He’d obviously filled in the gaps yesterday when we’d made the Couture announcement. Mathias threw his hands sideways with a smile. “Why not both? This could go in so many interesting directions.”
“No. It won’t. You won’t touch her, and neither will I.”
“Because…?”
My father still hadn’t received the memo that he was well into his sixties, and that the only reason young women weren’t slapping him into unconsciousness was because he had more money than he could spend in six lifetimes and a name that was synonymous with power.
“Because she’s an employee.”
He raised an eyebrow, silently reminding me that when he set his eyes on a woman, he liked her small, dependent, and very much unemployed. If it was up to him, he would saunter over to Judith right now and whisk her to the same suite we’d shared at the Laurent Towers Hotel next door. If she proved to be good in the sack—which she would, I knew that, because I’d been balls deep in her not even a month ago—he would lock her in a golden cage and provide her with a luxurious life of imprisonment: an apartment, a private driver, a credit card with an outrageous cap—all to keep her happy and available until he got bored with her.
I pointed the stack of documents in his face. “Move her ass back to the fifth floor before the end of the day.”
He smirked. “May I remind you who is the boss around here?”
I pushed my door open, throwing him a glare soaked with repulsion. “The boss is the asshole who makes your show worth something, Father. You’re just the fucking purse.”
I ended up ignoring Judith for the rest of the day.
It wasn’t intentional, but satisfactory all the same. I didn’t even bother to show her to her desk. I wasn’t entirely sure what my father wanted her to do here, but I knew after the faceoff this morning I’d better keep her, or he’d find another way to sabotage my show.
She was probably a wannabe fashionista who thought working at Couture was an honor akin to receiving the Nobel Prize. I needed to get creative with giving her a task she could perform well that would still put some distance between us.
After lunching with James and his agent, I had to do a final rundown before the show. James was having a meltdown two floors below because the makeup artist didn’t have his shade of foundation and he was afraid he’d look like an Oompa Loompa, and an interviewee had been involved in a car accident on his way to the show.
Since Judith didn’t have a desk, a computer, or anyone to talk to, she sat on a chair by the door and wrote furiously in a thick notebook. I imagined her diary to be filled with her latest thoughts about Shawn Mendes and anal bleaching.
By the time I had a minute to spare, it was seven-thirty. Everyone had already left for the day. I grabbed a chair and plopped down next to her, folding my arms over my chest. She looked up from her notebook, uncrossing her legs and tucking her Chucked feet under her chair. She looked like a newswoman like I looked like a fucking clown. The mere acknowledgement of her existence here was spit in my precious time’s face.
“This wasn’t my idea,” I clarified, rubbing my face tiredly.
She broke into a smile—not fake, not calculated, and also not constructive to my twitching dick. “Good show.”
“I know.”
“But I thought your interview with Faceworld’s CEO could have gone differently.”
“Next time I’ll make sure he wears Hermes when he talks about the Russian hacker threats.”
“Or maybe next time make sure he’s not blowing smoke up your anchor’s ass, excuse my French.” If nothing else, her dig was kind of funny. “Seeing as your main competition ran a story tonight about how said CEO is now accused of being an avid user of Cotton Way, a darknet website where you can buy heroin and guns for competitive prices.” She handed me her phone.
It was the main item on their website now. Fuck.
“This place look like TMZ to you?” I motioned around the room with my finger.
“There’s nothing sleazy about this item, and you know it. I came here to make the news. To keep the masses informed, and to serve my country.”
She surprised me, her eyes shooting daggers at mine. Why did her words surprise me? Because she was gorgeous, and young, and fuckable to a fault. But didn’t that make me the misogynistic, judgmental bastard my father was?
“Your station.” I stood up and cleared my throat, sauntering to the middle of the room. I’d deliberately put her somewhere I couldn’t see clearly from my office. I knew my dick better than to trust it around Miss Chucks. “See this?”
She slid into the chair in front of the monitor. “Reuters.”
We have a genius on our hands.
“Your job is to stare at this screen all day and sort through the relevant news items on this site. Yellow items go to Steve, our junior reporter—well, slightly less junior than you. Orange items go to Jessica, our in-house reporter, and red items go straight to Kate, my associate producer.”
I scribbled their emails on a Post-It note and slapped it on her monitor.
“And what happens when I see a yellow with the potential to become a red?”
Your yellow hair would look nice on my thighs as you suck me off and I make your ass red with the spanking you clearly deserve.
“Fat chance.” I straightened up so I wouldn’t have to smell her vanilla and warm ginger scent. My dick didn’t need this kind of negativity in his life.
“It could, though.”
I turned around, facing her again. “And what are your credentials to make such assumptions?”
She stared at me flippantly. “BA from Columbia Journalism School.”
Fuck-hot.
Smiths enthusiast.
Well-educated.
And a lying thief.
I needed to stay away from her, send her ass packing and relocate her to our Chicago branch. For now, though, I was mainly interested in why a Columbia graduate had stolen my goddamn change and condoms.
“Before you ask, full scholarship. I have no money.”
She was a mind reader, too.
I stroked my chin. “Didn’t ask; don’t care. You’ll also be my assistant’s assistant.”
“Your assistant has an assistant?” She swiveled in her chair, eyes widening.
“She does now.” I smirked.
“You disgust me,” she said.
“You have a weird way of showing it.”
“Weren’t you the one who gave me a twenty-minute lecture about never mentioning that night again?” She darted up and stomped her foot, her hands balled into fists.
I would pity her if I didn’t remember how I’d felt when I’d realized my wallet was missing. She actually thought we were playing by the same rules. We were toe-to-toe now, and even though the room was empty save for her and me, I could feel it burning up with our anger. I liked her hot and bothered, but that didn’t mean I was going to dip my dick into her again. I didn’t break my rules for anyone.
Let alone an employee.
That didn’t interfere with the fact that my balls tightened, though. My muscles tensed, too, with the frustration of not being able to remind her that she might hate me outside of bed, but inside it, she’d been purring like a kitten.
“Judith.” I clasped her chin between my fingers, angling her face to meet my gaze.
“Jude,” she corrected.
She wanted me to be like everyone else. That ship had fucking sailed the minute I’d spotted her in the bar, and all I could see were her pink-Chuck-clad feet wrapped around my shoulders as I drilled into her.