I stare down at the file folders that Georgia has dropped — literally — in my lap. “What the hell is this?”

“The shipping reports,” she mumbles, her words forming around the cough drop she always seems to be sucking on. “Just like you requested.”

I scrub my hands over my face to avoid yelling at her. “I already reviewed the shipping reports,” I say slowly. “I asked to see the vendor contracts from last month. Legal was supposed to be prepping them.”

She swallows. Her throat bobs so noticeably that I’m pretty sure she just sucked down that whole lozenge. For a second, I wonder if she’s actually going to cry. Christ. That’s all I need. Another woman tearing up in my office. I’ve had enough of those this year.

I’ve tried not to be too hard on Georgia these past couple of weeks. Really. After all, this isn’t her real job, nor is it the job she was hired to do. I’m sure she’s fine in HR, where she normally works. Hell, she must be an all-star, because her manager, Christine, had recommended her to pinch hit while I searched for a new personal assistant.

And when I first met Georgia, I had to agree with Christine. I really thought she’d be perfect for the job. She’s very unlike the women I normally hire, who are, admittedly, the young and eager type, happy to climb the corporate ladder any way they can — including horizontally, if you know what I mean. Georgia, on the other hand, is old-school. She’s probably in her late forties, but her short permed hair and dowdy clothes make her look much older. My first impression of her was that she was a no-nonsense ball-buster. And what the hell — no one else has been able to hack it up here. I was willing to try something different.

And look where that got me. In just three weeks, I’ve reduced Georgia to a fumbling, trembling cough-drop addict. Go me, I guess.

Georgia draws another cough drop from the pocket of her boucle blazer — which is about three sizes too big for her — and pulls at the wrapper. Not quite unwrapping it, but twisting it nervously, just enough to be irritating. She stares down at the folders, as if she can’t quite figure out how she managed to screw this up.

“I’m sorry.” Her words come out in a wavering whisper. I can tell she’s terrified that I’m going to fire her, and with good reason. I’ve gone through ten assistants in the last year. Ten. I hadn’t realized it was quite that many, until Christine pointed it out to me. Ten women have stood in this office, just like Georgia, and all ten of them have been shown the door.

I shove the shipping report folders back to Georgia. “Just get me the vendor contracts,” I sigh, trying not to snap at her.

“Yes, sir,” she gushes. She shoves the cough drop back into her pocket, reaches for the folders … and somehow manages to send a half-drank cup of coffee sailing off the desk. Her face turns scarlet, and she’s already stammering out an apology.

My jaw clenches as I try to keep my voice level. “Don’t apologize — just fix it.” I manage not to yell, but I can’t keep the exasperation out of my voice, either. Is it really that hard to find a good assistant?

While Georgia mops up the spilled coffee, I turn back to my laptop. Over a hundred new unread emails, and that’s just for the last hour. I normally have my assistant take a first crack at prioritizing these, but I don’t trust Georgia to know her ass from an urgent email.

I scan my inbox, and seeing one from my buddy Tyler, I click that open first. I frown as I read it. I’d expected it to be about our monthly racquetball game, but instead it’s … a resume. I skim through the email. His fiancee’s sister or something. Something something looking for a job. I sigh again. It’s shaping up to be that kind of day already.

Georgia finishes up with the coffee and stands, holding a wad of soggy napkins. “I’m really sorry,” she says, apologizing again. “I’ll be right back with the shipping reports.”

I make a strangled noise. “The vendor contracts.”

Her face reddens again. “Right. Of course. I knew that.”

I doubt that. I don’t say anything, though. Instead, I hit the forward button on Tyler’s email. “Georgia, I’m sending you an email. Can you print the attached resume and add it to the stack of files that need to be reviewed tonight?”

“Yes, yes, I can do that.” She seems happy to have a concrete task to do. Let’s just hope she doesn’t screw this one up, too. She scurries out of my office, but a second later, the door swings open again.

“What is it this time?” I groan.

“Bad time?”

I look up, and my frown eases. “Ed. Great to see you. Come on in.”

I’m pleasantly surprised — though a bit wary — to see Ed Warren, one of Cartwright Diamond’s most esteemed board members standing at my door. Ed’s been on the board since my father was at the helm of the company, and he’s been somewhat of a mentor to me since I took over. I normally relish the time I spend with him. No one knows New York politics and business like Ed.

That said, he’s also not one to stop by for casual visits. I know if he’s here, it’s because there’s something on his mind.

Ed strolls into my office. The man is in his mid-seventies, but he looks twenty years younger. He’s what they would have called dapper, back in the day, and even now, he’s something of a ladykiller in the senior set. Despite the lines in his face, he’s got a full head of silver hair, and there’s no denying the man dresses to impress. Today, he’s got on a deep blue jacket, a gold vest, and brown brogues so shiny I can practically see his wrinkled old balls reflected in them.

