Page 23 of Our Little Cliche
Oh.My.Freaking?—
Chapter Eleven
CYRUS
I’ve never hada personal assistant before. I’ve always worked on my own doing my own thing, but Quinn was right when he said I needed the extra pair of hands. Since I’m getting more publicity nowadays it’s getting harder to separate life from work, and towantto put more hours into actually working.
I’ve barely even been able to get back to my hobby—whittling. Working with wood is something I’ve done since before I could walk, and I haven’t known any other passion quite like it, other than writing dark twisted stories, of course. I used to spend almost all year in my spare time crafting a statue for the Banff Christmas market, just like my father did before me, and my grandfather before him.
Each year they would be auctioned off, and the funds put toward the wildlife park. The children love what I make because they’re big enough for them to climb on and have fun with. Last year I had sculpted a life-size reindeer, but this year I wanted to do something a little smaller due to my lack of time: a bald eagle. However, right now it looks like nothing but a log. Because I haven’t actually started it. And Christmas is in just over two weeks. I don’t even have my Christmas tree up.
My stomach flutters hearing the driver I booked rolling up my freshly plowed driveway with my new employee. I’m not usually the type to get nervous, but the fact that this girl has no idea that I’m the guy from the bar that’s hired her…who’s writing an entire book about her, which she’s going to read, has me feeling mixed emotions. And the more I think about it, the more insane it sounds.
Miss Cate. MissHollyCate. When Quinn showed me her resume—that had the address of the place Iillegallyfollowed a woman to a few nights ago—I knew it was her, and I had to make sure that he hired her.
That’s not insane, right?
I had to see her again…
And now I get to see her everyday. I’m convinced that this woman has come across my path for a reason. First she was in my imagination as a character developing for a good book, then she just casually exists, and crosses the globe to practically fall into my arms!? Call it fate, or whatever, but stuff like thisneverhappens.
Quinn was kind enough to let me do the honors of calling her to tell her that she’d gotten the job, and when I did I could barely hold myself together. Hearing her breathing down the phone the way she was. I knew she wasn’t cleaning or doing squats at the gym… she was in the shower,panting. But that’s not the worst part. I had to be a fucking horny idiot, texting her afterwards. Now she’s going to think I’m either a perv, or a creep. She definitely wouldn’t have accepted the job offer had she known it was me.
Holly knocks on the door three times, then buzzes the Christmas themed doorbell, echoing across the walls. I re-adjust my tie and flatten down my waistcoat. It feels strange wearing work clothes at home when I’d usually be wearing sweatpants, but today is my first day as a boss.
The split second I see her standing at my door I regret having her hired in the first place. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life. She’s even more stunning now than when I saw her at the bar, if that’s even possible.
Holly’s eyes widen so big I’m certain that they almost fall out of her sockets. She’s just worked out who I am. I think she mutters something under her breath likeholy crapbut I can’t be certain.
I bombard her with a handshake in an attempt to recover from the awkward tension, and the crack of desire is quick to penetrate my skin. “Miss Cate,” I almost shout the words.
Oh, this is going good, real good. I’m going to scare her away before she even walks in the front door.
“You. You’re. You’re the…” she stutters, her breath catching in her throat.
“Cyrus. Cyrus Stone. Please come in.”
After a moment of buffering, she finally steps past me, and like it had done at the bar her scent flares my nostrils. Coconut, perhaps, with a hint of the ocean or something fresh tormenting my senses. It must be her shampoo, as her hair is slightly damp still, pulled into a tight braid behind her head.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this girl since I met her, and now she’s inmyhouse. This is going to kill me. Having her here every day without being able to touch her. I shouldn’t have hired her, I really should not have, but here she is, walking through my house in the same pair of jeans from the other night with an old pair of worn boots with fleece interior, and a similar weathered coat that I think has seen at least fifteen winters. She looks god damn beautiful, even in stained, rugged clothing.
“Wow, this place is…wow.”
Holly spins a circle in the foyer, taking in her new surroundings. I shove my hands in my pockets, watching the smile reach her eyes. Certainly a better sight to see than tears. “Itwas my grandfather’s, then passed down to me when my father died. You should see all the literature he collected.” I coax her to follow me to the library, which is also now my office… hers too.
“Wow.” Her gaze fans in a three hundred and sixty degree pattern at the ceiling-high bookshelves that cover the walls, including around the bay window that overlooks the estate. I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t my favorite place to sit and read or write with a drink, staring out and admiring the mountains. And I get the feeling that it’s going to be her favorite place too, given that she’s now sitting there with an open mouth, gazing out the window. “Wow,” Holly repeats.
“You know, for a woman with a literary background, you’re certainly one of very few words,” I toy.Tone it down, Stone. This is your workplace now.
“I’m just… sorry. It’s a lot to take in, is it always this beautiful?”
“Every angle I look at it from, yes,” I say, not exactly referring to the view she looks at, letting her absorb all that she needs to without interrupting her silence before speaking again. “Should I show you your office?”
“Oh umm, right. Yes, please.”
I point to her desk, smiling. “You’re already here. This is yours.”
Holly’s index finger glides along the old wooden desk next to mine, stopping at the timber pen holder I carved out for her last night, initialedH.C. When she looks at me with a pleasantly surprised, glowing gleam, I get the twitch under my zipper. “You didthis!?”
