Distraction
Page 5
“I can take care of myself,” she grumbles, picking up a bag of Cheetos from the coffee table.
“I know,” I agree, not wanting to point out that she’s done a horrible job of taking care of herself so far.
“I may go out tonight,” she says casually as she un-pauses the show she’s watching.
“Where?” I ask while my tightly controlled facade slips.
“I don’t know. Amy called and said I needed to get out of the house, and I agreed with her.”
I hate my sister’s best friend. I’ve never trusted her, and anytime Morgan has gotten in trouble, Amy has been involved in one way or another. “You still have bruises from the last time you went out with her,” I point out hoping she will see for herself the kind of friend Amy really is.
“It’s not fair for you to make what happened seem like Amy’s fault.”
“Will you call and tell me where you’re going?” I ask, knowing it’s completely pointless to argue with her about her relationship with Amy. I don’t think she will ever see how being friends with her is affecting her.
“I’ll call,” she says absently while shoving her hand into the bag of Cheetos on her lap and looking at the TV.
“Love you,” I tell her, getting a nod in return before heading out the front door and down the stairs to my car.
Walking into Sven’s office, I fight the instinct to turn around and run right back out when I see he’s on the phone. I have no idea what I was thinking agreeing to come work for him, but then again, my life has been a series of events just like this one.
“Hold on, Mags,” he says, startling me.
Pulling his phone away from his ear, he motions for me to take a seat in one of the two dark blue, velvet high-back chairs in front of his large oak desk. Rolling my eyes at him, I take a seat, watching the corner of his mouth lift before he covers it with his hand. I hate that he calls me Mags—or that’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. But then again, it’s better than the nickname my parents gave me at my spirit ceremony, when they called down the moon goddess while standing naked in the middle of a field on my tenth birthday. I think I’m still traumatized by that experience.
Crossing one leg over the other I pull in a breath while I study him. Sven is gorgeous in a way that is completely unfair to the rest of the men on Earth. He’s tall enough that I could wear my six-inch heels and he would still tower over me. His body is lean, with just the right amount of muscle. His dark blond hair is overgrown on top and little shorter on the sides, giving him an unkempt, sexy look. His eyes are a startling blue that look green when he’s angry, and the long, dark lashes that surround them make them appear that much more enticing.
His nose is straight, his cheekbones are high, and his lips are full and are surrounded by a five o’clock shadow that takes his hotness up a few notches. He looks like he could be on the cover of GQ—hell, for all I know, he has been on the cover. The few nights I sat down at the bar, I heard women talk about him, and from what I gathered most of the female population of Vegas knows who he is. I swear every single leggy blonde, redhead, and brunette knew exactly who he was by name, and judging by the way they spoke about him, they probably screamed it a few times.
“Nice of you to show up, Mags,” he says, pulling me out of my perusal and setting his phone on top of the desk. Sitting up a little taller, I narrow my eyes and watch as he walks around the desk toward me, unbuttoning his suit jacket and taking a seat on top of the wooden surface, leaning a little closer than necessary.
“You said be here at five it’s five.” I hold up my hand when it looks like he’s going to say something else. “And we need to discuss my salary,” I state, uncrossing my legs then re-crossing them in the other direction, ignoring the way his eyes watch the movement and change color.
“Salary?” He frowns, and I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips at the confusion on his face.
“Yes, my salary. I mean, you didn’t actually think I was going to come work for you for free, did you?” I ask, raising my brow.
“Of course not. I’ll start you off at thirty-five thousand—”
“Yeah, that’s not going to work for me. At my old job, the one I just quit to come work for you, I made one hundred and seventy-five thousand a year, with four weeks paid vacation and one week sick pay,” I say, cutting him off. I actually make much more than that modeling, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Where the hell did you work?” he growls, making my girly parts tingle.
Ignoring my body’s reaction to him, I wave my hand around in front of me and continue, “That doesn’t matter now, so since I’m just starting out here, I’ll take one hundred and fifty thousand, but I want the same for paid days off, including sick days.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Jesus, what the fuck was I thinking?” he asks, tilting his head back and looking toward the ceiling for an answer to his question.