He slides into the leather chair across from my desk and lets out a huff of breath that’s something between a sigh and a groan. I study the weathered lines in his face, the thin set of his lips. Ed’s been a family friend for years, as far back as I can remember. He’s only got one son of his own, some dipshit entertainment lawyer out in LA, so Ed’s alone here in the city. I try to look out for him, make sure he’s still going strong. I dread the day that I’m going to have to call his son, tell him his pops needs more care. Thankfully, it doesn’t look like that’s going to be anytime soon. Despite his age, Ed’s blue eyes are clear, alert, and sharp as hell. And now they’re focused right on me.

“What can I do for you, Ed?” I lean back in my chair.

“Well, you can get me a drink, for starters.”

I chuckle. “Macallan?”

“Is there anything else worth drinking?”

Macallan was my grandfather’s drink, and my father’s drink. Now it’s mine, too. I get up and pour us each a thumb’s worth of scotch into a couple of crystal tumblers. I hand Ed his glass and watch to see if his hand trembles as he reaches for it. Steady as a rock.

He takes a sip as I sit and lets out a satisfied sigh. “Liquid gold.”

“I’ll drink to that.” I raise my glass slightly.

We sit in silence for a minute, savoring the scotch. I decide to let him talk first. After all, he’s here for a reason. Eventually, he’ll come out with it.

And sure enough, after another slow sip, he sets his glass down on my desk.

“Heard you’re looking for another assistant.”

I nod slowly. “I am.”

“Any reason for that?”

I shrug. “Things didn’t work out with the last one.”

“And the one before that?”

Ed is eyeing me shrewdly, and I take another swallow of scotch while I think. Exactly how much has he heard? I know the people on the board like to gossip like snowbirds at a Florida retirement community, but I’ve tried to keep my indiscretions … well, discreet.

“It’s a high-turnover job,” I say simply. “Lots of stress, demanding hours. Not everyone can keep up.”

“Mmhmm.” He nods, taking another drink from his glass. “See, Logan, here’s the thing. The board is concerned with the … high-turnover, as you say.”

“The board is? Or Kellerman is?”

Ray Kellerman is another long-standing member of the board, but unlike Ed, he has no loyalty to me, to my family, or to this company. His only allegiance is to the almighty dollar. I like profits as much as the next guy — probably more so — but Kellerman takes it to a truly disturbing level. He’d throw his own mother under a bus if he thought he could sue the city and get a settlement out of it.

Ed sighs, fingering the etched lines in the crystal glass.

“Ray brought it up initially,” he says finally. “But the board sees his point. It looks bad for the company, Logan. Like it or not, you’re somewhat of a public figure. Your reputation is starting to be a problem.”

“My reputation?” I sputter. “I think my reputation is unimpeachable. Look how far I’ve taken this business.”

Ed sighs. “I’m talking about your reputation with … the fairer sex.”

I grumble something that I’d prefer Ed not to hear. “Has the board forgotten that I’m the one who closed the deal with the Lahore Mining Company? The one everyone said couldn’t be done?”

Ed doesn’t say anything, but I’m just getting started.

“Have they forgotten that I’ve increased the company’s profits by over two hundred percent in the last five years? Have they forgotten that we’re now the largest diamond company on the planet? Not just in the country, Ed. The entire fucking world. That’s my reputation right there.”

“Logan, no one has forgotten about those things.” There’s a note of kindness in his voice that sounds almost fatherly. It’s probably about the only thing that could get me to snap my mouth shut right now, but I do indeed. “Everyone agrees you’ve done remarkable things for this company. That your father would be extremely proud of what you’ve achieved.”

My throat tightens at the mention of my father. I don’t say anything.

“But,” Ed continues. “That doesn’t excuse the rest of your behavior. The reality is, the board feels you’re becoming a liability. How long do you think it’s going to be before one of those young ladies decides to sue? Or worse, take it straight to the press. This is the Harvey Weinstein era, Logan. You have to think about how this looks.”

I sputter at the comparison. “Look, I may have slept with a couple of assistants, but every single one of them wanted to be there—”

Ed holds up his hand. “I’m not suggesting otherwise. But I doubt they wanted to be fired afterwards, either. So how long before one of them wises up and figures out that the best way to get revenge is to use what happened against you? Hell hath no fury, and all that.”

I clench my hands into fists. Anger is coursing through me. Not anger at Ed — I get that he’s just the messenger— but anger at the board. I know this is just Ray stirring up shit. He’s been out for me ever since I refused to pursue a relationship with the Zimbabwe government. Cartwright Diamonds hasn’t sold a conflict diamond in over twenty years, and we never will again. Not on my watch. But Kellerman looks at the abuses in Zimbabwe and countries like it and just sees dollar signs. Which makes him a despicable human being, in my eyes.

I say so to Ed, but he just shrugs.

“Is this Ray stirring the pot with the shit stick? Of course. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a point, Logan.”

I fold my arms. “Well, he can go fuck himself.”

