That was the last straw. Overcompensating? Fuck no.
By city standards, my cock qualified as a small skyscraper.
I had so much junk, the New York City Sanitation Department had tried to haul it away.
The only private dick more famous than mine was Sherlock Holmes.
I started to suggest she dial up any of my exes to see if I had reason to overcompensate, but my desk phone rang. I snatched up the receiver. “What?”
“Is George Keller there?”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “This is my office. Sebastian Quinn.”
“I know, Mr. Quinn. It’s Mary at the front desk. Is George there?”
I sighed and glanced up. Georgina was trying so hard not to smile that deep, deep dimples formed in her cheeks. Those were new. I might’ve found them cute if I wasn’t sure she was giddy over annoying me. “She’s here.”
“Will you let her know some boxes have just arrived from her office?”