“You’re thinking you just got yourself the best assistant money can buy,” I retort then press my lips together to keep from smiling at the look of gloom on his face when his eyes meet mine.
Running his hand through his hair, his eyes scan me over and he shakes his head. “Fine, but you’re at my beck and call. That means twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, if I call, you come running.”
“I don’t work weekends.” I smirk then wonder why the hell I love fighting with him so much.
His eyes study me for a long time, so long that I fight the urge to squirm in my seat. “Fine, but five days a week, you’re mine twenty-four seven.”
“Sure.” I shrug, knowing he has no idea what he’s in for. “So what do you want me to do today?” I ask looking around his office, noticing it’s tidy. The top of his desk is clean with his top of the line computer and a neat stack of papers. The upper and lower cabinets to the right of his desk with a counter between are bare, only a crystal decanter that is half full of dark liquid and two glasses sitting on top. The leather couch behind me with the round, rustic wooden coffee table is clean with a stack of books on top, which I’m certain no one has ever read and is there just for show.
Everything seems to have a specific spot, but there is nothing overly personal in the space. Not a single picture of family or friends, no mementos of places he’s gone. It looks like a magazine ad for a man’s office. The little devil, who has taken up a place on my shoulder since meeting Sven, is begging me to move stuff around just to see what will happen if I do, while the angel on the other side is shaking her head in disapproval.
Frowning, he looks at me then glances around as well before bringing his gaze back to mine. “There are some orders that need to be filled. You can watch me do that, and then I’ll take you down, show you around the club, and introduce you to everyone.”
“It’s your show, Boss.” I smile and watch him take off his suit jacket and lay it neatly over the edge of the desk, and then I scoot back in my chair as he walks toward me so he can pick up the chair next to mine. Carrying the chair around the desk, he sets it down next to his on the opposite side.
“You can sit here…unless you want to sit on my lap?” He smirks while nodding to the chair he placed next to his.
“I know,” I agree, not wanting to point out that she’s done a horrible job of taking care of herself so far.
“I may go out tonight,” she says casually as she un-pauses the show she’s watching.
“Where?” I ask while my tightly controlled facade slips.
“I don’t know. Amy called and said I needed to get out of the house, and I agreed with her.”
I hate my sister’s best friend. I’ve never trusted her, and anytime Morgan has gotten in trouble, Amy has been involved in one way or another. “You still have bruises from the last time you went out with her,” I point out hoping she will see for herself the kind of friend Amy really is.
“It’s not fair for you to make what happened seem like Amy’s fault.”
“Will you call and tell me where you’re going?” I ask, knowing it’s completely pointless to argue with her about her relationship with Amy. I don’t think she will ever see how being friends with her is affecting her.
“I’ll call,” she says absently while shoving her hand into the bag of Cheetos on her lap and looking at the TV.
“Love you,” I tell her, getting a nod in return before heading out the front door and down the stairs to my car.
Walking into Sven’s office, I fight the instinct to turn around and run right back out when I see he’s on the phone. I have no idea what I was thinking agreeing to come work for him, but then again, my life has been a series of events just like this one.
“Hold on, Mags,” he says, startling me.
Pulling his phone away from his ear, he motions for me to take a seat in one of the two dark blue, velvet high-back chairs in front of his large oak desk. Rolling my eyes at him, I take a seat, watching the corner of his mouth lift before he covers it with his hand. I hate that he calls me Mags—or that’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. But then again, it’s better than the nickname my parents gave me at my spirit ceremony, when they called down the moon goddess while standing naked in the middle of a field on my tenth birthday. I think I’m still traumatized by that experience.
Crossing one leg over the other I pull in a breath while I study him. Sven is gorgeous in a way that is completely unfair to the rest of the men on Earth. He’s tall enough that I could wear my six-inch heels and he would still tower over me. His body is lean, with just the right amount of muscle. His dark blond hair is overgrown on top and little shorter on the sides, giving him an unkempt, sexy look. His eyes are a startling blue that look green when he’s angry, and the long, dark lashes that surround them make them appear that much more enticing.
