"I usually eat from the cafe in the lobby," I say. "Go ahead and call Britney, the lobby receptionist. She'll place my usual order and anything you want."

  Her sculpted brows furrow at my request, creating a wrinkle over her forehead that shouldn't be as adorable as I find it to be. "Why would I call Britney for that?"

  "Force of habit," I mumble with a wave of my hand, pretending it's enough to fan the lousy habit away. "She was my previous long-term assistant."

  Granted, she was more than that, but I don't need to disclose that information to a potential new hire—no matter how attractive I find her.

  She straightens her posture before pinning me with a hardened stare that sends a rush through my veins. For someone who looks so innocent—angelic, even—she wears jealousy well.

  Too damn well, if I have anything to say about it.

  "I see. Is there anything else you need?" she asks.

  "I need your personal number in case there's an emergency." I smirk, enjoying the heat that flickers behind her eyes.

  Do I really need her personal number for an emergency? Yes, of course.

  Am I also teasing her? Ab-so-lutely.

  "I texted your personal and work phone this morning before I arrived," she says with a polite smile. While it's not the same smile she gave me when she walked in, it still does something for me.

  Clicking my tongue against my teeth, I tap the screen of my phone to see several unopened text messages. "So it seems you did. I apologize, I haven't had a moment to check my correspondences this morning."

  Because I was too busy reading your resume multiple times.

  Not that I plan on sharing that tidbit of information.

  "You're a busy woman," she says, glancing between me and my phone. "I'll get out of your hair. Let me know if you need me—my help."

  I don't miss her verbal stumble, nor how breathily it came out.

  Rapid whooshes pulse in my ear. Her cheeks stain a bright shade of red at the realization of what she just said. It seems my bunny isn't as innocent as she looks, and fuck, I can't deny that part of me enjoys hearing the word need from her lips. "I'll do that, Nicolette." I nod as a formal dismissal, hoping that she takes the hint before I end up distracting myself further than intended with her.

  She turns quickly, her eyes glued to the to-do list as she walks out of my office. The door closes with a sharp snick, trapping me with the same faint scent of honey and lavender.

  Chapter five

  I just propositioned my boss. My extremely hot-in-a-pantsuit boss.

  On accident.

  I slump into my chair with the intent to fight off the prickles of embarrassment that are currently staining my cheeks. It's not like I meant for my words to come out so breathily, they just came out on an exhale. At least, that's what I'm going to say if I need to defend myself.

  Gathering what's left of my pride from the bottom of the dumpster fire I created for myself, I reach for the office phone and dial the lobby extension to place Anastasia's lunch order with Britney.

  The line rings three times before an unfamiliar, chipper voice answers, "Cupid Multimedia, this is Britney speaking. How may I direct your call?"

  Huh. This doesn't sound like the same woman I spoke with yesterday. No, this woman sounds professional. Like she loves her job. "Good morning, Britney. This is Nicolette. I'm just calling to get Ms. Graves' lunch order."

  "Oh, it's you," she drawls, effectively dropping her customer service act. "Does she need me to place her usual order?"

  A sliver of envy tangles a thorny vine around my chest, burrowing itself deeper than it should from the smugness behind her words. I doubt Anastasia needs anything from this woman, but the implication still bothers me.

  I scrunch my nose and bat away the unprofessional thought. "I can handle it. I just need to know what her usual order is."

  "It's no problem," she whispers, as if she's doing me a favor by keeping quiet. "I know Anastasia had you call me to put the order in. She always does with the temp hires."

  "Great." I over-enunciate the word, unwilling to waste time arguing over a simple lunch order. It's not that serious, even if it's my job to know these things. I'll figure it out after today and then I won't have to go through her again. "If you could double the order, I'll pick it up from the cafe before noon."

  The line falls quiet before the phone shifts over the speaker. "It'll be delivered right to Ana," she clips.

  "It's really no—"

  "Consider it a first-day pass," she interrupts. God, I hate being interrupted. "Remember, us assistants have to help each other out."

