Page 7 of Obsession

Jack Hollister stood and came around the desk. His tie was off and dripping out of his pants pocket, and his cuffs were rolled back on a rather nice set of forearms. No ink for him.

Was it wrong that it disappointed me?Hmm.

I’d always appreciated ink, but rarely did it turn my sensors on high. To be honest, little had rated on my male-o-meter in the last few years. I wasn’t a nun, but I definitely hadn’t been interested in more than an occasional dinner date in too many months to count.

Or was it a year?

Oy.

The fact that I didn’t know should have made me re-evaluate my dating life, but I was just too tired. Between mygrandmother’s sudden death and my last gallery showing, men had been the very last thing on my mind.

Ten minutes with Blake Carson had dissolved that like an acid etching.

Now I had to be there at seven in the morning and try to pretend I was prime assistant material. Evidently, I need to brush up on my spreadsheet knowledge. Luckily, I was used to playing with invoices at Lady’s Bay Gallery. I’d whipped the Stanwick family gallery into shape. I could do the same with Blake Carson.

I hoped.

“I was just about to go in there and check on you. Most women come out crying within five minutes.”

“He wasn’t that bad. And that’s very sexist, Mr. Hollister.”

Jack snorted and leaned his hip against the desk. “Maybe a little, but he’s my best friend. I know exactly how he is.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why, but I managed to keep that one to myself. A six-pack of faux pas a day was more than enough. Yet there must have been something about my interview that he liked.

That gave me a little more time to figure out a way to get onto his good side. “I got the job. So, it wasn’t all bad.”

“Good, because I’m sick of playing secretary.”

“You’re the CEO, right?”

“That’s what the etching on the door says.”

I couldn’t help but smile that time. “Don’t you have an assistant?”

“I do. He just happens to be on vacation. He just got married, and his wife made me promise I’d leave him alone for ten days.” Jack folded his arms. “I’ve only picked up the phone eleven times to call him.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Two days.” He tipped back his head and blew out a long, slow breath. “Two very long days.”

“And Mr. Carson’s last assistant?”

He met my gaze again. “We’ve just lost the contract with the last temp agency in the city. You’re our only hope.”

My eyebrows shot up. “So, that’s why he hired me.”

He stood up. “Well, no. I’m sure it was your qualifications.”

I held up a hand. “Unlikely.”

Jack’s eyebrow winged up. “It’s going to be an interesting few days in here.”

I could do the eyebrow thing too. “I’ve dealt with the art world for half my life. Blake Carson doesn’t scare me.”

“Good. Because he scares me. Just make sure he has lots of strong black coffee, and your life will be infinitely easier.”

“This isn’tMad Men. I’m not going to be bringing him coffee like a good little secretary.”

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