CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I don’t think she likes me,” Carrie whispered to Max as she set the bags of food on the table. “At all.”
After his long day at rehearsals, Carrie had brought over dinner so he didn’t have to cook which he thought was sweet. Gemma, his assistant, had offered to order in for him and even would have cooked although she was terrible at it, but he’d told her he already had plans. That hadn’t gone over well from the looks of things. His normally amiable employee was sulking as she checked her tablet for the hundredth time that evening. Nothing had changed since the last time. She was avoiding him. No, make that them. He and Carrie were a couple for all the world to see. Their debut the other night had been nothing less than triumphant. Most of the fans and the tabloids had thought they looked beautiful together and the few that didn’t weren’t happy with anything, anywhere, at any time. Fuck ’em.
“I think I’m set for the evening, Gemma,” he said loudly enough to get her attention back on him. They’d just finished going through his schedule and also Carrie’s, looking for any conflicts that needed to be ironed out. So far there were only a few minor issues. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
As if she hadn’t heard him she headed straight for the stairs to the second floor. Eyes wide, Carrie looked at the back of Gemma and then over at Max. “Does she fly home on a broom using the roof as a runway?”
Why did women have to be so infernally strange? He needed this issue with his assistant like he needed a hole in his head. All he asked of her was that she do her job. That’s it.
Stomping up the stairs after her, he found Gemma in his closet, checking his suits and tuxedos. “Gemma, what are you doing? I said we were done for the night.”
“You might be done but I’m not.” Her voice was slightly muffled as she bent down and inspected his shoes. “I need to make sure your clothes are ready for any event that might come up.”
He stepped into the opening of the closet. “Gemma, we know all the events that I have coming up and we’re prepared. That’s why you keep my schedule on that blasted tablet. Now, you’ll be happy to know that your day is complete and you can go home and not worry about me for at least twelve hours.”
She didn’t even look up, instead restacking his shoe boxes. “What if something unexpected comes up? You need to be prepared.”
“Then I’ll wear jeans.”
Now she was simply rearranging the boxes she’d already stacked. “Gemma, go home.”
He didn’t bother to be polite and reasonable this time. His dinner was getting cold downstairs and he and Carrie had things to discuss, mostly the upcoming opening night of his play. He wanted her to be in the front row.
Huffing, Gemma stood and held her tablet to her chest, her eyes cold. “There is plenty for me to do here.”
“There is nothing for you to do here,” he shot back impatiently. Shit like this was why he didn’t trust people. “Gemma, if you have an issue with Carrie or me then spit it out.”
“No issue.”
He stepped back so she could exit the closet. “Then please go home and enjoy your life outside of work. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Without another word she descended the stairs, picking up her purse that had been abandoned on the sofa on the way to the door. She paused for a moment before leaving, her gaze firmly on Max, not even sparing Carrie a glance.
“Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all. I’m here for you.”
The air seemed calmer when Gemma was gone and even Carrie breathed a sigh of relief as they sat down at the table to eat. “Is she always that intense or was that little show for me?”
Rubbing his aching forehead, Max could only shrug. “For you, for me. I’m not sure it matters much. Most of my assistants don’t last long. The ones that do, like Gemma, sometimes end up like this.”
He bit into the spicy chicken Carrie had picked up. Heaven.
“When you say like this, what does that mean exactly?”
“Overly invested,” he clarified. “They somehow feel they are responsible in part for my successes but they aren’t anxious to take any blame for my failures, of course. I’m not a psychologist but I would guess that when a person has no discernible achievements of their own they naturally gravitate to those that do.”
Her lips twitched as if trying not to laugh. “Are you saying that your assistants want to…bask in your glory?”
He stopped shoveling food in his mouth long enough to answer. “You make it sound like I’m an egomaniac, but in a word? Yes. This has happened before and no good can come from it. I’ll have to let her go.”
Carrie’s eyes widened. “For basking? You’d fire her for that? Seems kind of harsh. Can’t you just have a talk with her? She probably just needs to be more involved with her own life and friends.”
Even the rice was good. He’d have to find out what restaurant this was from. It was some of the best food he’d eaten in a long while. Carrie hadn’t been in London long and she already knew better restaurants than he did.
