Emily: Sex and Sensibility (The Wilde Sisters 1)

“Lots.”

“For instance?”

“Well, what are my responsibilities? Who works with me? Do I report directly to you?”

“Good questions. Let me answer them one at a time. You report only to me. You work only with me, although there are times various of my managers will work with you—or perhaps I should say, through you. You will be their conduit to me.”

Emily looked at him. “I bet they won’t like that.”

“Some won’t because you are new to them. It will be part of your job to convince them that they’ll be better served following the protocol I’ve set up. As for your responsibilities… they will be far reaching. You’ll take notes. Organize them. Read reports and break them down to ten pages instead of a hundred. You’ll attend meetings with me. Be my eyes and ears during the kinds of events where everyone is intent on pleasing the boss and hiding the truth.”

She sat back. “You expect a lot.”

“I expect my one hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth.”

His expression gave nothing away. She could only hope hers didn’t, either.

“And how do you know I can do all these things adequately?”

“I don’t. I’m taking a gamble on it, cara.” The muscle in his jaw flickered. “That is one of the things I am good at. It is one of the reasons I am where I am today.”

Emily sat up a little straighter. “And if your guess is wrong?”

He shrugged. She thought of a big cat out on the veld, acknowledging the remote possibility that it might have misjudged the fleetness of a gazelle.

“If I am, then we end our relationship at the six-month mark.”

“Six months to prove myself,” she said softly.

“Six months to prove we were made to be together,” he said, even more softly.

She wanted to look away from him. She couldn’t. She did the next best thing and took the conversation in a direction that would clarify what they were talking about.

“Did your other assistants all live up to the standards you set?”

“One, years ago.”

“Oh.”

His lips curved in amusement.

“Her name was Beatrice. She was sixty-five, a grandmother who decided her granddaughter needed her more than I did.”

“Oh,” she said again, and felt her pulse blip.

“I’ve had assistants with management degrees, advanced degrees, complex office experience, everything that looks good on a résumé.”

“And?”

“And, they didn’t work out.” He hesitated. For the first time since she’d met him, he looked… uncomfortable. “Some of them seemed to imply that I am…difficult.”

“No.”

“Yes. It has been suggested to me that…” His eyes narrowed. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Would I do that to my boss?”

His gaze moved over her face. She was definitely laughing at him. When was the last time someone had done that? People did not laugh at him. For the most part, they didn’t even laugh with him unless they were very, very sure it was what he wanted them to do.