I smile at the brown-haired man. “Good morning to you.”
I scan the front of his uniform for a nametag, but there isn’t one, so I offer him a hand in greeting. “I’m Maren. I’ll be working at Morgan Sports Management. You already know that from my badge.”
He takes my hand in his. “I was given the heads-up by Mr. Morgan himself. Everyone calls me Ripley.”
“Ripley,” I repeat his name. “I’m early, but what better way to start a new job, right?”
“I’ve been here for five years, and I’m early for every one of my shifts.” He smiles. “I’ll get the elevator for you. I hope you have a memorable first day on the job.”***An hour later, my desk is organized exactly how I like it with the computer on the right and the office phone to my left.
I took a mini-tour of the office and found a break room equipped with two different coffee machines, a microwave, and a mini-fridge. I didn’t bring lunch with me today because I plan on meeting up with Arietta to share a sandwich and an update on how my morning went.
That was her idea, and I quickly jumped on the chance to see a familiar face mid-day.
“How are you settling in?” Everett asks as he steps up to my desk.
I saw him exit the elevator ten minutes ago. He turned in the direction of his office, but tossed me a wave as he talked on his cell. From my limited time with him, I sense he’s a good man who loves his family.
I counted three pictures of his wife and their two kids on his desk when I met with him last week.
“I think I’m settled.” I laugh.
“That will change when Keats shows up.” A chuckle escapes him. “He’ll keep you on your toes.”
Before I have a chance to quiz him further, the elevator doors slide open, and Keats appears.
Today, he’s dressed in black pants, a white button-down shirt, and a gray suit jacket. The shirt is unbuttoned at the collar to give him a relaxed corporate look.
I glance down at the front of my blue dress. The last thing I want is for my boss to catch me staring at him.
“Good morning, good people,” Keats says loudly as he walks past my desk. “It’s a new week. That means it’s a fresh chance to impress me.”
The room erupts in laughter.
“I need to get to work.” Everett slides a hand over his graying hair. “Good luck on your first day, Maren. If you need anything, you know where my office is.”
Keats stops mid-step just as those words leave Everett’s lips. “I’ll give Maren whatever she needs.”
I glance at my boss.
He perks a brow. “Join me in my office, Maren. I’ll give you a quick rundown of what we’re doing today.”
I glide to my feet. Grabbing the tablet I found in the desk drawer, I suck in a deep breath. This is it. I’m about to find out what working for Keats is really like.Chapter 9KeatsI’m fucked.
I asked Ripley to shoot me a text when Maren arrived today. That was an hour ago. I was at home, debating what to wear.
That’s right. I was going through everything that I picked up at the dry cleaner yesterday. I wanted to look good for my new assistant.
The last time that happened was never.
I finally settled on a pair of black pants that make my ass look fantastic. I know that as a fact because I’ve heard the comments behind me as I’ve made my way down the streets of Manhattan wearing these pants.
You can’t go wrong with a white button-down shirt. I noticed Maren eyeing up my forearms the other day, so I’m getting rid of this gray jacket straightaway.
If she wants my muscular arms on display, I’ll gladly give her that.
“Should I sit?”
Her question breaks me out of my lust fog.
I know I shouldn’t want my assistant, but damn that blue shift dress she’s wearing highlights her eyes and other parts of her.
I turn to face her. “Yes.”
She drops into one of the chairs in front of my desk, so I do the same in my worn leather chair.
It’s another inheritance piece from my grandfather.
One of her red nails swipes over the screen of the tablet in her hands. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
Good question.
Every work thought I had was crowded out by my daydreams about Maren.
There’s no way in hell that this is a good idea. I’ve never been attracted to anyone who works for me. That’s not by design. My brain has naturally put up a barrier between work and play.
That’s all fallen to the wayside because I’m feeling a rush of heat run through me as I watch Maren lick her bottom lip.
I drop my gaze to my desk.
Think, Keats. Work. Think about goddamn work.