Brothers of Paradise Series

She nods, clicking away. “I can imagine.”

“Which is why things like calendars can’t go missing.”NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

Faye’s shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t say anything. We both work in tense silence for another few minutes before she sighs. “It’s back. I accidentally unsubscribed us both to that particular calendar. It was a simple fix. Everything’s still intact.”

I open the email and scheduling program. She’s right. All the information about my eight o’clock meeting is readily available to me again. My fingers fly across the keyboard, quickly taking a screenshot in case she does the same thing again.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t,” Faye says. Displeasure is clear in her voice-like she’s disappointed in me. I frown at her and find that she’s wearing the same expression as well. “I’m sorry. It was a simple mistake.”

“No mistakes are ever simple.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, the sleeves of the sweater long enough to cover her hands. It’s a vulnerable look, completely at contrast with the fierce determination on her face. “I’m sorry, but I think a mistake on one’s first day is allowed.”

“They are. Which is why I’m not making a big deal of this.”

Faye rolls her eyes-actually rolls her eyes at me!-and heads toward the door. “Is this why you go through assistants so fast?”

I stare at her. She did not just say that to me. Talented or not, beautiful or not, that’s just… well, it’s too close for comfort.

She stares right back at me. One of us is going to have to give in, and I can tell from her gaze that she’s not planning to.

But if she thinks I am, she doesn’t know a thing about me.

This goes on for a long time.

Faye doesn’t look away, but her lips curve into a smile. “I didn’t think I’d have a staring contest with my boss on my first day.”

“Neither did your boss.”

Her smile turns full-blown. It’s a thing to behold, transforming her face from fiercely beautiful into something that’s nearly luminous. Fucking hell. Why did I think it was a good idea to hire her?

“I don’t think either of us likes to lose,” she says.

“That’s fairly evident.” I lean back in my chair, trying to find some level of authority in this situation, not breaking eye contact. It’s silly-so damn childish-but I still can’t look away.

“Let’s make a deal,” she offers.

“While you have me hostage in this game?” I ask. “I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

Her smile turns, impossibly, even brighter. “I know I might make mistakes again. Not get your sandwich whole-wheat, for example. Prepare too hot coffee. But I want you to give me the full six weeks of this trial period. A proper chance.”

“And not cut it short?”

“Exactly.”

I pretend to deliberate, tapping my fingers on my desk. The deal she suggests is pointless. I hadn’t planned on cutting the six weeks short anyway, especially not after this little performance. It was insolent… and very entertaining. Faye Alvarez is unlike any assistant I’ve ever had. There is no fear in her eyes and no dislike of my frank manner.

“All right,” I say slowly. “If you agree to my tasks. You have more experience in the field than any assistant I’ve ever had before.”

“Use me,” she says in agreement, and as if on command, a lovely blush blooms on her cheeks. Yeah, she heard how that sounded-just like I did. I ignore it.

“Very well. You have your six weeks, Miss Alvarez, despite any mistakes you might make along the way. Now get out of my office before I’m forced to stare at you until sunrise.”

Faye nods and grabs her laptop. She walks backwards out of the office to avoid breaking eye contact. I raise an eyebrow at her, and she gives a delicate shrug. The movement shifts more of her thick hair over her shoulder. It gleams in the light.

“I’m competitive,” she says, voice apologetic. “Goodnight, Mr. Marchand.”

“Goodnight.”

The door closes behind her, and I stare at it for a few more seconds in disbelief at the interaction we just had. Well, Faye Alvarez. I’m competitive too.

And I always win.

She’s exemplary the next day.

“Here’s your cortado, Mr. Marchand, from the place down the street that you like. I’ve ordered lunch for you-a poppy-seed bagel with light Swiss cheese and pastrami.”

I look down at the coffee in my hand. How did she know that?

“And Tanner called from the Exon project. They have to push back your two p. m. meeting by fifteen minutes. I’ve re-scheduled your meeting with the architects afterwards to fit.”

“Did you book a Town Car for tonight?”

“Yes. It’ll pick you up at 6:45.” There’s a faint pause. “And you’re sure you don’t want a dinner reservation?”

“No. I’ll handle that on my own.” I glance over at my schedule and at the new meeting she’d set, every Monday morning. “You added a recurring meeting for us?”

Faye nods, standing straight and proud in front of me. She’s wearing a navy dress today, her hair swept back in a complicated updo. She looks entirely professional-no trace of the dressed-down, combative woman she’d been last night. It’s for the best. Any more of that and I wouldn’t… well. For this to work, there needs to be absolute professionalism between us.

“Yes,” she says. “To go over your schedule for the week and for me to ask you what’s on your mind. It will make me better at anticipating your needs.”

Anticipating my needs? “All right.”

“Good.” There’s faint relief in her gaze-did she think I would object?-and then she sweeps out of my office in a pair of nude heels. Not only had there been no trace of the casual Faye, but there had been no trace of the silliness she’d displayed. That I’d played into-even enjoyed.

I shake my head and return to my emails. Get your head out of your ass, Marchand.

Two hours later, her voice chirps out of the intercom. “Your mother is on the line. Would you like me to patch her through?”

Damn it. I’d been avoiding this call for two days, but there’s no hiding forever.

“Yes.”

My mother’s satiny voice rings out. “Hello, chéri.”

“Maman.”