Page 9 of Dangerous Pursuit

Me: Assholes.

Eli: There’s a cash game this Friday. You guys in? It’ll be a good distraction.

Me: Yeah, I’m in. Send me the info.

Braden: Next time. I have a date.

Me: Sucker.

Braden: I hope she is. At least I’m not using my hand. Good luck with that.

Me: Fuck you.

I can’t avoid her forever; I need a fucking assistant. “We need to go over a few things. Come in and plan to take notes,” I say over the intercom.

She answers with her typical response. “Yes, sir.”

Sighing in frustration, I run a hand through my hair. If I don’t solve this problem, it’s going to be a long six months.

She enters seconds later.

“Have a seat.” She doesn’t look afraid. I keep underestimating her. She seems to have nerves of steel, or she’s damn good at hiding fear. Either way, it’s time to move forward.

“I’m sure it’s apparent that I’m less than thrilled to have you here. No offense, but you’re young, and you lack experience. If it weren’t for my parents, you’d already be gone. That being said, we have to make this work for now. Cindy must’ve done a good job training you last week since you’ve managed this far into the day without her.”

“She had me do everything with minimal assistance. She also created a company directory and a list of daily tasks. If you give me a chance, I’ll prove I’m not too young for this. I can do the job, I swear. Since you seem pretty hung up on my age, you’ll be happy to know I’ll be eighteen soon. Then you can stop treating me like a child.”

Sweetheart, if you knew why your age is a problem for me, you might not want your birthday to come so soon.

I narrow my eyes at her. “I’ll stop treating you like a child when I see proof that you aren’t one. Until then, just do your job.”

“Will do, sir.” Her face is earnest.

Fuck, if this is going to work, I need to set some ground rules.

“You need to stop calling me sir. I’m not fifty.”

“Would you prefer Mr. Soloman?”

“I’m also not my dad. Just use my name.”

“Okay… Jackson.”

Hearing my name from her lips gives me an unexpected desire to hear it more, wondering what it would sound like while she’s begging for my dick.Fuuuuck.

“And you need to start wearing more appropriate clothing,” I add, frustrated at my drifting thoughts.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” She looks affronted. Shit. Why did she pick today to let her guard down? I can’t tell her to wear sweats to work. I just pinned myself up against a wall.

“Nothing, never mind.”

“What? Are they not expensive enough to be acceptable? Sorry, I don’t shop in designer stores like you.” She’s offended, which wasn’t what I meant to do. “At least I’m not in rags.”

I’m not fast enough to stop my next words from tumbling out. “I’d rather you be in rags,” I mutter.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She doesn’t get it at all; that’s how naïve she is.

“I said never mind. Forget I mentioned anything.”

---