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CHAPTER 2
NATALIE
I’m busily rearranging the files on my desktop when my new grouchy boss strides past my desk and mutters, “Bring the agenda.” I grab the printout and tablet and hustle behind him. His sleek, cold office reminds me of an expensive plastic surgeon’s office.
He gestures for me to sit but takes the seat closest to the door instead of his giant desk. I wonder if it’s a power play, a test, or if he just likes being able to escape quickly.
“Go,” he says, not looking up from his phone.
I read aloud the list of items I've discovered that require further investigation. "There's a double entry for the software license fee," I announce, flipping through my own printout to the section marked with a bright yellow flag. The paper rustles as I turn it, highlighting the irregularities. "I cross-checked the invoice," I continue, "and noticed there's a fifty percent markup over the current market rate. I've already arranged a call with their account manager and have shared the detailed talking points with you."
He stares intently at the paper, his brows furrowed, then shifts his gaze to me, a hint of disbelief in his eyes. "How on earth did you even catch that?"
I offer a nonchalant shrug, a small smile playing on my lips. "I simply read the invoice."
The expression on his face is a fascinating blend of shock and admiration, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he processes my words.
Suddenly, his phone buzzes loudly, vibrating insistently against the wooden surface of his desk. He snatches it up with a swift motion, his voice booming as he barks into the line. With a sharp gesture, he holds up a finger to silence me, signaling that this conversation demands his full attention. As he paces back and forth, his eyes flicker back to me, and I feel something shocking and very unwelcome cut through me. Hunger for my grouchy boss.
The call ends and he sits again, silent, then gestures at the memo packet I prepped. “What’s in there?”
“Background info for the congressional call. Clips of news coverage. The mayor’s likely to bring up the contractor controversy, so I included the relevant statement from last year. And a quick readout on the city’s response to that ransomware attack.”
He flips through the sheets, faster and faster, then tosses them onto the table.
“Plus, I’ve highlighted the three clauses that need legal review. You could sign off now, but if you want less blowback, I’d wait until after the Congressional call.” I keep my voice level, even though I know he’s trying to catch me in some mistake.
He sits back, crosses his arms, and finally smiles. It’s a dangerous smile, the kind you only see on apex predators ready to pounce.
“You’re a lot better than the last PA,” he says.
I ignore the compliment. “I’d like to survive the first week,” I say instead.
He barks a laugh and shakes his head. “Good luck.” He says it like he means it.
* * *
By nine-thirty, I’ve wrangled four more phone calls, fielded a flower delivery intended for the last PA, and written a summary of his meetings that morning. I barely have time to hit the restroom or reapply lipstick before the city council liaison arrives, forty minutes early and radiating terror.
“I’m Natalie Hollister, Mr. McDaid’s personal assistant,” I say, my tone firm yet polite. “He’s currently engaged on a call, but you’re welcome to wait in the conference room. We have fresh coffee and a selection of pastries available.”
The councilman, a haggard figure whose pallor suggests he’s battling his third ulcer this year, opens his mouth to protest. However, I fix him with a pointed gaze that leaves no room for argument. It’s enough to send him retreating, his shoulders slumping slightly as he murmurs, “Thank you, Ms. Hollister,” before scurrying into the chilly conference room.
I’m entering data in the shared drive when I feel a presence behind me. I glance over to find Declan leaning over my shoulder to point at something on the monitor. His arm brushes my own, and for a split second, I’m hyper-aware of the way his chest practically blankets my back.
“Why is there a delay on the perimeter upgrade contract?” he asks, his warm breath brushing against my ear. I don’t let myself shiver but it’s a close call.
“Because the supplier’s customs paperwork isn’t done. I emailed their rep yesterday and copied Trey on the correspondence.”
He studies the screen too closely for comfort. “Trey’s lazy as fuck. CC me next time.”
I glance up, and our eyes meet. His irises are so dark they’re almost black, and they are close enough for me to see the gold flecks at the edge. He doesn’t move away. He isn’t hitting on me; he’s testing for weakness, and when he doesn’t find it, he lingers just long enough to make a point.
He straightens, the heat of his body gone, and says, “You’re good at this.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, not quite able to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. He smirks, like he heard it and approves.
He walks off. I sit there for a moment, letting my pulse slow down.
