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“Devereux. I don’t like Dev, either.”

“Who has a name like that and doesn’t shorten it? And you won’t let me give you a nickname?” I didn’t look at her as I spoke, eyes on my computer.

“If you need to shorten it, call me Ro. Dev is trite.” The first few sentences were said in a deadpan tone, but when she got to the Dev is trite line, I could hear the clear amusement in her voice.

My eyes shot to her and widened. God, she tickled me, like every word out of her mouth was designed for my specific entertainment.

Oh, this is going to be fun, I thought with wicked glee.

That was my second inkling that we might have a problem.

I shook it off, forcing myself to be professional.

As professional as a guy could be while wearing nothing but a towel and calming down a hard-on.

“Dair told me you had management experience that qualified you for all of the random duties attached to this job,” I told her, “but that you wanted this job because you wanted to shift fields. What field was your management experience in?”

She blinked at me in a way that seemed to imply she thought I was possibly insane. “You didn’t ask him what the experience was?”

“I didn’t care then. Dair’s a close friend and colleague with a good brain, and I trusted him to make a solid recommendation, but I’m curious now.”

“I helped manage a nursing home.”

I laughed, and laughed, and laughed. When I finally caught my breath, I couldn’t hold in one snarky comment. “Well, that explains your wardrobe.”

I got a glare for that, but it seemed half-hearted to me. She had to know she was a terrible dresser.

As we began to work, I quickly realized that I’d need to rearrange my office. I’d become too accustomed to working alone. “I’ll get a corner in here cleared out for when we need to work together sometime today, but in the meantime, let me show you your office, where you’ll spend most of your time.”

She simply nodded and followed, but I got the distinct feeling that she was actually paying attention, listening to and absorbing what I said.

Taking me seriously.

I was encouraged.

It was a new experience. Usually my assistants were too busy putting on makeup or taking selfies to ever acknowledge that there was a real job to be done. I, of course, took full responsibility for that, as in the past I’d tended to hire women with all of the wrong qualifications, and all of the right measurements.

The second office was directly next to mine. It was smaller, but still large, and its current state was one of mayhem.

“What on earth happened in here?” she asked, sounding more judgmental than worried, which perversely made me happy.

I scratched my chin, looking at the bastard stepchild office. It was stacked floor to ceiling with boxes full of who knew what work crap to the point that I couldn’t even see the furniture that I was fairly certain the room contained. “I don’t really know. I haven’t had an assistant for a while, and I guess this room just got away from me. There are bookshelves, a desk, chair, and a computer in here somewhere. Hell, I’m pretty sure there’s even a sofa and a TV.”

“I won’t need a sofa or a TV,” she said briskly, pulling up the sleeves of her hideous, oversized blazer.

I liked the determination in her eyes. It made me think, before I ever had any evidence, that she might be up to any task she set her mind to.

“Obviously, this needs to be my priority,” she stated in a no-nonsense tone.

“Sounds good to me. I’ll hire some guys to help you move this stuff around.”

She sent me a look of pure affront. “Not necessary. I can move some boxes on my own. You go back to work. I’ve got this. When I finish, we’ll touch base on what I should make my next priority.”

“I’m almost certain that most of those boxes are full of books and very heavy.”

“I’ll handle it,” she said mulishly.

“You’re tiny. I didn’t hire you to do any heavy lifting; I hired you to make phone calls and work on a computer—”