Page 12 of Austin

“Tell him I’ll stop by for another heart-to-heart before I leave for the day.”

Stefanie clutches the portfolio to her chest and looks up over the rim of her glasses. “Actually, he wants to see you … now.”

I shouldn’t be surprised. The guy harasses me seventy-five times a day. I do a great job of ignoring his emails, calls, and texts. Unfortunately, it’s more difficult to avoid him when we work on the same floor.

Running my fingers through my hair, I weigh the odds. If I don’t go, he’ll just march his moody self over here and lecture me for as long as he wants from the comfort of my leather sofa. If I go to him, I can listen and then leave when I feel the conversation is finished.

Going for the latter, I grab my coffee and make my way toward the opposite corner of the building where my dear brother’s office is located. It’s not a coincidence that I chose the office farthest away from him.

I swear, the guy never sleeps. The word workaholic in the dictionary should have his picture next to it. He’s constantly giving me shit that I don’t do my part, which I do. I wish he would open his eyes and see that for a change.

I turn the corner to his office, and—surprise, surprise—the secretary desk is empty. No knickknacks or pictures. Not even a notepad. The glass and metal desk is sitting here with a lone Mac computer and a sad-looking black-and-red Sexton Media pen.

Looks like big brother pissed off yet another assistant.

That’s his third assistant in the eighteen months I’ve worked here. The last one was a hard-core hockey fan named Christine who had a desire for my brother’s—ahem—stick.

Every secretary has fallen head over heels for Bryce Sexton.

They come in here and fall for his good looks and take-charge attitude. One girl used our company holiday party to run up to the microphone of the eight-piece band and publically profess her love for him, only to quit the next day.

The guy isn’t exactly the sweet-talking type. He’s the give you strict orders, and if you don’t follow them, he’ll reprimand you for an hour kinda guy. He isn’t an asshole, but he does act like he carries the world on his shoulders and makes sure everyone around him knows it, too.

Even though his life is one hundred percent work, one hundred percent of the time, women fall for his steel demeanor and want to be the one to crack him open. That’s why he has—on more than one occasion—arrived at the office to a naked secretary on his desk. One of these days, he’s going to get a lawsuit thrown at him.

Bryce’s office is the mirror image of mine in layout, except his is all white walls and glass furniture. He doesn’t have a bar, but I know for a fact that he has a couple bottles of Johnnie Walker Black hidden in his bottom drawer on the right side of his desk.

“I was half-expecting you to avoid me today,” he says without taking his focus off his computer screen.

“If I’m one thing, it’s accountable.”

Bryce looks up at me with those cold dark eyes he inherited from our father and shrugs in agreement. That’s about as much of a compliment as I’ll ever get from him.

I walk over to the conference table and take a seat at one of the swivel chairs; the wheels roll back as I fall into it.

I see him give me his signature look of disagreement—chin down as he glares at me over the rim of his glasses. You can always tell when he’s had a shitty night by the way he can’t get his contacts into his dry eyes the next morning.

Adjusting my tie, I say with a snicker, “I see you’re assistant-less today.”

“New one starts this morning. She’s down in Human Resources, getting an ID card. We need to talk about something important.”

“Please tell me it has something to do with you needing a new assistant because I love to hear when you make a mistake.”

“Funny how you like to make jokes about my sex life when you’ve been with women I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.”

I squint my eyes at him, hating that he knows so much about me, including who I lost my virginity to.

His office phone rings, and he answers without caring that I’m sitting here, waiting for the one-on-one meeting he summoned me here for.

Frustrated he’s putting me off when he demanded I be here, I lean as far back in the chair as it will allow, testing it to see just how low it will go before I fall back.

“Yes, Missy.” He grimaces, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Austin is here. We’ll both be at the meeting,” he sighs into the phone.

When I push further with my feet, the front wheels of the chair lift slightly off the ground.

“We’ll discuss your new plan then.” He’s rubbing his forehead with his thumb and pointer finger, the aggravation palpable.

I don’t know why he entertains her as much as he does. Between me, him, and our younger brother, Tanner, we have an equal share in half of this company—sixteen-point-six-seven percent each, to be exact—while she and Dad share the other half.