Page 105 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
I reallyamon my own.
“They’ll be fine with that,” Marley says. “I promise. I told Olivia about Jack, and she says it won’t be a problem. Family comes first.”
I take a deep breath. “Well, okay then. I guess I’m in.”
Marley says goodbye, promising to send over the digital agreement for my new client/assistant relationship. When it appears in my inbox minutes later, I read it over, my eyes catching on the name of the man I’ll be assisting.Perry Hawthorne.
I have so many questions. Does he look like his famous brother? Is he older? Younger? If he’s even half as handsome, I might have a hard time forming sentences around the man. Except, I won’t reallybearound him, will I? Email. Direct messages. Maybe a phone call every once in a while, depending on what he prefers.
My fingers itch to google him, but Marley’s counsel echoes in my mind. Keep things strictly professional. No social media stalking. No deep-diving into decades-old MySpace photos. “The less you know about things that do not pertain to your work, the easier it will be to do your job in a professional, unbiased way.”
But it’s not every day you get a client who is related to one of Hollywood’s biggest stars.
Finally caving to the impulse, I pull up a new window on my computer and run a search.
Flint Hawthorne brothers.
And there they are. In all their FREAKING UNBELIEVABLE glory.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say out loud as I magnify the picture. Four men stand together, arms wrapped aroundeach other, in attendance at what looks to be some kind of fancy, black-tie event.
Flint is in the middle, his brothers standing on either side. And they’re clearlybrothers. There’s a common thread that runs through all of them. An incredibly handsomecommon thread. I mean, talk about winning the genetic lottery. These men aretranscendent.Their collective handsomeness is almost blinding. They should all be in the movies. Or at least decorating billboards modeling Calvin Klein underwear. I think I’d buy anything these men were trying to sell. Lightbulbs?Why yes, yes I do think I need a year’s supply, thank you.
There’s no caption with the picture, so I can’t know which brother is which, but my eyes are drawn to the one on the end. His hair is a little longer, he’s the only one with a beard, and he’s not quite smiling. There’s a seriousness about him that’s different from the other three.
That’s Perry,I think to myself, though maybe it’s just that I want him to be Perry. Why, I can’t say, but the impression is crystal clear.
It only takes one more search query to confirm my hunch.Perry Hawthorne Stonebrook Farm.
The image that pops up first is definitely the unsmiling man from the end. He isn’t smiling in this photo either, but he’s no less handsome. He’s sitting on the steps of a white house—probably the big farmhouse at Stonebrook—his arms propped on his knees, his expression serious.
He is . . . I let out a little groan. Five minutes ago, I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but I think he’s actually more handsome than Flint.
I don’t know why I feel so out of sorts. I’m avirtualassistant. This will be avirtualrelationship just like the ones I’ve had with my previous clients. There isn’t a single reason for me to feelso much trepidation. But my hands are shaking right now. Like, actual, visible, shaking.
I force a deep breath. I’m being ridiculous. The guy is probably married anyway.
I lean forward and squint at the picture. His ring finger is bare, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Trevor hardly ever wore his wedding band.
I swallow away the discomfort that thought brings and focus on the picture. “Good morning, Mr. Hawthorne,” I say out loud, in my best assistant voice. “Ready for your morning update?”
I flop back into my chair.Ugh. I am going to mess this up.
I sit up again and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Here are the files you asked for, Mr. Hawthorne,” I say in a syrupy sweet voice. “Can I get you anything else? A candlelit dinner for two? A moonlit stroll?”
Oh good grief. Definitely not that.
I clear my throat. “Hey. Hawthorne,” I say, my voice unnaturally deep. “Here are your files. If you need me, just light the bat signal.”
If Jack were here, he’d be rolling on the floor laughing at my Batman voice, and that thought is enough to bring me back to earth and ground me in reality.
Jack is my priority.
This is just a job.
Perry will just be a boss. It doesn’t matter that Marley knows his family personally or that he’s only twenty minutes down the road. It doesn’t even matter that I’ve been going to Stonebrook’s harvest festival since I was a kid. This will not be a personal relationship.
And good thing too, because I wouldn’t have the first clue how to have one of those.
