“It was ... fun.” Thinking of how easy it had been to talk to Stella, a sincere smile played at my lips

“Good. That you’re getting in with Margaret’s employees, that is. Is she still going out of town tomorrow?”

I nodded. “Won’t be back until Friday night.”

“Perfect. Gives you time to back up her computer files.” At the look I gave her, she cocked her head. “Don’t make that face at me, Gemma. We’ve been playing dirty thus far, no point in holding back now.”

“You make it sound so bad.”

“Quit your bitching.” She opened her mouth to say something else, but every time she started to speak, she stopped herself, flicked her tongue over the center of her lips, and reconsidered her words. “You know, it probably wouldn’t hurt if you said yes.”

“What?”

“To the manwhore. Let him take you out in his douchemobile.”

“His douchemobile?” I threw my head back and laughed. “Last week you were praising the design of the Viper and now it’s a douchemobile?”

“Yeah, well, I’m also a jealous bitch.” She fisted her dark hair into a ponytail before releasing it to fall around her face. “You go out with him and then you can pick his gorgeous brain about his wonderfully adoring mother.”

I brushed my finger over a velvety blue petal and jerked my head to either side. “Unwise.”

“It might be fun. Did you ever think of that?”

Sniffing, I got off the couch. “That’s why it’s unwise.” Although I wanted to take one last look at the flowers, I kept my gaze straight ahead as I headed toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a bath before the pizza gets here.”

“Take too long and it’ll all be gone,” she warned.

It wasn’t until I’d settled into the bathtub, and a Rachele Royale song about having loud sex was throbbing in my brain, that I came to terms with something that knocked me a little off my axis.

I wished Oliver had sent those flowers to me. Gemma, not Lizzie.

*

The next morning, Margaret inundated me the second I set her scalding coffee on her desk. “When did you say you were doing that walkthrough with Natalie?” She didn’t look up from the paperwork strewn in front of her as she pointed to the empty seat opposite her. “Did you make a note on my schedule?”

I sat down and crossed my legs at the ankle. “Next Tuesday. And I’ve already updated your schedule.”

Although her attention was pointed down, her frown of disapproval was clear.

Oh God, here it comes, I thought. Picking a piece of lint off the skirt of my navy fit-and-flare dress, I waited for Margaret’s next request, and sure enough, a few seconds later, she ordered, “Move it to Monday.”

The possibility of changing the appointment was slim, but I wasn’t about to let Margaret know that. If I was ever going to get anything accomplished, getting on her good side was imperative. “You got it,” I said smoothly. “I’ll have Natalie change the appointment.”

Her blue eyes lifted to meet mine. “Wonderful. Tuesday will be a full day. I’ll be in meetings with the board all day, and I’ll need you close by to help keep minutes.”

So much for what Dora had told me about the board meetings not involving me. Using the LCD writing tablet I’d picked up over the long weekend, I made myself a note to get in touch with Natalie so I could beg her to squeeze me in a day earlier. “Alright, I’ll shoot her an email as soon as I get back to my desk and then I’ll follow up with her in a couple hours.”

“Good enough.” Margaret sat up straight in her high back chair and tapped her manicured finger against her chin. “As you know, I’ll be flying to New York later today and won’t be back until Friday afternoon.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve scheduled a car to meet me at the airport?”

That had been one of the first things I’d done the day I started—after my infuriating back and forth with her son. Any thought of Oliver immediately pushed the flowers from last night into my mind, and I knew I couldn’t ignore them.

Clearing my throat, I squared my shoulders and began, “I emailed you the travel itinerary yesterday after—”

Margaret held up a hand. “I need you to print them out and bring them to me.”

“No problem, I’ll drop them off shortly.” When she realized I was waiting for her to finish today’s list, her eyes narrowed into a slow, burning glare.

“Now.”

Fisting my hands in my lap, I smiled and nodded, like a damn bobblehead. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” As I departed her office, my back uncomfortably straight and every muscle ticking in anger, I wondered if she found any pleasure in this.

She had to, right?

“Absolute bullshit,” I hissed as I sat down at my desk and began locating the documents I’d emailed her previously. As I sent everything to the personal printer in my office, I glanced at the email conversation I’d had with Oliver, reminding me that I’d have to thank him for the flowers sooner than later. A frown tugged the corners of my lips. He could have given up or moved on to another conquest—it wasn’t like the man was in short supply of willing women, I supposed. Though that would have been too easy.

Releasing a frustrated noise, I gathered the printouts and put them in a file folder before returning to Margaret’s office. Her chair was empty, but when I heard her voice coming from the far end of the room, I tiptoed closer to see her lying on the white sofa.

“Goddamn it, Oliver, I’m not getting into this with you,” she growled, and I felt my breath catch. He was everywhere—in my home, on my computer, and now on the phone with my boss. “I’m leaving here in the next ten minutes as soon as that little—.”

Before she could call me who knows what, I cleared my throat. She lifted her head slightly, observing me standing close to her desk. “I’ll just leave these right here.” I flashed her the documents before dropping them close to the based of her desktop screen.

She waved her hand flippantly, but before I could completely leave her office, she stopped me. “Wait, Lizzie.” When I turned, she was in an upright position, sliding her feet into her snake-print Louboutin pumps. “I’m leaving shortly. I’m going to email you a list of things I need you to take care of while I’m away.”

“I’ll look out for it.”

“Also, call the cleaning service in New York and make sure they’ll have my apartment clean by this afternoon?”

“I’ll do it right now. Have a safe trip, Margaret.”

Ignoring me, she resumed her call with her son. “It’s too late to cancel, so you’re just going to have to deal with it,” she snapped at him, and I couldn’t help but wonder what they were arguing about as I returned to my desk to at least attempt to get some work done.

When I heard the door to her office slam shut, I was on hold waiting to speak to someone with the cleaning service she employed for her Upper East Side apartment—my father’s old apartment. I scooted my chair back and glanced out just in time to see her stalk on the elevator in an angry huff.

Finally, I thought, feeling a burst of giddiness.

With her gone, tomorrow I would be free to look around her office without getting caught.

“Ms. Emerson?” a voice on the other line spoke up, and my heart automatically jumped into my throat even though I knew he was referring to Margaret.

“No, I’m Mrs. Emerson’s assistant, Ms. Connelly,” I quickly corrected.

“Ah, sorry about that. I checked our records and it looks like your boss’ apartment was cleaned this morning.”

“Perfect.” That was one item I could scratch off my list. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Brandon.”

Grabbing an owl-print Post-It from the top of the stack, I scribbled a quick note in case there were problems and stuck it to the bottom of my computer monitor. “Thanks, Brandon. You have a good one, okay?”

“You do the same.”

Typing quickly, I sent Margaret a one-line message letting her know her apartment was clean and ready for her stay. No sooner than I hit send, a new email from her appeared in my inbox with the subject line To-Do List Pt. 1.