Chapter 6

• TRICIA
• "Sit down," he said again, and this time I sat.
• Carefully. Like the chair might also be in on the joke.
• He kept looking at me. That same slow, dangerous smile from earlier, like he was savouring something and refusing to rush it.
• "So," he said. "You want the job."
• "I..." I cleared my throat. "Yes. I do."
• "You're qualified. Overqualified, actually. Top of your class, three years of experience, the panel downstairs is already in love with you." He leaned back. "I read the notes."
• "Oh." That was good. That was very good. "Thank you, I..."
• "There's a condition."
• I blinked. "A condition?"
• "I have a family dinner tonight." He said it like it was the most casual thing in the world, picking up a pen and turning it over in his fingers. "My father is... particular. About a few things. One of those things is whether his sons are settled. Bringing someone home."
• "Okay," I said slowly, not understanding where this was going but already feeling my stomach do something uneasy.
• "You'll come with me. As my girlfriend." He looked up. "For tonight. That's the condition."
• I stared at him.
• "I'm sorry —what?"
• "You heard me."
• "You want me to ... to pretend to be your..." I couldn't even finish it. "Christopher, we hate each other."
• "We don't hate each other," he said mildly. "You hate that I'm right most of the time. It's different."
• "That's not..." I pressed my fingers to my temple. "This is insane. This is an insane request. I came here for a job interview."
• "And I'm offering you the job." He shrugged, infuriatingly calm. "With one small addition to tonight's schedule."
• "Small," I repeated.
• "Dinner. It's a few hours. You smile, I smile, my father stops asking me when I'm going to 'grow up,' and tomorrow you start as my PA with a signed contract and full benefits."
• I opened my mouth to say absolutely not.
• What came out was nothing, because my brain had very helpfully reminded me, at that exact moment, that I had paid this month's rent late, that I had three job applications still pending with no replies, and that this ... sitting right in front of me was the best offer I'd had in months. Possibly ever.
• I closed my mouth.
• Opened it again.
• "This doesn't make sense," I said weakly. "You barely know me."
• "I know enough."
• "You know that I called you a spoilt brat and stole your marshmallows."
• "Exactly my point."
• I groaned and put my face in my hands. "If I do this," I said, voice muffled, "it's one dinner. That's it. After that, I am your PA and nothing else, and you are my boss and nothing else, and we never speak of this again."
• "Understood."
• I lifted my head. "I mean it, Christopher."
• "I heard you the first time, Tricia."
• I looked at him. He looked back. Steady and patiently. Like he had all the time in the world and was perfectly happy to sit there until I said it.
• "Fine," I said. "Fine. I'll do it."
• He didn't say anything.
• He just looked at me. For a long moment. Longer than was comfortable. His eyes moved over my face slowly, like he was reading something written there in very small print, and I felt my skin go warm under it in a way I did not appreciate or consent to.
• "What?" I said, shifting in my seat. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
• He didn't answer right away.
• "Christopher."
• "Hm." He blinked, like he was coming back from somewhere. Then, simply: "You're hired."
• I blinked. "I .... sorry, what?"
• "You're hired."
• "That's it?" I sat up straighter. "You're not going to ... I don't know, ask me actual interview questions? About spreadsheets, or scheduling, or anything related to the job?"
• "I don't need to."
• "You don't need to?" My voice climbed slightly. "Christopher, sorry Sir, this is a professional position..."
• "You walked into the wrong apartment, realised your mistake, and recovered enough to hold a two-hour conversation without missing a beat," he said, counting off on his fingers like he'd rehearsed this.
• "You diagnosed my coffee table's price within thirty seconds of sitting on it. You spotted the last container of a niche marshmallow brand from three aisles away, and when I challenged you for it, you didn't argue ...you ran. Those actions of yours were strategic and decisive. No hesitation."
• "That's not a qualification—"
• "And this morning," he continued, ignoring me completely, "you walked into my office, said something I will not be repeating in front of HR, walked back out, had a full conversation with yourself through a closed door, talked yourself back into the room, and sat down anyway." He spread his hands. "Tricia. That's not just qualified. That's exceptional."
• I stared at him.
• "You're hiring me," I said slowly, "because I steal marshmallows and swear in doorways."
• "I'm hiring you," he said, "because you're sharp, and fast, and you don't fall apart under pressure ... you just regroup and come back swinging. That's everything I need in a PA."
• I didn't have a response to that. Which was rare, for me, and slightly alarming, because he was so damn observant of things I hadn't taken notice of.
• He stood, came around the desk, and held out his hand ... the same unhurried, steady handshake from that very first night, except this time I knew exactly who he was.
• "So," he said. "Do we have a deal, Ms. Teesha?"
• I looked at his hand. Then at him. At the smile that wasn't quite a smile, the one that lived permanently at the corner of his mouth like it owned the place.
• The i took his hand.
• "Deal," I said. "Dear boyfriend."
• His smile widened ....just slightly and somewhere in my chest, something that absolutely should not have reacted, reacted anyway.