Page 3 of Love Unexpected

“Let him in,” he commands, his deep voice cutting through the air.

I turn to leave, but then hear him call out, “And Ms. Sterling?”

“Yes, sir?” I turn back toward him.

“Next time, knock first,” he reprimands without looking up from the papers on his desk.

“Right,” I mutter, cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry about that.” I retrace my steps back toward the door and hold it open for Marcus to enter.

“Thank you, Ms.” Marcus winks at me, his playful smile is infectious. Is being breathtakingly beautiful a requirement to work here? Good grief.

At least two out of the three people I’ve met so far have been pretty friendly, I find it to be a small comfort. I can’t entirely blame Mr. Lawson though, knocking is common sense, I fear. There’s something about him that’s throwing me off balance—maybe it’s his impossibly good looks, or the palpable intensity he oozes, or maybe I’m just more nervous than I initially thought. It will take some time to get used to his intimidating demeanor.

Sitting back down at my desk, I return to the HR forms. When I get to the emergency contact section, I pause. I’m single, I have no siblings, and my parents aren’t involved in my life. Hopefully HR will accept these pages being left blank.

After the forms are signed and scanned, I read through Mr. Lawson’s schedule for the week. At some point I’m vaguely aware of the door swinging open behind me. It’s not until I get a whiff of that intoxicating cologne that I realize Marcus is leaving. I watch him walk down the hall to my right, stepping into another office with a soft click of the door. Huh. So Marcus works on this floor too. Noted.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I get an uneasy feeling. I just know Mr. Lawson is standing behind me.

“Ms. Sterling,” he says, each syllable slicing through the air. “I told you we would go over my expectations and schedule after my meeting. Next time, ensure you’re ready to go and don’t make me come out to get you.”

His scolding has my blood boiling. Who does he think he is? Does he expect me to be standing at the door, ready to go at all times? But I suppress my anger, putting on a professional smile as I gather my notebook. “Yes, sir. I do apologize for that.” He studies me for a moment, the silence stretching thick, before turning his back to me.

Walking into his office, I quickly scan the room as I shut the door behind me. It’s a large space with expensive looking furniture and more floor-to-ceiling windows. Sitting in theleather chair across from his desk, I place my notebook in my lap and wait for him to speak. I have to remind myself to breathe, my nerves have me feeling lightheaded and the last thing I need is to pass out at work.

Once again, Mr. Lawson gets straight to the point. “I’ve shared my calendar with you so you can see my upcoming meetings and prepare accordingly. If you click on each individual meeting, you will see the attendees as well as the location. I expect the boardrooms to be clean and fully stocked with refreshments prior to each meeting. Also, have any necessary documents that we will need waiting on the conference room table. You will attend every meeting with me unless I inform you otherwise. I expect you to take detailed notes and email them to me.”

I can’t help but steal glances at him while he fires off his expectations. I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down in slow motion as he swallows. The thought of tracing it with my tongue pops into my head uninvited. Oh God. I think I just unintentionally licked my lips. Mr. Lawson clears his throat.

“I don’t tolerate tardiness, sloppiness, or excuses,” he asserts, his voice commanding my attention. Nodding my head, he continues, “on Friday, we leave for Japan. I have a crucial meeting with a potential investor, Mr. Adachi. Find his file and study it front to back. I expect you to be up to speed by Friday. The flight information is in my calendar.”

“Understood,” I reply, jotting down notes in my notebook. A feeling of excitement pulses through me. I knew there would be travel involved occasionally, but I didn’t think itwould be this soon. The thought of flying with him and staying in the same hotel sparks a sense of thrill I can’t ignore.

“Good,” Mr. Lawson replies, a subtle hint of approval in his tone. “Now, if you have no questions, we’ll need to wrap this up. I have a meeting at nine-thirty that I need you to prepare for.”

“No, no questions. I’ll get right on it,” I reply, standing quickly on shaky knees. He is intimidating and all business. He also doesn’t waste any time with small talk, no icebreakers, and certainly not a simple “how was traffic this morning?” He’s both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

I hurry back to my desk and search for the flight information. The plane departs at six on Friday morning for Tokyo, Japan. I need to make sure I pack extra nausea medication for this thirteen-hour flight.

The rest of the day goes by quickly. My time was filled with scanning documents, preparing the boardrooms, and taking notes for two meetings that afternoon. I even made time to quickly skim through Mr. Adachi’s file.

By five o’clock, fatigue is clawing at me. My feet are starting to protest and throb in the heels I’m not used to wearing. My back aches, and I’m also starving. I feel like a whiny toddler in desperate need of a snack and a nap.

Unsure if I need to stay until Mr. Lawson is ready to leave, I pretend to be busy at my desk, just in case he needs something. I’ve never been someone’s assistant before, and hehasn’t mentioned what time I can leave. My last job allowed for the independence to come and go as I pleased. I don’t dare assume the same for this one.

I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the distracting scent of his cologne as I knock on the office door. I wait until I hear his deep voice call out, “come in,” before entering this time.

“Hey, Mr. Lawson. It’s after five-thirty. Do you need anything else from me before I leave?” I fidget with my fingers, standing awkwardly in the doorway. The light in his office highlights the sharp angles of his jaw, I can’t stop myself from staring and imagining running my hand over it.

He doesn’t look up at me. “No, you’re free to go. Be here early tomorrow—I have a meeting at seven,” he says, his voice filled with exhaustion.

“Yes, sir. I will see you tomorrow.” I turn on my heels to leave, but before I shut the door I steal one last look at him for the night. Exhaustion is etched on his features, his eyes dark. He’s focused on a stack of papers while his fingers massage his temples, his elbows resting on the desk. The sight of him looking so miserable tugs at my heart. He’s probably not typically a jerk; I think it’s just the stress of his upcoming trip.

I pack up my laptop and grab my purse. Looking down, intently focused on my phone, I crash into something hard and solid. The impact jolts me, and I look up, my cheeks instantly flushing.

“Oh my gosh. I am so sorry, sir,” I gasp. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Excuse me.” I try to step around him, but Marcus steps back into my path, blocking my escape with a grin.

He chuckles softly. “Don’t worry about it, no harm done. Please, call me Marcus.”

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