Page 14 of His Secret Obsession

I have to agree.

Maddison

“For every minute you are late to work, you’ll be required to work ten minutes over.”

“I—uh, okay.”

Quickening my strides, I try to keep up with my new boss as she shows me around and continues to explain the insane rules the employees have to follow. This is the second time I’ve spoken to Irene Johnson—the only other time being my interview—but she seems a littlecontrolling.

I stare at her rigid back as we stroll through the luxury home décor store. Her brown hair, streaked with silver, sits piled atopher head in a style that reminds me of a beehive. My lips twitch every time I look at it. I smooth my expression into a polite smile as her beady eyes evaluate me, her face so expressionless it makes me wonder how many times she’s had Botox injections.

“There is to be no food or drink on the sales floor,” she continues in her monotone voice.

I nod, having expected this one. Peering at the molten aluminum vase with red flowers next to me, I suppress a cringe at the ninety-dollar price tag. Then my gaze wanders over to the tufted beige-colored French sofa, and I wonder how anybody can relax on something like that.

“We don’t have customers here. We have clients,” she says while we continue to weave around overpriced décor. As we make our way further into the store, Irene breezes past a couple examining a black and white marble coffee table. The sickly-sweet smile she sends their way looks so fake I want to gag.

“Employees are not permitted visitors while they are on the clock,” she tells me. “Keep your baby daddy drama at home because I will not tolerate it.” My eyebrows furrow. Do I look like I have baby daddy drama?

Irene continues walking, each step bringing us closer to a cash register. A curvy, young woman with glossy, red hair hands a receipt to a customer as we approach.

“This is Hazel,” Irene gestures to the redhead after the customer leaves. When I nod towards the woman, she gives me an enthusiastic smile. “She’ll be your trainer. Hazel, this is Maddison. Show her how the registers work. But please, keep the personal talk to a minimum. We need to look professional in front of our clients, and they do not care what we had for dinner last night or what our weekend plans are.” Hazel nods politely while I watch the interaction in silence.

Irene begins to walk away but halts before turning back to me. Her narrowed eyes scrutinize me, making me feel like an exhibitin a museum. I swallow. Irene tilts her head, her lips pursing like she just tasted something sour.

“And please consider putting on some make-up going forward. I do not need employees who look like they just crawled out of bed and came to work.”

I’m left to stare at her back, my lips parted as I blink.

“Ouch,” Hazel comments dryly. “That was harsh, even for her.”

I feel my cheeks flame red as I fidget in place. I wish there was a mirror nearby. I thought I looked professional this morning. “Is she always like that?”

Hazel reaches under the register, grabbing something small and handing it to me. I study the nametag before reaching out to grab it and clip it on my shirt.

Hazel waves a flippant hand in the air. “Honey, you look fine. She just likes everybody to know that she’s the queen bee around here and we’re her lowly minions.” Her eyes dart over her shoulder and then back at me, lowering her voice to a whisper before continuing. “Besides, did you notice her hairstyle? What kind of 1960s crap is that?”

“I was just thinking the same thing!” I whisper-shout in return. Hazel snickers quietly then gestures at me to join her behind the register, giving me a playful jab with her elbow as I do. We share a conspiratorial grin.

“Now, I’ll show you the ropes and explain how things are supposed to be done around here.” She winks at me. “Then I’ll show you how I really do things when Irene the Wicked Witch isn’t around.”

I giggle, relaxing as she begins to point out different buttons on the register.

We’re going to get along just fine.

A pained, albeit dramatic, whimper is pulled from my throat as I stumble through Jax’s doorway hours later. My poor, aching feet are throbbing inside my high heels. The muscles in my shoulders are tight, and my temple is pounding. I wobble as I bend down to unbuckle the little straps around my ankles. My body begins to pitch forward as I lose my balance.

“Shit!” I hiss the expletive under my breath right as the sound of thudding footsteps reach my ears. Two thick arms loop around my waist, hauling me upright against a warm chest. The smell of a crisp, wintergreen masculine body wash tickles my senses. Jax sucks in a quick breath, his arms tightening imperceptibly around my body. And just why that makes my heart flutter, I’m not sure.

I peer up at him, noticing the dark stubble along his sharp jaw. It’s neatly trimmed, but I bet it would feel scratchy underneath my fingertips. Luke keeps his face completely smooth and—

Jax clears his throat, and my cheeks fill up with warmth as I duck my head. He releases his arms from around me before jerking his chin towards my high heels. Then he sinks down onto one knee, the other bent as he balances himself. My belly clenches at the sight of him kneeling on the floor beneath me.

“Allow me.”

I give him a silent nod, my mouth suddenly dry. The last time Jax touched me was the day Luke “introduced” me to him, which was roughly four years ago. Even then, it was just a brief handshake. So, of course, I’m a little on edge. It’s not like I’m attracted to him or anything—I have a boyfriend. It’s notthat I want Jax’s hands on my body, but I appreciate his help nonetheless. He gently grabs one of my hands, pulling me out of my racing thoughts as he guides it onto his shoulder in a silent command to lean on him for support. Then the rough, warm skin of one hand circles my ankle and lifts it onto his bent knee. His big fingers struggle with the tiny clasps of the buckle for a moment, and I nervously chuckle. My heart thumps inside my chest.

I don’t know why. It’s not like I have a thing for Jax Parker.

---