Page 34 of Our Little Cliche
“It’s really not a problem. Everyone’s gotta eat at some point.”
“True.”
Assuming I’m the cause of her constant mood changes, I offer her an alternative. It’s probably not a good idea if I go with her. “Why don’t you have the day off to venture? Enjoy the time to explore instead of coming back to the office,”
“A day off? But what about?—”
“Miss Cate, I’m your boss. Well, I’m trying to be. I want you to come to work happy and comfortable. What you’ve been through must be traumatizing, so it’s the least I can do in the situation,” I cut her off with a blunt tone, assessing hereveryfacial reaction with each of my words. “So what would you like to do?”
“Would you… be coming with me?”
“No, you go ahead. I should get back to writing,” I say, nonchalant. Her face drops in an instant.
Bingo.
That’s the reaction I wanted.
Moments pass of her staring into dead space. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, but will I get eaten alive by bears? Or trampled by moose the size of houses, and whatever else roams in this country?”
“Would you be less scared if I was with you?”
“I’m not scared… Australia is packed full of poisonous spiders and snakes, and stuff, so I’m used to things trying to kill me. But I don’t think sight seeing on my own is a good idea. You can’t tell me I wouldn’t last five seconds out there,” her eyes lower, waving her hands to her figure. “Look at me for crying out loud.”
Don’t say it.
Don’t say it.
I am looking at you. It’s all I’ve been doing since I met you,is what I want to say, but I don’t. “You’re my employee, Miss Cate. That would be wildly inappropriate if I did.”
Chapter Seventeen
HOLLY
I wantto say that my new job as a personal assistant for an international best selling author is the highlight of my life… but it isn’t. Idespisecoming to work. Because it means that I actually have to face the person I can’t seem to stop thinking of doing unspeakable things with, whether he’s in front of me or completely out of sight.
I’ve spent the best part of this week ignoring Cyrus by hiding in the kitchen, running errands, fluffing about in the indoor garden or answering emails from reporters and podcasters wanting interviews while he occupies himself with writing.
It sucks here!
In saying that, ignoring him has actually been relatively easy since he’s moved my work space into a separate room like I’m some disease-ridden freak, for reasons I hadn’t the slightest answer to. But will it be easy to ignore him when I move in?—if I move in. Because that was part of the job.Live-in assistant.Yet, I’m coming up with every excuse under the sun tonotmove in. And yes, I have looked for other jobs, but there are none, so dealing with working for the sexiest man on earth, and comingup with ninety nine reasons why I shouldn’t is the only option I have.
I wipe down the kitchen bench from making Christmas Crack and glare out the window. It’s dead silent, both inside and out, other than the occasional whoosh of arctic winds brushing against the windows.
The weather will worsen throughout the day, no doubt. It’s been getting colder, too. I had barely made it here this morning without being swept off the road from the gusts. I’m convinced that it’s my fault, because when I don’t wear knickers it always causes chaotic weather. When it happened last time the whole of Queensland flooded, and the time before that a hail storm with balls the size of my palm fell from the sky.
I don’t intentionallynotwear underwear, by the way, it’s just because not only do I have no clean ones left, I am also missing a pair—my favorite red laced g-string. When was the last time I saw it? I drift off, tracing my steps. I remember packing two pairs, a black one and a red one. The black one I wore yesterday. I recall seeing them both when I did a bag check at Sydney when they lost it. And then…
My luggagewent flying.
I must have left it behind on the stairs, dammit. I’ve been running on four undies, and I haven’t been able to go back down to the laundromat this week. Since the holidays are only three days away I need to make sure I gotonight.
My phone notifies me that I have an email. It’s Quinn, sending Cyrus and I a reminder about a signing that takes place in Vancouver for New Years.
Ooh, Vancouver.
Ugh, planes…
