The Contract (The Contract 1)

I yanked on my cowlick in apprehension, and downed the scotch in one swallow. I had hoped to get an answer from her right away; however, it became apparent I wasn’t going to get it. So now, Miss Elliott, the woman I disliked, and from all accounts, felt the same way about me, held my future in her hands. It was an odd feeling.

I didn’t like it.

I sank into the cushion of the sofa as my head fell back, my mind drifting. My phone beeping startled me, and I realized I’d nodded off. I picked up the phone, glancing at the two words on the screen.

I accept.

With a smirk, I tossed my phone on the table.

My plan was full steam ahead.RICHARD

THE NEXT MORNING, WE BOTH acted as if nothing was different. Miss Elliott brought in my coffee and bagel, carefully placing them on my desk. She went over my schedule, confirming two meetings I had outside the office.

“I won’t be back this afternoon.”

She looked puzzled, checking her notebook. “You don’t have anything in your schedule.”

“I made the appointment myself. Personal business. I’ll go straight to my two o’clock afterward. In fact, I won’t be back this afternoon. Take the time off.”

“Pardon me?”

I sighed. “Miss Elliott, can you not understand English? Take the afternoon off.”

“But . . .”

I pinned her with a glare. “Take the afternoon off.” I lowered my voice. “My place at seven, okay?”

“Okay,” she breathed out.

“If you need anything—business related—text me. Otherwise, it needs to wait.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

It was common knowledge Anderson Inc. monitored emails. Not one to take chances, I had my own cellphone, to which only a select few had the number. I knew there was no point asking Miss Elliott if she had one, as money seemed limited. I planned to rectify that today, along with my other errands. I didn’t want to take the chance David had texts and calls monitored, as well.

“You can go.” I dismissed her.

She hesitated before withdrawing an envelope from her thick notepad, and placed it on the desk. She left without a word, closing the door behind her. I took a bite of my bagel, then reached for the envelope and opened it, removing the folded papers. It was a list about her. Things she thought I should know: pertinent dates, her favorite colors, music, foods, general likes and dislikes.

It was a good idea. It would save some monotonous conversation tonight. I would write up one for her, later.

I refolded the list and slid it into my jacket pocket. I’d be sitting in waiting rooms on and off all day—it would give me something to keep me busy.Miss Elliott was punctual, arriving at seven o’clock. I opened my door, letting her enter, took her coat, and hung it up—the whole time silent. There was such stiffness, a formality to our interactions, which I knew had to change. Problem was, I didn’t know how to make it happen.

I escorted her to the counter by the kitchen and handed her a glass of wine. “I ordered Chinese.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Believe me, you don’t want me cooking. You wouldn’t survive.” I chuckled. “I’m not sure the kitchen would survive.”

“I like to cook,” she offered, a small smile curling her lips.

That was as good a place to start as any. I sat down, dragging a file toward me. “I had a contract drawn up this afternoon. You should read it.”

“Okay.”

“I made you a list, much like yours. You can go over it and we need to talk about what’s on it. Make sure we’re both comfortable with the facts.”

She nodded and took the proffered envelope.

I pushed another smaller one toward her. “Your first payment.”

She waited, her fingers not touching the innocent-looking envelope.

“Take it. It’s all documented.”

Still, she didn’t touch it.

“Miss Elliott, unless you take it, we can’t go forward.”

She looked at me, frowning.

I nudged the envelope. “It’s a job, Katharine. This is your compensation. Simple. Take it.”

Finally, she picked it up, not even looking at it.

“I want you to resign tomorrow. Effective immediately.”

“Why?”

“If this happens, and I think it will, I’ll give my notice fast. I want you out of there before the shit hits the fan.”

She worried the inside of her cheek, jittery and silent.

“What?” I snapped, getting impatient with her demeanor.

“What if it doesn’t work? Will you . . . will you give me a letter of reference? I’ll have to get another job.”

“I’ve got that covered. I spoke with some contacts, just in general, and if this doesn’t work, and I leave Victoria, I have two companies I know will offer you a job. You won’t have to worry about looking, if you don’t want. In answer to your question, though, I will give you a glowing letter of recommendation.”

“Even though you think I’m a lousy assistant?”

“I’ve never said you were a lousy assistant. You are, in fact, good at your job.”