“Because he told me to do it. He doesn’t want any red flags to go up on the Johnson deal before we zero in on whether there’s an anomaly here. He wants to make sure there’s not an embezzlement situation going on.”
“Oh. Then, should I be working on it?”
“Probably not. But what’s the worst that can happen? He might just bend you over and spank you.”
She playfully slapped her. “You are so bad! But seriously, I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“I won’t. I’ll tell him straight out that I brought in another employee as an extra set of eyes. I’ll email him now.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
They spent the next forty-five minutes working and crunching numbers and working on files. Paige’s stomach rumbled, and she looked down at the time. “I’m going to head down to the lobby and get the pizza. I’ll be right back.”
“Great. I owe you one. Margaritas are on me next Tuesday.”
“Tuesday is ninety-nine cent margarita night, big spender,” Paige laughed.
They ate in the break room, dishing about the latest This Is Us episode. Then they got back to the grind.
“I didn’t get a pop in the breakroom because I’m trying to cut down on sugar. I think I need a drink first,” Paige said. “Where’s the water cooler on this floor? I didn’t see it. Is it platinum or something because the CEO’s on this level?”
“No water cooler. We have a wine fridge outside Conference Room 3 full of bottled water for staff on this floor.”
Her eyes widened. “Oooh, will I get tasered by security if I take one? I don’t work this high up.”
She laughed. “It’s okay. Go for it. Grab me one, too. I’ll print the worksheets. You get first pick of highlighters.”
“Pink for me!”
Paige went down the hall, admiring the artwork. She was pretty sure that was an original Jackson Pollack by the first conference room. The color and texture were amazing. She made her way to the glass-fronted refrigerator stocked with designer spring water. She took two bottles, totally planning to save the bottle and refill it with tap water every day just to look fancy. As she shut the door on the fridge, she heard a voice on the otherwise deserted floor. A man’s voice, specifically the sexy voice of an angry man.
“That’s what I need, a fake wife!” he said.
She hesitated, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, but he wasn’t exactly being quiet and discreet. He’d left the conference room door open. She could see the face on the big screen on the wall with his Skype call—some man she didn’t recognize wearing a designer suit that cost more than her rent.
“I don’t reckon anyone would believe you’d put a ring on it with the latest Victoria’s Secret Angel you’re dating.”
“I’m not dating anyone exclusively,” the sexy voice growled.
“You never are, mate,” the man on the Skype screen laughed, “which is half the trouble. They’d have a deal more confidence in you if you stayed with anyone more than a fortnight.”
“That’s my personal life, which has nothing to do with my ability to helm this company.”
“I agree with you there, but the board of directors does not.”
“I know. Nothing more than a gaggle of men in Brooks Brothers suits gossiping like a load of matchmaking grannies, if you ask me. Fucking go play golf and stay out of my private life.”
“I’d suggest a more diplomatic tone when you address the board meeting,” the face on the screen warned, “Luke, they’re not budging on this one. You need an image makeover. As your publicist and your friend, I’d be remiss to tell you otherwise. I can only play the ‘most eligible bachelor’ card for so long before everyone notices you’re an absolute scoundrel.”
“That is the most archaic word. To think in this day and age, I still have to face the puritanical condemnation of a man’s right to sexual agency...”
“If you start talking about men’s rights, I’m hanging up, Luke. You’re in charge of billions of dollars’ worth of business. Your board and your future clients would be reassured by a less adventurous lifestyle. No one is condemning you; we’re simply saying it’s perhaps time that you became an adult.”
“I am an adult. I’m thirty-eight years old, but I seem to have stayed out past my curfew from the way I’m treated. What I need is an actress—someone to play the part of my wife. I would pay an absolute fortune to get some wholesome looking woman to pose for pictures, spend my money and give me the respectable appearance I need to get the board off my ass.”
“That’s risky. You’d need a confidentiality agreement. Or, alternatively, you might consider actually settling down with a woman.”
“Magnus, you’re hilarious. But I don’t pay you for stupid ideas like that. You’re the number one publicist in the world for a reason. I want you to find me a faux fiancée. And I’ll pay her a million dollars for the role.”