Page 3 of Spooked

Hmm, what about an older candidate? A possibility, but in Brax’s experience, they rarely lasted long. Jealous husbands, family commitments, a dislike of last-minute travel… Although he’d once hired a terrific lady in her sixties, fun yet quietly efficient, a former actress with an adventurous streak and a deliciously warped sense of humour. But Luisa had suffered a heart attack when one of the shows in the basement—the space nicknamed The Dark—got a little wild, and after she recovered, she’d retired to Acapulco.

Brax had adored Luisa.

He missed Luisa.

Today’s candidate was twenty-four, but she’d passed the telephone interview, and Rhonda, his HR manager, thought she had potential. Brax scanned through her résumé. Meera Adams had been educated at Harvard with a concentration in environmental science and public policy and a secondary in European history, politics, and societies. Since she graduated, she’d held two positions in LA, the first as a receptionist at a gym and the second as a PA at a packaging company. She’d lasted two months at the first, four months at the second. Brax’s assistants averaged two and a half months. The record was thirteen months—Luisa—and one girl had quit within five hours.

Rhonda had tagged the corner of the résumé with a sticky note.

Well-spoken, uptight, would turn her nose up at a man like you. A possible?

Bless Rhonda’s heart. She knew exactly what he was looking for in an assistant, and she was Team Brax all the way. Loyalty was invaluable, especially in Brax’s unfortunate situation. Every so often, one of Carissa’s stooges slipped through the net, so he had to remain constantly vigilant, watching for any signs of betrayal.

A sigh escaped. How had it come to this?

Because you let your guard down, asshole.

Eight years ago, Brax had gotten distracted and fallen victim to an ambition greater than his own. When he married Carissa Dunn, signing a prenup with a vicious adultery clause hadn’t seemed like such a problem. Just a mere formality. They’d been young and in love, and she’d appeared as eager to make a success of Dunnvale Holdings as he was.

Appearedas eager…

It turned out that Carissa was allergic to latex, costume jewellery, shellfish, and work. Possibly dogs too, although Brax suspected they just didn’t like her very much.

Fast-forward the better part of a decade, and Brax had come to realise that Carissa had one love in life, and it wasn’t him. No, it was money. Shopping came second, and luxury vacations took third place. He wanted a divorce. So did she, but only if she got the lion’s share of the spoils. And therein lay the problem. Clause eight of the prenup said that if one party to the marriage cheated, they were entitled to one million dollars or ten percent of the joint assets, whichever was smaller. Brax hadn’t spent his adult life building an empire just for Carissa to take ninety-nine point eight percent of it.

Mediation had failed, as had couples counselling, so now they were engaged in a game of sexual chicken—no bestiality involved because even he wouldn’t stoop that low—and Carissa had a definite advantage. Her sex drive had never been as high as his, which had been yet another problem in their marriage.

Brax had taken cold showers, swallowed pills, bought every sex toy known to man, and even spent two weeks in a Peruvian monastery, but he was still trapped in his worst nightmare. Some of the most beautiful women in America worked in his clubs, women who were up for anything, and he wasn’t allowed to touch any of them. And if he hired an assistant who was in any way attracted to him, it would be game over. Hell, she didn’t even have to be beautiful. He could just close his eyes and sink into that warm—

A soft knock stopped him from going down that hole.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and all his prayers were answered.

Halle-fucking-lujah.

Because Meera Adams and the woman he’d nearly run over this morning were one and the same person. In truth, he’d been feeling slightly guilty about that—yes, she’d walked out from between two stationary cars, but he probably shouldn’t have been checking his phone behind the wheel, even in a parking lot.

This was perfect.

He wanted to ask her to start right away, but if he made things too easy, that might soften her attitude toward him. So he leaned back in his obscenely expensive swivel chair and studied her. Stared long enough to make her fidget.

Funny, she wasn’t so talkative now.

Meera was slender, with shoulder-length black hair and light brown skin that suggested South Asian heritage. Luckily, Brax preferred blondes. Her features were fine, dainty, but her big brown eyes still held a flash of fire. Good. The ballet flats were another check in the “pros” column. Brax liked his women in heels, the higher the better. At home, Carissa had started wearing Crocs just to spite him, even though they made her feet sweat. No, Meera definitely wasn’t his type. Although somehow, she still managed to appear regal while at the same time looking as if she wanted to vomit onto his Persian rug.

“So, you majored in environmental science? Now I understand the ‘gas-guzzling’ comment. Why aren’t you busy measuring ice in the Arctic?”

She hesitated for a moment. Surprised he hadn’t kicked her out right away?

“I’m actually more interested in ecosystem restoration.”

“From restoring ecosystems to office work—that’s quite a change.”

“There are more jobs available in offices.”

“And yet you only lasted four months in your last position. Why did you quit?”

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