Page 9 of The Boss's Forbidden Assistant

‘All my life,’ she said after a moment, her voice uneven. She reached for the napkin Catarina had brought, wiping her chin, then moved some bread to her plate, breaking it up with her fingers.

‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She looked around, her lips tugging downwards a little. ‘Though it’s nothing compared to this.’

He didn’t respond.

‘This place is...it’s so elemental. Here, you could be the last person on earth and there would be more than enough to sustain you.’

He was staring at her as if he could see inside her very soul, but he wasn’t replying, so she sighed softly. It was one thing for him to ask questions, but conversation wasn’t really possible if he didn’t respond to her.

‘Doyoulike it?’ she asked when he was still just staring at her.

‘Like what?’

‘Living here.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I haven’t thought about it.’

She bit into some bread. ‘That’s not an answer,’ she said after a moment.

‘No?’

‘No. Even if you haven’t thought about it, you could do so now. Think aloud. Ruminate.’

His smile was the last thing she’d expected. In just a flash it was there, like lightning out over the ocean, and then it was gone. But the memory of it danced on her eyelids, and she thought she would say or do almost anything to see that smile again.

‘Ruminate?’ he repeated, one thick dark brow lifted.

‘Sure.’

He looked out to sea, to the streak of milky light cast by the moon. ‘I like the privacy.’

She nodded slowly. ‘It doesn’t get lonely?’

His eyes shifted back to her face, his expression contemplative, so she waited, hands clasped in her lap, breath held, because she really wanted to hear what he had to say. Instead, he reached for his wine and took a sip.

‘Mr da Rocha?’ she prompted, and his eyes flew back to hers. Some sixth sense told her that he liked her calling him that—liked hearing her use his full name.

‘I have staff,’ he muttered after a moment. ‘I am rarely truly alone.’

And yet, she shivered. There was something in the coldness of his response that made her chest hurt.

‘I bet the surfing is amazing.’

‘Do you surf?’

She nodded.

‘I cannot imagine much opportunity for that in Chicago.’

‘No,’ she agreed with a smile. ‘I take a week off and head to the west coast every summer. I learned as a young girl, and never got over the feeling of being propelled forward by waves. The rush, the power, the connection to the ocean...’

She didn’t tell him that it was her father who’d taught her to surf, on the rare weeks he’d remembered he was in fact a father and had flown back into Harper’s life. That it was one of the few things he’d given her, that she’d kept as a part of her soul and that, whenever she took a board into the ocean, she felt connected to her dad. A dad who’d deserted her, who didn’t deserve a place in her heart, but had burrowed in there nonetheless.

‘The waves here are large. I would not recommend you try it.’

‘Well, with only a few hours spare in the day, there’s not exactly time,’ she responded tartly, before remembering she was sitting opposite her boss and that a mite more respect might be called for. She grimaced, lifting her hands. ‘I’m sorry.’

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