Mr. Wexler might not have thought he needed an assistant, but one look at the office he said was mine told me that his agent had a clearer view of things than he did.

I put my hands on my hips and tried to figure out where to start. I’d always been an organized person. Da said it came from me needing to prove my capability for independence. Mam said it was because none of the men in our family had an organized bone in their body and needed us women to keep the business from falling apart.

A familiar twinge went through my heart. Seven siblings, and I was the only one who’d chosen to leave. Mam and Aileen took care of the books while the boys and Da did the heavy lifting and the marketing. The whiskey business had been in Da’s family for generations, and all of us kids knew that Mam’s family had encouraged the match because of it. A part of me still wished I’d been able to find happiness there like my siblings had.

I took a deep breath and set my jaw. This wasn’t the time or place to be thinking maudlin thoughts. I had a job to do.

Trash would be the first to go, I decided. Things that were obvious. Then I’d work through each of the numerous piles of papers and letters one by one, throwing away the junk and separating the rest into categories.

I’d need to get a calendar, work on writing down Mr. Wexler’s schedule, but I needed to sort through the important things first so that I could make sure he didn’t miss anything.

I’d worked as a temp for more than one executive who knew the things they wanted to do but forgot bills that needed to be paid, or their mother-in-law’s birthdays. I didn’t know if Mr. Wexler had a mother-in-law, but I knew there were plenty of other things he could be forgetting, and it was my job to make sure that didn’t happen.

I found a trash can next to the desk and got to work.

I had to admit, when I was told my new boss was a photographer, I was a little worried that he’d be the stereotypical artist. Back home, my one and only sister had dated an artist for six months her freshman year of college. Aileen was fifteen years older than me, so I didn’t remember the guy, but he’d been enough of a bastard that when I was in high school, my entire family had warned me against ever dating an artist. Fortunately, Aileen met Roger a few months later, and they’d been together ever since.

Still, I’d always been wary of finding another Eugene. Artists were moody, often using drugs and alcohol to self-medicate. They slept around. Fickle. Volatile. All words Mam had used to describe Eugene.

So, as I went around the room looking for trash, I prepared myself to find beer cans, empty bottles of hard liquor, bags of drugs, pills.

Except I didn’t find any of that.

A few fast food wrappers had missed the trashcan – probably because it was overflowing – and there were a couple empty bottles labeled with the name of some energy drink, but most of the junk I found was exactly that. Junk. Advertisements, credit card offers, that sort of thing.

As I made a pile of things that needed to be shredded, the phone on the desk rang. I picked it up and reminded myself to speak slowly. “Good morning. Alix Wexler’s studio. Miss McNiven speaking.”

“You managed to get into the studio and he’s letting you answer the phone. Good work.”

I blinked. I could tell it was a woman, but that was about it. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“It’s Jean Holloman, Miss NcNiven.”

“Oh, good morning, Ms. Holloman.” I’d only spoken to her the once when I’d been hired. “If you’ll hold for a moment, I’ll get Mr. Wexler.”

“I didn’t call to talk to him,” she said. Her tone was brusque, but I had the impression that was simply her way. “I wanted to know how you were doing.”

“I’m well,” I said. “I’ve started organizing the office.”

Ms. Holloman barked a laugh. “Good luck with that. Alix doesn’t know shit about organization.”

“It’s a good thing you hired me then,” I said.

“That part’s needed,” she said. “But there’s something more important that I need you to do. It’s why I called you.”

I glanced toward the door. Something in her voice made me wonder if Alix knew about this conversation.

“Alix is rich.”

All right, that wasn’t exactly what I’d been expecting.

“Not like owning a Mercedes and a home in the Hamptons rich, but the sort of rich that could probably maintain the economy of a small country.”

I leaned back against the desk, suddenly light-headed. I’d already thought I would be out of my depth here, but that revelation made it painfully clear. I hoped Ms. Holloman didn’t think I was going to try to–

“The reason I hired you is because I knew you wouldn’t look at Alix and see a meal ticket,” she continued. “In fact, I need you to protect him from people who’d take advantage of him, try to cheat him out of what’s his.”

I nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see me. “Of course.”

“If you think someone’s going to do that, and you don’t think he’ll listen to you, I want you to call me. Will you do that?”

“I will.”

“Good.”

And then the call was done.

My head spun as I shuffled papers on the desk, my hands needing something to do. I’d need to shred even more of these things than I’d thought. I couldn’t risk anyone finding something they could use to steal his identity. I would be his assistant…and his protector.

I walked over to the door of the office and looked out to where Mr. Wexler was staring at one of his photos.

He seemed...intense.

I didn’t know why that particular photo captured his attention, but whatever the reason, he seemed to be caught up in those thoughts. I turned back to the office, knowing I couldn’t spend the day watching him, trying to figure out the type of man he truly was. I supposed I’d find out soon enough.

If he didn’t fire me first.

Which meant I needed to make sure I was invaluable.

So I went back to work.

I realized Mr. Wexler had a strange sort of order to his things. I’d always had a knack for seeing patterns, which sometimes gave me a different insight, and now, it was showing me that he was more organized than I initially gave him credit for. Not that it would appear that way to someone who couldn’t find the order under the chaos. Since my new job was to keep things in order, I decided to make my own filing system, but first I needed to clear out a few items laying around the office before lunch.

I picked up the various lens and parts, putting them all into a now empty box, then took a deep breath. As I stepped into the studio, the first thing I noticed was the lighting had changed, but it wasn’t because it was now early afternoon.

He was working.

He had an entire set up of lighting equipment with names I didn’t know and was moving around the pile of pillows at their center. His back was to me, but I could read the intensity coming off him in waves. I couldn’t even imagine being the focus of that sort of intensity, that...passion.

I couldn’t imagine having that sort of passion.

If my time at the temp agency had taught me anything, it was that a difference existed between a job I didn’t mind doing and one about which I was passionate. I’d seen that sort of purpose with my brothers for the family business, but I’d yet to have found my own.

As Mr. Wexler stepped to the side, I saw the subject of his focus.

An absolutely gorgeous woman.

Who was wearing very little.

Apparently, landscapes weren’t the only thing in which he was interested.