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JAMIE
“Jamie!”
Since the door to my boss’s office was ajar, his shout cut through the hallways like an air horn. Our receptionist, who’d been leaning on my desk to pry the latest gossip from me, winced and backed out of the room.
“Jamie? Where the fuck are you?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m coming!” I rounded my desk and ambled to the door. I knew my boss well enough to recognize it wasn’t a real emergency. He was probably looking for something he had right in front of his nose.
Pushing the door open, I found him pacing his top-floor corner office like a caged lion. I pasted on my loveliest smile.
“How can I help you, sir?”
Most people had only met the imposing, aloof Morton Hartley, the green-tech tycoon and most influential business figure in the city. I flattered myself thinking I was the only one who ever saw this version of him—adorably flustered and distracted, grabbing his hair with both hands. He stared at the mess on his desk with wild eyes.
“Where’s the damned report? It was right here! I just read the fucking thing. Where is it?”
I moved a gray folder that covered a stack of papers. “Here.”
“Dammit.” He snatched the papers and plonked into his chair, paging through the bundle. “You and your X-ray vision. It’s like you’re a cyborg or something.”
“If I were, I’d be doing your job, getting your salary, and you’d be my assistant. You’d be terrible at it. I’d fire you within a week.”
“Luckily, it’s the other way around. Now shush. I need to double-check something.”
Letting him read in silence, I shuffled around folders and printouts, mitigating the chaos he’d created while searching for the document. Mr. Hartley could be impeccably organized, but sometimes, when stressed and frustrated, he’d get tunnel vision and miss the obvious. He just needed someone to talk him off the ledge now and then. The conference and the set of meetings on the West Coast were the most important events of the year, and with the upcoming elections, I couldn’t imagine the pressure he was facing.
He read, turned a page, huffed, and scribbled something into one of his many notebooks. He preferred pen and paper—he said it helped him think—and then he needed me to digitize his messy notes. I didn’t mind. I found his scribbles fascinating.
“What’s the time?” he asked, not lifting his gaze from the papers.
“Half past four.”
Another angry huff. “I’m not ready, Jamie. This will be a disaster.”
“It won’t. You’re always ready. Besides, you still have four days on the train to prepare.”
Four fucking days locked up in a train car. Who would prefer ninety-six hours on a train, one way, to a six-hour flight? Complete maniacs! And my boss. Six years ago, Mr. Hartley publicly vowed never to fly in a fossil-fuel-powered aircraftagain. He kept his word. He took a train everywhere he could, and he’d even freaking sailed to London and back once. Luckily, that was before I started working for him—I would have strongly objected to those two weeks of seasickness.
He turned another page, frowning. “I should wrap up soon since we’re leaving early tomorrow.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to come to your place and pack your suitcase.” I was only half kidding. The last time we went to a conference, he forgot spare socks and underwear, and I had to run and buy them for him so he wouldn’t have to give a keynote speech commando.
He looked up and narrowed his eyes at me. “That fiancé of yours doesn’t spank you often enough.”
“We broke up a month ago,” I said brightly.
His expression froze. He gaped at me, looking completely bewildered. Poor man. It hadn’t been my intention to make him feel awkward. I hurried to change the subject.
“I’m sure HR would love to hear about your spanking suggestion. We could make it a thing. Weekly spankings every Monday. It might be the stress relief we all need.”
Mr. Hartley let out a tense laugh. “Smartass.” Shaking his head, he returned his attention to his papers. He reshuffled them as if he’d forgotten why he was holding them. His hair was sticking out in all directions, and his tie was askew. He looked cute when he was frazzled.
“It’s going to go great,” I told him quietly.
He gave the report a brisk nod. “The plan is brilliant, and the financing well thought through. I just have to convince a bunch of self-serving politicians to put their egos aside for one minute.”