Ed chuckles. “I’m sure he would if he could.” That actually almost earns a half grin from me. Ed’s expression softens. “Look, I came here today because I like you, Logan. You know my feelings for you and your family. I know you’ve had some … hard times … in the past, but you’ve done extraordinary things. I want to see you continue to do so.”

I bristle at his mention of my ‘hard times’ — the understatement of the century — but I have no desire to bring Laura’s name into this. Not into a conversation about banging my assistants. I push the thought of her far away, something that I’ve gotten alarmingly good at doing.

“I come here as a friend,” Ed says. “Man to man. You need to hire a male assistant.”

“A male assistant?” I ask, incredulous. As if this idea had never occurred to me. Actually, I guess it hadn’t. Why would I want a man lumbering in and out of my office when I could have a pretty young thing in a short skirt, flouncing around and bringing me coffee?

Ed clears his throat. The expression on his face is one of a man who’s doing something he really wishes he didn’t have to do. “It’s not a suggestion, Logan. This is serious. One more toe out of line, and Ray is going to take action.”

I sneer. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“He’s going to walk.”

“Let him.”

“He’s got a third of the board with him. If he walks, they will, too. You know as well as I do that losing that many board members will be a huge blow to the company. It would be a public relations nightmare, especially if word gets out why he left.”

The fists I’ve been clenching fly out, knocking my tumbler of scotch off the desk, spilling right in the same place as the coffee had, but I barely notice. I’m out of my chair, coming around the desk and pacing angrily.

“He can’t do that.” He can’t. This is my family’s company. The one thing I have in my life to hold on to. The only thing I want to hold on to.

“He can, Logan, and you know it. He knows it. That’s why I’m telling you — hire a male assistant. Someone who isn’t going to offer any temptation. Keep it clean. At least for now. Ray’s probably going to retire in another year, anyway.”

I’m still pacing around the large office. Ed’s eyes follow me, but he doesn’t get out of his seat. I want to punch something, preferably Kellerman. We’ve had our disagreements in the past, but this is a bridge too far. I’ll have him removed from the board. No, even better — I’ll have him killed.

As if Ed can read my mind, he shakes his head. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear today. But I came to you as a friend, out of the respect I have for you and your family. And I strongly encourage you to heed my advice.”

The reality of Ed’s words slowly sinks in. He’s right. If Ray walks — and especially if he really does take a third of the board with him — the company would take a hit I’m not sure we could recover from. In business, the appearance of stability is everything. As soon as investors start getting nervous, they start selling off shares, and once the downward spiral starts, it’s hard to stop.

This business is everything to me. It was everything to my grandfather, when he started it in the 1940s, and it was everything to my father for as long as he was alive. It’s my family’s legacy. It’s everything.

So if that means I have to give up the skirts swishing through my office, then surely that’s a small price to pay.

Finally, I nod. I slump back into my chair. I’m still angry, but some of the fight has left me. Ed’s right. Hell, maybe this is even for the best — ten female assistants this year, and not one could keep up with me. Maybe having a guy around here is what I need. Sure, I’ll miss the eye candy, but I can get plenty of that outside of the office.

“Fine.” I nod again at Ed. “I’ll have HR discretely pull some resumes. We can’t exactly advertise the position as male-only. That’s a sexism scandal we definitely don’t need.”

“Already done.” Ed taps the side of his nose. “I had Christine put together a list of contenders. The resumes are with Georgia. She’ll bring them to you when you’re ready to review them.”

I don’t mention that Georgia is just as likely to bring me a stack of the shipping reports again, instead of the resumes. Her incompetence isn’t his problem. Instead, I just nod.

“I’ll review them,” I promise him.

“And you’ll keep things clean around here?”

“With a male assistant?” I shake my head. “Absolutely.”

Ed chuckles. “You know what I mean, Logan.”

“I do. And I will.” I give him my word.

After I see Ed out, with promises to join him for dinner sometime this month, I stop at Georgia’s desk.

“I understand you have a stack of resumes for me,” I say.

“Yes. Right here.” She hands me a pile of file folders.

I stare at them in incredulity. “These are the shipping reports.”

“Oh God. I knew that. Sorry, here.” She hands me another pile, and this time they actually do appear to be resumes, so I take them into my office and close the door.

I flip through the stapled pages, one resume at a time. The names, work histories, and so-called special skills start to blur together. They’re all impressive, and any one of these men would probably be fine, but I make myself flip through all of them. When I get to the last one, I scan it. Blake Holloway — former executive assistant to the CEO of a flower shop. Interesting. Wonder if he’s gay? I skim the cover letter and find that he’s recently relocated from Connecticut. That could be good, actually — might not have too much of a social life here yet, which means he won’t complain about the long hours.

I flip once more through the stack of resumes, but it’s Blake’s that I come back to, and Blake’s that I take back out to Georgia.

“Offer him the job,” I tell her. “I want him to start tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, pushing her glasses back up her nose and taking the resume out of my hands. “Right away, sir.”

I nod and return to my office. Let’s see how this goes. My first male assistant. Should be interesting.