  Regrettably, I do remember her mentioning that as I left yesterday. Not that I agreed to it. Something about her is off, but she can't be that bad—she works for Cupid, after all.

  I open my mouth to thank her, but the call disconnects before I have the chance. Rolling my eyes, I hang up the office line and return my attention back to Anastasia's to-do list.

  Send Nicolette Richter's employment and payroll documents to Dawn for HR.

  Email Lillian's Floral confirming Valentine's Day arrangements.

  Order printer ink and toner.

  Schedule appointments with Carmichael and Olsen at their earliest convenience.

  Sort through emails and mark individual importance.

  Pick up dry-cleaning before 5:00 p.m.

  Sign for deliveries as needed.

  Seven tasks? Too easy. Propping open my laptop, I adjust the screen and open a browser tab to send Dawn an email with my documents—only to see the page refusing to load since it's not connected to the internet. Anxiety drops low in my stomach like a brick; I don't know the password and now I have to ask Anastasia for it after embarrassing myself. Shit. So much for doing everything easily.

  Shuffling awkwardly from behind the maze of cubicles, Dawn huffs breathlessly, "Oh, thank God you're already here. I forgot to send you the company login information yesterday. With all of the excitement, it slipped my mind and now I'm choosing to blame my forgetfulness on having baby brain." Her words are choppy as she catches her breath, but I manage to make sense of most of it.

  What the hell is baby brain?

  I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the snort that desperately wants to escape as I picture a grown adult with a baby for a brain. "You have impeccable timing. I was working up the courage to ask Ms. Graves for the login," I admit.

  Dawn snorts. "Ana isn't that scary." And yet the way she says it makes me think that Anastasia Graves is, in fact, that scary.

  Lifting my hand, I inch my thumb and index finger apart and give her a look of disbelief. "She is a little intimidating."

  A playful smile pulls at her lips before she warns, "Don't let her hear you say that, it will absolutely go to her head. But, between you and me, Anastasia's bark is far worse than her bite. You'll get used to it."

  "Will I?" I ask as I raise my brow. Maybe I'm searching for confirmation that I have a fair shot at staying with Cupid, or perhaps I'm fishing for compliments. Either way, I could use a boost this morning.

  "I have a good feeling about you. I expect to see you here when I return from maternity leave," she says confidently. Her words do exactly as I hoped, giving me both confirmation and petting my ego. I can't explain it, but having Dawn's approval feels like something that is coveted around here. "Just do the work, stay late when needed, and stand your ground when you need to."

  I nod in agreement. She's right. I made it this far, now I just have to handle business as usual and show Anastasia that I am not too good to be true. That I'm a woman of my word. "Speaking of work, I should probably get started on that." I laugh.

  "That's the spirit," she cheers. "Let me waddle down to the front desk, and I'll send everything you need to your personal email." Turning on her heel, she disappears through the now busy office.

  It takes a moment, but my phone finally chimes with an email notification from Dawn as promised, containing all of my company login information and the Wi-Fi password. I straighten against my seat before typing in the password for the Wi-Fi, displeased to see the connection isn't a full four bars. Shaking my head, I follow the email's directions for Cupid's employee portal and assign myself a designated username before the engine spits out my new email address: richternicolettepa@cupidmm.com. I follow the remainder of the instructions down to the letter, ensuring I have everything right. The last thing I need is for Anastasia to doubt my abilities more than she already does.

  As I skim over the screen, a notification pops up in the corner, alerting me that someone in the office has opened a workplace instant chat with me.

  GravesAnastasia: Welcome to Cupid, Nicolette.

  My fingers twitch with the urge to respond, but I refrain. It's probably just an automatic chat for all new hires, anyway. Blowing out a sharp breath, I close out of the chat bubble before opening the portal email tab. Hundreds of unread emails CC'd from Anastasia sit ready for me to organize. Ignoring the emails, I start a new one, typing Dawn's name into the contacts until her company email auto-fills itself. I attach my employment documents and type out a summary, as I've always done before clicking send.

  One task down, six more to go.

