I didn’t need a nasty reminder of Maria, however innocent.
I damn sure didn’t need her verbal lashing in my office, even if it was retaliation for the way I dressed her down.
Most of all, I don’t need a pissing contest with a human porcupine working under me.
There’s no room for mistakes right now. Everything about our company and this pitch has to be perfect.
Ross Winthrope doesn’t play around.
He’s always been impressed by Grandma’s class, wisdom, and impeccable designs, yeah, but that’s not the whole game.
I can’t be distracted by references to my backstabbing ex or a sloshed-out wine-guzzling blond who looks like she just stepped off a magazine cover.
That’s what makes this torture.
Not just her shit, but how brutally attractive she looks while flinging it.
If I was as reckless as Nick and as foul as my father, I might have bent her over my desk, hiked up her dress, and shown her exactly who’s in control.
After I’m done with my inner zen of grumbling, I don’t see Pai—Miss Holly—the rest of the day.
Thank fuck.
With the peace and quiet, I’ve almost got the details of the formal bid for Winthrope nailed down. I’m working on tweaking it when my office phone rings.
“Ward Brandt,” I answer.
“I know you’re still at the office,” Grandma says.
I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, how?”
“Security camera. Go home, Ward. It’s past eight o’clock. You can work your life away tomorrow.”
“I’m finishing the bid.”
“The bid will be there tomorrow.” She pauses before saying softly, “I worry about you, Ward.”
What? I worry about her.
She’s in her seventies and running around with a workload and social life meant for a woman half her age.
I’m thirty-two, fit, and healthy.
There’s no reason for her to worry about me. Even if Grandma seems more unbreakable than anyone on the planet, she drives herself too hard.
“You know I appreciate your concern, Grandma, but I’m not twelve years old anymore. I can keep a sleep schedule, thank you,” I tell her.
“Someday you’ll have kids of your own, I hope. You’ll understand then,” she says quietly.
Nah. I’m married to Brandt Ideas and that’s the way it’s staying. The company is more loyal than any woman I’ve been with.
“Maybe so,” I say, keeping her hopes up. “But that’s not today.”
“Go home,” she orders again. “Don’t make me come down there myself.”
Dammit, the worst part is, she would.
“Let me wrap up and I’ll find my way home,” I say with a heavy sigh, pushing the phone back into its cradle.
Lucky for both of us I was about to head out anyhow. Better to let her think she won.
Old people, right?
Downstairs, I climb into the sprawling backseat of the souped-up Lincoln and lay my briefcase on the floor. I stopped bothering with the pomp of having drivers load it up for me years ago.
“Welcome back, Officer Warden!” Reese quips with her usual smart-assery, then smiles at me.
“I’m in a firing mood today,” I warn.
“Aw, learn to take a joke, bossman. They’re finding more benefits with laughter every day, you know.” She flashes me an awkward smile.
“I don’t joke.”
Or laugh, for that matter, I think to myself.
“You ain’t lyin’, tiger.”
No, but I do grin at her bullshit. Sometimes I halfway get how Nick was oblivious to her for well over a month when she started.
She’s fresh-faced, intelligent, and in her early twenties with a nice figure, but Reese could be one of the guys. On the plus side, any man on our staff looking for an easy date knows not to fuck with her, or Nick and I will be there to back her up.
“Have you met Paige yet? I think we’ll like her.” Her cheerful eyes smile at me in the mirror and only deflate after I go a minute without answering. “What? Was it something I said?”
I roll my eyes. How does this insufferable ass-sistant have everyone wrapped around her finger already?
“Count me out of your fawning. She’s a drunken fool, and as soon as Beatrice lets me, I’m firing her.”
“Eww. I’m telling your grandma you called her Beatrice.”
I don’t say anything, just snort.
“Seriously though, what happened? She rubbed you that wrong? She thought it went well today.”
I could go into it, but the less Reese knows, the better.
“I simply don’t think she’s an appropriate fit for the company. She has ample opportunity to prove me wrong,” I say.
“Why?”
I sigh. “She got drunk at the Art Institute and made a scene.”
Reese laughs and flashes a thumbs up. “Good for her! Somebody had to riot. That wine they sell at the café is some high-dollar crap. Ain’t worth it if you can’t get buzzed off fifty bucks.”
Okay. I take it back. Reese can’t be one of the guys unless we’re talking frat boys...or Nick, I guess.
“Who gave you a Mountain Dew IV drip today?” I ask.
“Oh, I get to babysit my niece tonight, so I’ve been slamming it back all evening. How’d you know, boss?”