Page 48 of Assistant to the Billionaire CEO

“You’re not usually that concerned about your assistant’s feelings.”

“Are you calling me an asshat again?” I asked in a deliberately light tone.

“No…I’m just saying that sometimes, you don’t exactly show that you’re the compassionate human being I know you are, now, do you?” She smiled and shrugged, pulling her bony shoulders up to her ears. “Am I right or am I right?”

“You’re wrong.”

“But you even remembered that replacement’s name, I’m impressed! You’ve been in a slightly better mood lately too. Perhaps that new assistant of yours is changing you.”

“Don’t be silly,” I growled.

“Silly? Me? I’m just saying that you’ve been working way too much ever since your breakup—today not included—and have had your mind on your projects instead of on your employees. When was the last time you made small talk with one of your staff? There’s more to life than barking out orders.”

“Hey, I make plenty of small talk.”

“Yeah, is that before or after you put someone’s nose out of joint?”

“I don’t like beating around the bush. I’m an honest person, and I like honesty in others.”

“I know, but that’s not how society works. People don’t have a clue that you’re a fun-loving guy inside, and not the grouchy jerk you make everyone believe you are. A smile goes a long way.”

Teddy woke up and started crying, ending the conversation.

20

STELLA

Saturday

Isat in front of my laptop while an episode ofMasterChefwas playing in the background. My third attempt at making éclairs was baking in the oven. The key to success was fairly simple: Don’t give up. The sweet smell of vanilla and sugar filled my apartment.

Still, I wished I was elsewhere.

Before I’d started working at Windsor Architects, Saturday was my favorite day of the week. Monday was—surprise surprise—my least favorite. Now, I found myself counting the hours ’til Monday morning. My boss was the “forbidden fruit,” but I found myself longing for his company regardless. It wasn’t just that he turned my body into a living flame, I truly enjoyed conversing with him too. He was inarguably the most intelligent man I’d ever met, and I could listen to him discussing just about anything for hours on end. It wasn’t just a slight infatuation, no, I was in awe of him. His recent “rescue” of me at the reception desk hadn’t helped put a damper on my feelings for him either.

“Ooh. That looks a little burned,” one of theMasterChefpresenters said. I looked up just in time to see the camera pan across a blackened piece of cookie. My stomach rumbled, prompting me to reach for a half-empty packet of Oreo minis on the small coffee table in front of me. I scooped a few of them into my mouth and chuckled.

My kitchen timer’s loud beeping filled the room just as I had settled on watching another episode, and I jumped up off the couch and made my way down the hallway. When I opened the door, I smelled smoke before I could see it.Nonono. A thin cloud of it appeared just under the ceiling as I got closer to the kitchen.

“What the heck!” I rushed toward the oven.

Grabbing my tattered pair of oven mitts from the kitchen counter, I heroically went in after my éclairs. I whipped them out of the oven—but I was too late. They were nothing but unshapely coaly versions of what I’d hoped they’d be. “Oh,crap,” I exclaimed, slamming the tray onto the stovetop.

At least the alarm didn’t go off, so there was progress.

Was the oven broken? Ithadto be.

I turned all the oven’s dials to zero and stomped toward the kitchen window to open it. Smoke rolled out of it like water escaping through a sluice. I guessed I would try again next weekend. My first batch ofunburnedéclairs had better be absolutely heavenly to make up for all of this trouble.

My Miss Marpleringtone interrupted my train of thought.

Ace!

It was him—I could feel it.

Quickly, I withdrew my cell from my jeans’ pocket and unlocked it. My heart sped up. The word “Brother” flashed across my phone’s screen. Okay, nothim.

I swiped left and held it up to my ear. “Hey, big bro.”

---