Filthy Rich (Filthy Rich 1)

I rolled my shoulders, feeling how tense they were. “What’s going on is that she’s brilliant, qualified, and utterly competent. I pay her an exorbitant salary, and I want to keep paying it. I don’t want to lose her. If I have to kick every creepy CEO out of the building in order to keep her, then I will. And if I have to remind my partners—repeatedly—that she’s a professional, then I’ll do that, too.”

“Okay, okay,” Noah said. “We get the idea. Competent, professional, blah blah blah. Just bring her to Chicago, man. I want to meet this paragon in person. I have a feeling that if you talk about her like this, she must be something else.”

I didn’t answer. I let them discuss what was going to happen at the meeting next week, and as I listened, I picked up my phone and opened the text app. The call kept going as I pulled up a number and wrote a message.

Rob and Jared Egerton, I wrote. Give me a report by Monday. The usual fee.

I hesitated slightly before hitting Send, but only slightly. What I was about to do was ruthless, and for a second I wondered if Samantha would approve.

Then I remembered that they’d come to a business meeting and referred to her as the best pussy in New York, and I hit Send.

The reply came back in thirty seconds. Not a problem. Done.

Don’t mess with the Man in Black, I thought, and smiled to myself as I went back to the phone call.

Five

Samantha

* * *

I’d never been a big drinker. Some of the executive assistants I knew drank a lot, and I didn’t blame them—dealing with an asshole CEO all day, every day, could drive anyone to the bottom of a bottle. But I’d always kept my drinking to the occasional glass of wine, because my job was hard enough without trying to do it with a hangover.

Tonight, though, I called my sister and made her come out for drinks with me. I needed to break my rule.

I had to twist Emma’s arm to meet me—not because she didn’t like me, but because she was a workaholic who made a habit of staying in the office until at least nine at night. Executive assistants are driven, and they work long hours—and Emma was no exception. Twelve-hour days were the norm for me in many of the jobs I’d done, though so far Aidan had never made me work an extra-late night or a weekend.

I left the office at six thirty and took the subway uptown to our favorite wine bar on the Upper West Side. It was a tiny sliver of a place, with rich, dark wood furnishings and tasteful lighting. The wine menu was sensational, and for a few hours at least, I planned to fully enjoy it.

Emma walked in ten minutes after I did. She was wearing a jersey dress and boots, her straight, dyed-red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She put her purse on the seat next to her and didn’t even bother to say hi. “Fuck,” she said instead. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I felt myself smiling. Emma was stressed and usually wound up tight, so when she got together with me, she liked to let it all go. It would start with her sailor mouth—which she never, ever let loose on the job—and would get raunchier as the evening went on. It was like she put a lid on herself all day, and only took it off when she was with someone she trusted, like me.

“Good day?” I asked her.

“Fucking fantastic,” Emma said, taking a sip of the glass of wine I’d ordered for her—the place’s best pinot. “Oh, God, that’s good,” she said as she swallowed. “Almost as good as sex. Almost.”

I sipped my own wine. “You’re extra stressed, I can tell. You usually don’t talk about sex until the third glass.”

“What can I say? Running a successful empire isn’t easy.” She took another sip and sat back in her chair, looking at me. In her purse, I heard her phone buzz, and then again, as if she was getting nonstop texts. “What’s up, little sis?” she asked me.

“Do you need to get that?” I asked her.

“If you want me to spend the entire evening on the phone, then sure. Remember Danielle? I’ve sent her on her first assignment.”

I rolled my eyes. Yes, I remembered Danielle—short, pretty, the daughter of rich parents. Smart, but not very confident and incredibly needy. “You’re telling me she actually made the cut? You’re getting soft, Emma. When you first started, you would have put her out on the street after the first interview.”

“She impressed, me,” Emma said, shrugging. “She has gumption. But she also texts me questions a thousand times a day. I’m practically holding her hand through every day at work, and if she does a shitty job, it reflects on me. It’s hard to find good help these days, Sam.”

My sister was the only person in the world who called me Sam. Even our parents always called me Samantha. You just look like a Samantha, my mother had said once. I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, but I decided to take it as one. Aidan called me Samantha, too.

And that brought my thoughts to Aidan again.

“What happened?” Emma said. “You just looked like someone killed your dog.” She blinked, alarmed. “Wait. You didn’t call me here to tell me you screwed up the Aidan Winters job, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.” Not exactly a lie.

“You’re quitting?”