  Lillian's Floral is next on the list and is easily accessed through the email search feature. The sound of the morning rush blends in with the gentle clicking of my keyboard as I write a prompt introduction to Lillian, the seemingly lovely florist per her previous correspondence with Anastasia. Before pressing send, I ask for confirmation on this year's Valentine's Day order. From what I saw, Anastasia put an amazing amount of effort into her request, asking for a few beautiful decorative pieces for the main reception desks, several dozen roses—one for each employee—and multiple bouquets for couples who found success with Cupid the last four Valentine's Days in celebration of their anniversary.

  That is so sweet of her.

  Another chat notification chimes from my computer, dragging my attention to the bottom of my screen.

  GravesAnastasia: It's not very sweet of you to ignore your boss, bunny.

  Bunny? Heat prickles at my cheeks as I slump forward, resting my head on the ledge of my desk. My heart skips out of rhythm as my imagination kicks into overdrive, picturing Anastasia staring at me with her teasing smirk when I ran out of her office earlier.

  Lifting my head, I type out the only professional response I can think of.

  RichterNicolettePA: It won't happen again, Ms. Graves.

  GravesAnastasia: See to it that it doesn't.

  RichterNicolettePA: Yes, ma'am.

  I look over my shoulder and chance a peek through the window to see Anastasia reclined at her desk, her teasing smirk on display as if she heard my thoughts.

  Quickly, I snap my head back as if she caught me doing something I shouldn't be. Standing, I push my chair back harsher than necessary before walking away to find someone who knows where the hell I'm supposed to order toner and ink from.

  Chapter six

  Yes, ma'am.

  Fuck. I'm not old enough to be called ma'am by anyone, but I would make an exception for her. I wonder how dark her cheeks would flush if I asked her to address me as ma'am to my face—how shy she would be while she said it on her knees for me.

  I smirk at the salacious thoughts swirling in my head and recline against my chair. Not even a breath later, she peeks over her shoulder, catching me staring through the window. Her cheeks burn a delicious shade of pink before she whips her head back around and clumsily abandons her desk.

  "Running away so soon, bunny?" I mumble to myself.

  With my smirk still in place, I turn my attention back to my computer and type my next client a reminder email for our meeting today. Cameron Sullivan. Country popstar and dating enigma. The press has been hounding this poor woman for years about her love life and she hasn't given them a dime to work with. Since joining Cupid, I've maintained contact with her in hopes of finding her perfect match before Valentine's Day.

  I suppose even musicians get lonely during the holiday. Though, for what she's paying me—I'll be damned if I don't provide exactly what she wants.

  Clicking send, the reminder email finds its way into the sent folder. I lose track of time as I busily work on the projects I set aside this morning while I stared my assistant. Everyone with an A-list movie and top ten song is rushing to Cupid to find their true love. While it's great for business, it is time-consuming for me. The number of employees I can trust with high-profile cases such as these is limited down to me, myself, and I.

  A firm knocking drags me from my momentary reprieve, forcing me to slip my feet back into my heels. "I come in peace," Britney says softly as she struts into my office with two containers in hand. Her short, brunette strands swish stiffly as she seats herself over the ledge of my desk, like she belongs there. "I saw your order at the cafe and decided to bring it up."

  "Nicolette was supposed to grab it," I stiffen.

  Where the hell is she?

  "I saw her leave about thirty minutes ago," she hums, setting the containers beside her. "Maybe she decided she isn't cut out to be your assistant."

  I roll my eyes as I grab a container and the plastic fork on top of it. Jealousy has never suited her before, and it sure doesn't now. "I sincerely doubt that, Ms. Marshall," I say.

  Her upper lip lifts crookedly at my use of her last name, knowing that I use it to keep my distance from her. "It wouldn't be the first time. Besides, I don't think Nicolette can handle Cupid," she snarks.

  "Why do you say that?" I ask.

  "I've heard rumors about her. You made Cupid what it is and I would hate to see your hard work ruined by an assistant who can't live up to the pressure." Her amber gaze meets mine, softening with each passing second as if she pities me.

