Chapter 1
I slam my laptop shut, the sound echoing through my too-quiet apartment. A week. I’ve got a whole glorious week on the Maldives with my friend Darla. Exactly what I need.
IF my sister Charlie could help me out. That was the key if this was going to work.
Seven whole days of freedom, something I haven’t had in three years of being Logan Carson’s right hand, his office-wife, his everything-at-Powell’s.
And seven days without running into Spencer Malone and his infuriating smirk. That womanizing bastard that always had barbed replies and comments darted in my direction. I just gave him icy glares, shut him down with few words. I refused to get him close because I knew he used women, rewarded them with expensive vacations, jewelry and then disposed them. I have seen it. Long-legged blondes glued at his arm at events and clubs. Just like the one I happened to see two days ago in his office.
Laura Davenport. Spencer Malone’s secretary—we all knew it was an empty title. She’d tried to become a model but missed so many appointments she gained a reputation for being unreliable. The office rumor mill claimed she had a knack for getting lost in a one-way corridor, and honestly, I believed it.
It was Spencer who said it one afternoon while I was trying to sort out the mess Laura had caused with pretty colors. I began to wonder why she had been hired in the first place, and it was as if he understood what I was thinking when I muttered under my breath.
“How many assistants have you been firing this year? Eight? Ten?”
“Are you keeping tabs on me, Henley?”
“How can I not considering you are calling for me every time something goes wrong?”
“I can’t find any competent PA, so meanwhile… I will have something nice to look at.”
I gave him a withering look. “You know how that sounds like?” I said while I tried to find a folder amongst the glossy magazines. I didn’t wait for him to reply and continued: “Like a first class male chauvinist pig...-”
“Oh, don’t hold back on my account. I know what you think of me.”
“Do you? Really, Mr. Malone?”
I sneered while yanking out the folder and planted it on his chest. “I don’t have time running to your office and fixing mistakes. Hire someone that have a sense of...” By now I was waving my arms like a windmill. “…order. And not arranging spreadsheets in pretty colors,” I ranted on, and he had the audacity looking amused at my expense.
“I like you like this,” he whispered. “All flustered. Who knew Henley could be this passionate?”
I rubbed my forehead. “Flustered? I am exhausted. I have been running back and forth all week. I am done. Call me when the building is on fire, not before.”
Then I added as in an afterthought. “I don’t think Logan would appreciate that you are wearing his PA out.”
“I think he would understand.”
“You are forgetting one thing,” I said with defiantly raised chin. “We know each other inside out.”
Spencer’s eyes shifted, his jaw tightened. “Do you know?”
Of course,” I said, already past him, not bothering to look back. “I belong to him, not you.”
There was a beat of silence when I walked away, and then I heard a door slam, as if the door itself was aggravated.
One week later, I was walking straight to Spencer’s office with something that his assistant should have fetched. I was more likely to wear a path in the carpet between Logan and Spencer than they were themselves by this point.
The scene before me wasn’t surprising. A woman half draped over Spencer Malone on the leather couch talking sweetly, giggling while unbuttoning his shirt. He had looked at her, amused, and when I knocked at his door that stood slightly ajar, I didn’t flinch.
Laura was all over him. I was, as I said, not surprised. I just marched in, placed the folder on his desk and pivoted on my heel. I would be lying if I said I didn’t notice the tanned chest with tattoos peeking out, the big capable hands and his eyes that snapped to me.
“You don’t have to rush out,” he said while grasping the woman’s hand that flicked up another button.
I turned, a mocking brow sliding upwards. Spencer liked to rile me up as if he wanted to see me crack at one point. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if he’d thrown out a comment about a threesome. It had happened before, and it was as if he enjoyed my reaction, so I tried to keep my expression as neutral as possible.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said and watched his eyes darken, as they always did when I said that. “I better take my leave since you are otherwise occupied.”
“I could never be too occupied when it concerns you,” he said almost lazily while threading his fingers into Laura’s. The intimate gesture was interrupted when Laura sat up, offended, while eyeing me as I was a threat. I have seen that countless times before. As soon as I was in the perimeter of either Logan or Spencer, I had to ensure them I wasn’t a love interest. This time was no different. I couldn’t hold back a heavy sigh.
“Hey! What am I? Chopped liver?” Laura Davenport exclaimed looking between us.
