Divine Assistant

be Holden’s mother. But she knew, because her ageless face was identical to the framed picture atop a console in Patrick Holden’s apartment. Her skin was the identical pearly color captured in the photo, her hair the same shade of bright orange-red.

Lucy took a step forward. “Mrs. Holden?”

With the tip of a finger, the woman lowered her huge black sunglasses to the bottom of her nose and peered at Lucy through a pair of dark green eyes. “You’re not Katrina.”

“No,” Lucy said cautiously. “No, I’m not.”

“I asked for Katrina, where is she?”

“Mrs. Holden, I’m afraid Katrina no longer works for Mr. Holden, so he sent me instead. But please don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get everything you need. I’m his new personal assistant, Lucy Divine.”

Eyeing her outstretched hand without taking it, Mrs. Holden hmphed her disgruntlement and said nothing.

“Let me help you with that,” Lucy said politely, saving face by graciously pretending her outstretched hand had been meant for the luggage and smoothly taking the monogrammed suitcase from the woman’s grip.

Mrs. Holden gave Lucy the silent treatment all the way to where Carlos waited with the limousine outside, and during the whole time it took them to reach the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It wasn’t until they rode along Fifth Avenue that the woman sighed in contentment and finally forgave Lucy for not being Katrina.

“I do love the shopping here in New York.”

Lucy felt grateful that she was at least talking to her once again. It wouldn’t have improved her position very much with her boss if his mother happened to hate her. “We’ll go anywhere you like. Why don’t we settle you in first? I’ve reserved a suite for you at one of the finest hotels, one with a view of—”

“Nonsense. I will be staying with my son, of course. Why else would he own a three-bedroom penthouse?”

Lucy cleared her throat. “Mr. Holden believes you will be more comfortable in the privacy of your own suite, Mrs. Holden.”

“Ha! With hotel sheets? They’re probably not even Egyptian cotton. I’m staying with my son, Miss Divine. Now this is why I asked for Katrina.”

“Perhaps this is why Katrina no longer works for Mr. Holden. My instructions were very clear, and—”

“Carlos,” the woman barked. “Please take me to my son’s apartment. This woman doesn’t seem to realize that I never have—and never will—stay at some lousy hotel when visiting my own son. Besides,” she said, turning to eye Lucy, “hotels don’t have anyone that even remotely resembles the grace and hospitality of Mr. Pipsqueak.”

Lucy swallowed her laugh. “You must mean Mr. Pimwick?”

“Yes, my dear, but I call him Pipsqueak, and he likes it very much.”

Fifteen minutes later, Lucy confirmed that indeed Mrs. Holden called the butler Pipsqueak, but he indisputably appeared to hate it.

“Pipsqueak, hello you old devil!” the woman bellowed when she and Lucy entered Patrick’s apartment, Carlos closely following with Mrs. Holden’s LV-monogrammed suitcase.

Poor Mr. Pimwick looked ashen when his eyes landed on the beaming Mrs. Holden.

“Madam,” he said, bowing very stiffly.

“Did you miss me?” the woman taunted saucily, chucking Mr. Pimwick’s chin as she asked.

Lucy watched in fascination as Mr. Pimwick straightened his spine, and with the cool casualness of one whose family members have been butlers for generations, said, “No.”

Then he turned to Lucy, bowed and uttered, “Miss,” before walking away.

On the way to his apartment, Patrick Holden stared blindly out the car window and cursed Aaron Phelps for the sixth consecutive time that day. The man had sent six women to his private office that morning, and they had all equally sucked. Yes, they had dark hair and were decently chubby, but none of them seemed to have even half the brains and elegance Lucy Divine had shown during the past two weeks. And they were all old! Damn it, Patrick wasn’t going to hire a granny—how could they possibly keep up?

Keeping Divine on his payroll, however, was an option Holden was still hesitant to consider. It was extremely uncomfortable to have to conduct business with a hard-on, and that was just what she was causing with those blow-job lips and those perky tits and that tight little ass. Even with the preferred rudimentary outfits, she looked ready for a tumble, and Holden would swear he could smell her—a heady, spicy yet fruity scent—even from a mile away. Just sharing the same air with her in the confines of a car, or any other space for that matter, was testing his nerves to the breaking point. Simply knowing he was wearing a tie that had been carefully selected by her the night before was damned vexing, to say the least.

He was glad his mother was here. This gave him at least another week to find Miss Divine’s replacement without having to look at her tempting body too frequently. But hell, even when he closed his eyes at night, after a long, exhausting day at work, he found her image indelibly marked onto his retinas like a brand.

Of course, he had to admit the woman had not only looks, but a backbone as well. She’d accepted every one of his demeaning, demanding, overbearing orders—meant to send her screaming for cover—with grace.

Well…if you consider the frequent “screw you” looks she didn’t quite manage to smother, maybe not exactly with grace, but at least with some outward civility. Plus, she’d accomplished them all, even the most daring ones. She had even successfully gotten him the Wall Street bull—wouldn’t you know it? That huge, mean bull was now his. Even if Holden did have to sign a contract agreeing not to move it from its current location, it gave him great pleasure just to know he owned it.