Chapter 25

"You're late," he said.

He was right. I was. But it wasn't entirely my fault. Paisley, who I'd barely seen over the past few weeks, had parked behind me in the driveway sometime in the middle of the night, and then, she'd caused a giant stink this morning when I woke her up to ask her to move her car.

And of course, she'd taken her own sweet time.

As a result, here I was, fifteen minutes late for my very first day on the job. Damn it. I had to say it. "I’m sorry." The words stuck in my throat like a giant chicken bone, even as I promised, "It won't happen again."

His eyebrows lifted. "You sure about that?"

"Yes. Definitely." It wasn't even a lie. From now on, I decided, I'd park on the street, if that's what it took.

I hated feeling rushed, and here I was, nearly breathless after practically sprinting from the elevator to the executive suite. I'd arrived only thirty seconds ago, and still had no idea where my own desk was, assuming that I had a desk at all. Unfortunately, I'd had no time to ask before I'd been hustled straight into Zane's office, where he'd been waiting behind that huge desk of his.

Unlike me, he didn't look rushed or harried. No. He looked like a million – wait, make that a billion – bucks. His suit was cut perfectly to his broad shoulders, and his tie was dark gray with subtle flecks of red – probably to match his devil horns.

Oh, I couldn't see them. But I knew they were there.

He stood. "There's a breakfast meeting in five."

I was still catching my breath. "Five minutes?"

He gave me a look. "What do you think?"

I gave him a look right back. Of course, it had to be minutes. After all, in five hours, it would be mid-afternoon. My question had been mostly rhetorical. But seriously, did he have to be such a jerk, even about such a little thing?

Then again, this was Zane Bennington.

I gave him my sweetest smile. "Oh. So it's in five days."

He didn't smile back.

Stubbornly, I kept my smile plastered in place. "Or maybe, it's weeks."

He still wasn't smiling, but I was getting pretty used to it. I added, "You strike me as a planner."

This wasn't quite true. In reality, this buttoned-down billionaire seemed like a different guy than the one I'd met during our earlier encounters.

I wasn't even sure why I was tweaking him. It was beyond stupid, and yet, whether it was due to nerves, or because he had it coming, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

He said, "It's five minutes. And you're coming with me."

Suddenly, I wasn't smiling anymore. Already, I'd gotten attached to the idea that he'd be rushing off to a breakfast meeting, and I'd have the chance to pull myself together.

No such luck.

On top of that, breakfast wasn't sounding so great. I'd had coffee in the car, and even that wasn't sitting right. The idea of any food whatsoever made me feel just a little bit queasy – partly because of nerves and partly because last night, I'd found another bottle of merlot, this one hidden in the back of the linen closet.

One sip led to another, and here I was, dreading the idea of breakfast. Still, I wasn't completely stupid. Even I realized that breakfast meetings usually had very little to do with the actual food.

I tried for another smile. "Great. Where's the meeting?"

"Here."

I glanced around. "In your office?"

"No. In the restaurant downstairs."

If he meant Claudette's, it was one of the very best restaurants in the whole city. But I'd always known it as a dinner place – not that I'd ever eaten there personally. For one thing, I couldn’t afford it. And for another, the place was notoriously hard to get into.

"Claudette's?" I said. "I didn't even realize they served breakfast."

"They don't," Zane said. "But they are this morning."

"Oh." I couldn’t imagine why, unless Zane had personally arranged it. "So they're opening just for you?"

"They will if they know what's good for them."

Was that a joke? Doubtful.

Before I could even think to ask, Zane flicked his head toward a side table and told me to drop everything but my computer – a sleek little tablet that I'd been assigned, along with a new cell phone, right after signing the employment paperwork.

More confused than ever, I set down my purse, along with the brown-bag lunch that I'd brought for later on, assuming that I'd be able to eat at all.

And then, we were off.

In the elevator on the way down, Zane – without bothering to look at me – gave me a quick rundown on who we were meeting with. Apparently, it was with the owner of a shipping company who handled most of the international transports for the Bennington Hotels.

Zane said they had several issues they needed to resolve and mentioned that the guy had been a problem.

I gave Zane a sideways glance. Speaking of guys who'd been a problem.

But that wasn't the thing that was bothering me now. At the moment, I was terrified of screwing up, especially because I didn't really know what was expected of me. After all, Zane had mentioned nothing about media involvement, press releases, or anything related to my actual job description.

Reluctantly, I turned to look at him. "I've got a question."

He kept his gaze straight ahead. "What?"

"Is there anything specific you'd like me to do at this meeting?"

"Yeah." A ghost of a smile crossed his features. "Keep him from hitting me."

The smile – if that's what it truly was – caught me off-guard. "Seriously?"

And just like that, the smile was gone. "No."

"Oh, so that was a joke?" A nervous laugh escaped my lips. "So he's not going to hit you?"

But Zane wasn't laughing. "He can try."

"Wait, so you weren't kidding?" I felt myself swallow. "Am I really supposed to keep him from—"

"No."

"No?"

"If it's heading that way," Zane said, "you stay out of it."

Well, that was a relief.

Sort of.

But it told me nothing about why I was attending the meeting in the first place.

Searching for clues, I asked, "Will anyone from the media be there?"

"Not if they know what's good for them."

What did that mean? I had no idea, so I tried again. "Okay…So, will I be writing a press release or something?"

"No," he said. "But we might need to counter his narrative if the meeting goes south."

I gave a slow nod. Finally, I understood. "So we're talking damage-control? You mean like crisis-management, right?"

"Something like that."

As last, I had a sense of what my role would be, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I hated feeling clueless, and I'd been swimming in unfamiliar waters ever since I'd been hired.

Unfortunately, my relief was short-lived, because less than five minutes into the meeting, I was seriously worried that Zane would get hit.

And why? Because he totally had it coming.