Page 21 of P.S. I Dare You

“We had a little … incident yesterday,” I chime in. My father is the King of Contract Clauses, and this poor girl is about to get raked over the coals if she so much as thinks about breaching whatever bullshit arrangement she agreed to.

I can’t let that happen.

I’m heartless, but I’m not that heartless.

The girl twists around, her full lips forming a quick ‘o’, and then I watch as she swallows hard.

“But everything’s fine,” I say. “Isn’t it, Ms. Keane?”

I don’t this woman from Adam and I don’t owe her a damn thing, but that won’t stop me from ensuring my billionaire father doesn’t take advantage of her.

“Oh.” He lifts a brow. “The two of you have already met?”

“Not formally.” I step toward her, right hand extended. “Calder Welles.”

I leave out “Junior” or “the Second.” And I sure as hell don’t introduce myself as “C.J.”

She meets my handshake with obvious reluctance, her sharp stare piercing mine. “Aerin Keane.”

Our hands linger for a few beats longer than necessary, but she jerks hers away the second I offer a smirk.

She hates me, which is fine. It’s actually kind of cute. I don’t know any women who’ve actually hated me before I fucked them.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Keane, but I can’t let you out of your contract that easily.” My father’s tone is gentle, but his intent is razor-sharp. “It would take an act of God. Literally. I strongly advise that you read the fine print.”

“Surely you could if you wanted to,” I interject. “You had the contract drawn up, I’m sure you could void it.”

My father struts across the room toward me, hooking his hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze as he laughs.

“My son, you’ve much to learn,” he says. “Rule number one if you want to be successful? Be a man of your word. Honor all agreements, big and small.”

Aerin’s eyes rest on mine.

Or dare I say … plead with mine?

“I’m sure whatever happened between the two of you can be worked out. We’re all adults here, all professionals,” my father says, reaching for his Evian again. “Aerin is one of the best, and she’s only with us for the next twenty-nine days. I wanted someone in place during the transition. After that, you’re free to use Marta or hire someone of your choosing.”

Ah. She’s a temp.

“I respectfully disagree. If Ms. Keane would like to quit, we should allow her to go. And we shouldn’t let the door hit her on the way out.” I flash her a look I know will piss her off—but only because she wants to hate me and I’m standing here like her own personal knight in shining armor. “I’m sure you can find another temp. There are agencies all over the city.”

“You don’t understand,” my father says. “She’s one of the best. You should see her resume. Hell, her letters of recommendation could fill a binder.”

She sounds like someone who takes her job—and herself—way too seriously.

“While that’s very commendable, I still don’t see why we should force her hand,” I say. “It’s just a piece of paper that could easily be shredded.”

I watch my father, waiting to see if he catches what I’m really saying, but instead he clears his throat and rises on his toes.

“I’m sorry, C.J.,” he says. “I think Ms. Keane will be a huge asset during our transition. I’m standing by the contract and that’s that.”

He walks away, turning his back on the both of us, and I give her a shrug.

I tried.

And it’s just twenty-nine days.

I’ll have to ensure we have as little contact as possible and then send her on her way. It’s the best I can do since the King of Contract Clauses feels it necessary to also retain his Lord Douche Bag title.

The biggest challenge I foresee with the two of us working together has nothing to do with productivity and everything to do with me trying to keep my mind out of the gutter.

“Ms. Keane, were you able to get set up in your office yesterday?” My father switches gears. Aerin nods. “If you’re all finished here, I’ll send you that way.”

She looks to me, then to him, and then turns on her heel. A moment later she’s gone, the double doors swinging behind her, and my father is ripping her resignation in half.

“Whatever happened, you need to make it right,” he says to me, taking a seat in his king-sized leather chair. “I don’t want to know the details. I just want to ensure Legal’s not going to be getting involved.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not quite grasping what’s so special about this woman? Surely there are a thousand more where she came from?”

He shakes the mouse to his computer, squinting at the screen. “It’s up to you if you want the shiny Rolls Royce of personal assistants, C.J. … or if you’re happy with the rusted Plymouth. Trust me when I tell you a good assistant is worth her weight in diamonds.”

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