His nose is straight, his cheekbones are high, and his lips are full and are surrounded by a five o’clock shadow that takes his hotness up a few notches. He looks like he could be on the cover of GQ—hell, for all I know, he has been on the cover. The few nights I sat down at the bar, I heard women talk about him, and from what I gathered most of the female population of Vegas knows who he is. I swear every single leggy blonde, redhead, and brunette knew exactly who he was by name, and judging by the way they spoke about him, they probably screamed it a few times.
“Nice of you to show up, Mags,” he says, pulling me out of my perusal and setting his phone on top of the desk. Sitting up a little taller, I narrow my eyes and watch as he walks around the desk toward me, unbuttoning his suit jacket and taking a seat on top of the wooden surface, leaning a little closer than necessary.
“You said be here at five it’s five.” I hold up my hand when it looks like he’s going to say something else. “And we need to discuss my salary,” I state, uncrossing my legs then re-crossing them in the other direction, ignoring the way his eyes watch the movement and change color.
“Salary?” He frowns, and I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips at the confusion on his face.
“Yes, my salary. I mean, you didn’t actually think I was going to come work for you for free, did you?” I ask, raising my brow.
“Of course not. I’ll start you off at thirty-five thousand—”
“Yeah, that’s not going to work for me. At my old job, the one I just quit to come work for you, I made one hundred and seventy-five thousand a year, with four weeks paid vacation and one week sick pay,” I say, cutting him off. I actually make much more than that modeling, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Where the hell did you work?” he growls, making my girly parts tingle.
Ignoring my body’s reaction to him, I wave my hand around in front of me and continue, “That doesn’t matter now, so since I’m just starting out here, I’ll take one hundred and fifty thousand, but I want the same for paid days off, including sick days.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Jesus, what the fuck was I thinking?” he asks, tilting his head back and looking toward the ceiling for an answer to his question.
“You’re thinking you just got yourself the best assistant money can buy,” I retort then press my lips together to keep from smiling at the look of gloom on his face when his eyes meet mine.
Running his hand through his hair, his eyes scan me over and he shakes his head. “Fine, but you’re at my beck and call. That means twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, if I call, you come running.”
“I don’t work weekends.” I smirk then wonder why the hell I love fighting with him so much.
His eyes study me for a long time, so long that I fight the urge to squirm in my seat. “Fine, but five days a week, you’re mine twenty-four seven.”
“Sure.” I shrug, knowing he has no idea what he’s in for. “So what do you want me to do today?” I ask looking around his office, noticing it’s tidy. The top of his desk is clean with his top of the line computer and a neat stack of papers. The upper and lower cabinets to the right of his desk with a counter between are bare, only a crystal decanter that is half full of dark liquid and two glasses sitting on top. The leather couch behind me with the round, rustic wooden coffee table is clean with a stack of books on top, which I’m certain no one has ever read and is there just for show.
Everything seems to have a specific spot, but there is nothing overly personal in the space. Not a single picture of family or friends, no mementos of places he’s gone. It looks like a magazine ad for a man’s office. The little devil, who has taken up a place on my shoulder since meeting Sven, is begging me to move stuff around just to see what will happen if I do, while the angel on the other side is shaking her head in disapproval.
Frowning, he looks at me then glances around as well before bringing his gaze back to mine. “There are some orders that need to be filled. You can watch me do that, and then I’ll take you down, show you around the club, and introduce you to everyone.”
“It’s your show, Boss.” I smile and watch him take off his suit jacket and lay it neatly over the edge of the desk, and then I scoot back in my chair as he walks toward me so he can pick up the chair next to mine. Carrying the chair around the desk, he sets it down next to his on the opposite side.
“You can sit here…unless you want to sit on my lap?” He smirks while nodding to the chair he placed next to his.