“No,” I answered flatly. “Just the latest model.”
She smiled and said delighted: “So you noticed I am a model.”
I exchanged a look with Spencer. Mine said ‘are you serious right now?’ and he was in the line with ‘no-brainer’ with a shrug. I bit my lip from laughing and cleared my throat while I took off my glasses, held them to the light, found an unexisting speckle, polished and put them back on. Everything to avoid looking at them. Him, specifically.
Then she said the words I never thought I would hear in Spencer’s orbit: “You may congratulate us. We are engaged.”
She shoved forward her hand, and there it was. A diamond ring. She wiggled her fingers as if she expected me to kneel and kiss it. This time both of my brows reached the ceiling.
“Engaged?”
Spencer looked at me intently, his amused look was wiped out. Laura was waiting for me to react with something else than shock. She waited with a smile and Spencer looked... well, like Spencer. Calm and brooding, except for the smart-ass comments. Somewhere I conjured up my regular sharp expression.
“Congratulations. I let you continue your… celebration.”
The air in the room turned thick, unbreathable. That twinge in my stomach wasn’t just disappointment; it was a sharp, coiling thing that demanded I get out. Now. I fled, and to make the moment even less dignified, my sleeve snagged on the door frame. As I yanked it free, I thought I heard him call my name, but I didn’t look back.
The rest of the day my ears buzzed with office murmurs. They confirmed a swift engagement, and according to the rumors she was also pregnant. Pregnant. I let that sink in. I guess that was the answer to the engagement ring in the first place.
I was surprised it hadn’t happened before considering the long parade of women in his life.
If I had been his PA, note that he has tried to bribe me into it, he would have driven me even more crazy. The only time I could find some kind of peace was when Logan was in the office. Spencer knew I was off-limits, but over the past year, Logan had been traveling more often, relying on me to make decisions and report back to him regularly. And Spencer had been using my skills when Logan was gone to fix his problem.
Somehow, I thought I was the one getting a house with a white picket fence, a dog, and two kids. Not Spencer. Instead of a steady relationship and being stuck in a company that consumed me more for each day, I was literally run past by a womanizer who previously refused to settle down—at least according to an interview.
His own words likely came back to haunt him with full force. I recognized the jealousy but pushed it aside and let the work—with all its figures and strategies—consume me. It was safer, and something I handled with ease. No emotions. Just work. As always.
Mrs. Merry planted a mug of coffee in the afternoon on my desk two days later, and closed my door. She had been at Powell’s countless years, and nobody really knew what exactly she was doing, but she intercepted catastrophes both in business and office relations. Now she was in my office, and I was now one that she wanted to help. I denied the reasons full-heartedly.
“Sit down, dear,” Mrs. Merry said, plopping into the chair across from my desk without waiting for an invitation. She wore a purple caftan adorned with embroidered parrots, her white-blonde hair perfectly coiffed despite the humidity outside. She was a walking rainbow amongst the dark suits, and I adored her for it. Especially her British accent.
Whatever insult she threw always sounded civilized. I had heard her battle men who thought themselves superior, and she outsmarted them every time before they understood what had happened.
You learned quickly that when she talked, you listened. This was one of those moments, even though I knew I wouldn’t like it.
“You’ve been looking peaked lately.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, though the crack in my voice betrayed me.
“Fine as a wilted flower at a funeral, perhaps.” She stirred her tea, the spoon clinking against the delicate china. “Three years without a proper holiday, working every weekend, covering for Mr. Carson while he jets off over the globe. You’re running yourself ragged, Chelsea.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Mrs. Merry raises a perfectly manicured hand.
“Don’t bother denying it. I’ve watched you helping that charming Mr. Malone and practically live in his office. You can’t work for them both.”
She leans forward, her eyes sharp despite the innocent flutter of her eyelashes. “When was the last time you had fun?”
The question catches me off guard. Fun? I can’t remember the last time I did something just for the joy of it. The thought is unsettling.
“Work is my life,” I mumble.
“Exactly my point, darling.” Mrs. Merry nods sagely. “You need a break. Get away from this place. Get away from... certain distractions.”
My stomach tightens. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Please. I’ve seen the way you two circle each other. Like cats pretending they don’t notice each other across the yard.”
She takes a delicate sip of tea, and I wait.
“Mr. Malone has been particularly... agitated since that incident with Ms. Davenport.”