  Clenching my jaw, I drop my fork, no longer interested in eating. I don't care for rumors or her preconceived notions of Nicolette. If anyone is going to pass judgment around here, it'll be me during Nicolette's trial review. "If you think I am incapable of hiring quality employees, then you should just say so," I say.

  "You know that's not what I meant," she chides playfully as she bats her lashes in faux innocence.

  Once upon a time, I may have found the action attractive, but I've since learned my lesson with her. "Brit—"

  Breathless pants from the threshold of my door cut me off. "I'm so sorry I'm late. I picked up your dry-cleaning…" Nicolette's words taper off as she takes in the scene in my office. I would find her comically wide eyes hysterical if this scenario didn't reflect unprofessionalism with Britney sitting on top of my desk.

  "Excuse you," Britney clips, irritation bleeding through each word. "Don't you know it's rude to barge into someone's office?"

  "I-I'm sorry," Nicolette stutters, her pink, wind-kissed cheeks darkening. "I'll just put your clothing at my desk, Ms. Graves."

  I hold up my hand, prompting her to stay where she's standing. There is only one person in this building that is allowed to reprimand my assistant, and it sure as hell isn't Britney. "Ms. Marshall was just leaving."

  Britney's head whips in my direction, her lip lifting into a familiar snarl. "We were in the middle of a conversation," she whines.

  "And that conversation is over." I narrow my eyes at her, conveying just how serious I am about her leaving.

  She rolls her eyes as she slides from my desk. The back of her skirt lifts in the process, revealing a glimpse of her bare flesh. I avert my stare and meet Nicolette's instead; passing a silent apology that I hope she accepts. Without another word, Britney storms from my office, slamming the door behind her.

  Nicolette breaks the silence by holding out the four suits covered by a protective plastic film. "Your dry-cleaning, Ms. Graves."

  "You can hang them behind my door." I point where the hook sits on my door before focusing on my lunch, now that my appetite has returned.

  Her footsteps shuffle away from my desk as she speaks, "I am sorry for being late. I didn't realize I had been gone for so long."

  Clicking my tongue against my teeth, I consider Britney's warning. Sure, she was acting like a jealous ex, but she wasn't wrong about previous assistants not being able to handle the pressure. "Are you sure you can handle the pressure here, Miss Richter?" I ask.

  The sickly feeling of regret pools in my chest immediately as she rears back, eyes wide as if I slapped her. Before I can find the words for an appropriate apology, she opens the door, stomps to her desk, then comes back into my office.

  "Your to-do list, Ms. Graves," she snaps as she smacks the paper over my desk—each task crossed out. "Your dry-cleaning needed an early pick-up because Mr. and Mrs. Worth are taking a sweetheart vacation for Valentine's Day. Lillian is quite excited about this year's floral arrangement, which includes your request for deep red and off-white florals for everything. Carmichael and Olsen both have availability on the twenty-first at ten 'o'clock. I ordered ink and toner for the month; it's cheaper in bulk. I've sorted your emails by project importance and—"

  I sit both bewildered and impressed that the woman speaking right now is the same one who has blushed at nearly every interaction while stumbling over her words awkwardly. Nicolette Richter is a force to be reckoned with when her integrity is questioned.

  God, that is so hot.

  Continuing, she spits. "Dawn has my employment paperwork. I made sure that was the very first task I completed today. Two of three deliveries arrived; the third delivery is rescheduled for tomorrow." Her face is set like stone, with not a trace of regret to be found. Instead, there's a glimmer of pride swirling in her eye.

  "I am impressed," I admit. More than impressed, I'm insanely turned on. I haven't had anyone, let alone a woman as gorgeous as Nicolette, put me in my place like this before. "And, I apologize. It was not fair of me to question your work ethic."

  "Thank you." She sighs as her shoulders relax. "I meant what I said during my interview, Ms. Graves. Cupid has been my dream. I want to be here more than anything, but I won't stay at a job that doesn't respect me enough to give me a fair chance."

 

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