“You’re not really understanding,” he tried to explain. “I don’t want to talk with Gemma about her hurt feelings. They’re none of my concern, frankly. I pay her to do a job and I just want it done with a minimum of fuss and no drama. As for getting her more involved in her own life, once again I don’t want to be personally involved with my employees. I understand that you and Paige have one of those touchy-feely relationships and it works for you. That’s fine, but it wouldn’t work for me.”
Carrie regarded him closely, a smile playing on her lips. “What’s Gemma’s last name?”
He opened his mouth to answer and then snapped it shut. Minx. She was smart and crafty.
“I don’t remember. It’s not important to our working relationship. I call her Gemma and she calls me Max. She might have forgotten my last name as well.”
“If it wasn’t on thousands of movie marquees,” Carrie teased, lifting her wine glass and taking a sip. “How do you pay her if you don’t know her name?”
“I have an accountant who pays her. He knows her name, her address, and probably a lot more.” He placed his fork down on the plate. “Why are you defending her? She wasn’t nice to you.”
Pressing her hands to her pink cheeks, Carrie laughed. “I’m not defending her so much as trying to get into your head about this. These assistants to you are rather interchangeable from what I’ve seen. It’s all about what they can do for you.”
“Now wait a minute.” She didn’t see this at all. “I pay them outrageously for what they do. But if you’re asking if I get personal with them, the answer is no. It would be a disaster, Carrie, plain and simple. Because of the demands of the job assistants don’t last much past six months, if that. Can you imagine me getting attached to someone every few months and then they move on? I’d be depressed all the time. No, I’ve learned that I need to keep my private life separate from my work, that’s all.”
“Okay.”
It was never that easy with this woman. She challenged him at every turn. “Okay? You’re not going to argue with me about this? How disappointing.”
Giggling, she helped herself to more chicken. “I can see you’re heartbroken about it. Seriously, you made a good argument. If you can’t keep an assistant very long it’s probably not a good idea to get too involved with them. It’s just…”
There it was. She was going to argue this with him, but she was pretending not to.
“Just what?” he asked wearily. Better to get it over with now than have it drag on all evening.
“It’s just that if you took a personal interest in them and their lives they might last more than a few months.”
He almost replied but thought better of it. Let her win. Or let her think she won. It was better for the digestion when they weren’t sparring.
“That’s something for me to think about,” he said finally. “But I want you to know that I’m not planning on letting her go right away.”
A smile bloomed on her lovely face. “That’s so sweet, Max. You’re giving her another chance.”
He shook his head. “Something like that. Besides, letting her go right now just as the play is starting would be crazy. I can’t train anyone else while I’m immersed in this role. She’ll just have to do until the run of the play is over.”
Carrie was openly laughing at him now, almost spitting out her wine. “You keep telling yourself that’s the reason, Hamlet, but I know better. You’re a softie. Just how many of these assistants have you actually fired? I mean, for real?”
He concentrated on cutting into his chicken, not liking the way her all too perceptive eyes seemed to look right through him. He was used to women who didn’t look past the outer facade.
“None.”
“None,” she repeated with a smile. “That’s what I thought. You’re a nice man, Maxwell Hayes.”
It was his turn to smile. “You’re nice so you think everyone is.”
Just that quickly her happy expression turned sad. “I know better than that.”
Now he wanted to kick himself. She was thinking about her useless ex-fiancé who didn’t deserve one second of her time after what he’d done.
He wanted to get Carrie thinking about something else. “What restaurant is this food from? It’s amazing.”
“Eating out all the time isn’t good for you. I cooked.”
The fork paused halfway to his mouth. “You made this? It’s delicious. I could live on this chicken.”
“Easy there, Hamlet. No one is asking you to. It’s just dinner.”
He was glad she’d cooked for him but he felt an obligation to tell her she shouldn’t have.
“You didn’t need to go to all that trouble. Takeaway would have been fine.”
She shrugged. “It was no imposition. I like cooking and it’s nice to have someone to cook for. Cooking for one isn’t all that fun.”
He took another bite and savored the flavors that exploded on his tongue. “What’s in it?”
As she answered his question her face lit up again and she launched into a story that he barely listened to. Instead he watched her as she spoke, the way her hands moved and how animated she became when she talked. She was passionate about the things and people she loved. What might it be like to be one of them?