Page 7 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

Jesus, how rich is he?

“That’s a lot.”

He chuckles. “I have a large company with good employees who run it well. What I don’t have is someone to help me with the day to day.”

“What are we talking about? Dry cleaning? Coffee runs? Answering the phone?”

He picks up a pen and taps it on the desk, narrowing his gaze. “No coffee runs or dry cleaning. It’s more about scheduling. Making calls. I won’t have you fielding calls until you’re up to speed on the business. You’ll take notes at meetings, be a second set of eyes, and you’d have to listen to me. There’s a lot of listening involved.”

I’m not sure I understand. “Can you say more about that?”

“I tour a lot of properties, and I like having someone with me I can trust to bounce ideas off of.”

“I know nothing about real estate.”

He waves this off like it’s unimportant. “It’s not really about what you know. It’s about—vibes.”

I huff a laugh. “What makes you think I’d beanygood at this?”

He stares at me a moment, assessing. “I trust you,” he eventually says.

I study him, too. I gather he intimidates a lot of people with his size, his power, his wealth—his dark gaze that seems to take in everything all at once and yet gives nothing away. I’ve gotten a few glimpses at a different side of him, though, through the years. The one behind closed doors who’s loyal and protective of his home, his friends, his privacy. Even his employees.

“Can I ask more about this rough patch you mentioned?”

“You can, but I’m not sure I want to answer,” he says. “It veers a little personal, but nothing inappropriate on my part.”

If he’s trying to make me less interested in the reason he’s unable to keep an assistant, he’s failing.

He seems to sense this. “Listen, if you take the job, I’ll tell you.”

“I need to think about it.”

“What questions do you have? Talk it through with me.”

“Besides what I’ve asked already, and you haven’t really answered?”

He grins. “Besides those, yes.”

“No questions. I just need to think about it.”

“Understood. If anything comes up, you’ll let me know?”

“Sure.”

“But you will consider it?” he asks.

“Can I ask a blunt question?”

“Of course.”

“This isn’t you throwing me another bone, is it? Because if it’s about that—or anything to do with the fact that you knew my father—I wouldn’t be comfortable. And don’t just say no—think about it. Please,” I add because that felt like word vomit.

He leans back in his chair. “Your relationship with your father was complicated, I assume.”

“Isn’t everyone’s?” I quip and immediately want to staple my mouth shut.

“Probably,” he says.

---