“I’m done,” I announced to Help after fifteen minutes, getting up from my chair.
She was still engrossed in conversation, this time with the NY branch’s chief accountant. He was fairly young for a senior accountant, a preppy New Englander who probably graduated from an Ivy League school. Reeked of privilege. A guy like me.
“Emilia…” I snapped my fingers twice, like she was my pet.
Help swiveled her head, giving me her unimpressed look, before resuming her conversation with him. At this point, the guy turned mute and kept stealing glances at me like I was the Grim Reaper.
I got him, I did.
I was young. So fucking young to be a CEO. People didn’t achieve this level of power at twenty-eight. But the HotHoles and I, we’d had our fair share of shortcuts, what with the ability to invest millions of family dollars in our business from the very first year. Wealth attracted more wealth. And with Jaime, Dean, and me putting ten million dollars in FHH back when we founded the company, we saw a return quicker than the average idiot entrepreneur.
We’d created a monster.
And we were in charge of it.
That made me even more formidable than your usual CEO, and the young accountant knew it.
“If you’re not in my office in sixty seconds, I’ll just assume you’ve resigned,” I said easily before I turned around and left. On my way back to my office, I kicked the HR manager’s door open and proceeded—without even looking at the person who occupied the desk. “The accountant kid—how good is he?”
“Floyd? He’s good. Been here for three years now. Mr. Cole never complained.” The middle-aged woman behind the desk looked at me like she didn’t want me there. That made two of us.
“Send him to my office immediately.”
“Is there a problem?”
I closed the door without answering her, then stormed back to my office, where Help already stood. Good. At least she knew that my generosity and willingness to make this work had its limits. She was focused on her iPad and seemed to give zero shits about my semi-tantrum.
“Book a flight to San Diego for this afternoon,” I barked. “And arrange for my father’s limo to take us to Todos Santos.” Without a glance at her, I fell into my executive chair and rolled it toward my laptop, pushing my sleeves up.
“Us? I’ll need the other person’s name for the ticket.” She tapped on her device, the trace of a smile still on her lips.
“The other person is you.” My voice was flat.
Her eyes arrowed from the screen to me. “I can’t leave my sister.”
“I clearly remember you agreeing not to argue with me, Help. Don’t start a war with me. I come equipped.”
“That was before I realized my sister’s health could be compromised—”
I cut her off. “Rosie will have a private nurse attending to her while you’re gone. Have my people move her to your new apartment today.” I scrawled the address of the building where I was living.
I wasn’t stupid enough to tell her I was living in Dean’s apartment. The HotHoles had invested in a few smaller units in the building. One was a corporate place we used as backup if we were all in town at once. Also a convenient place to get laid. The apartment was vacant and minimally furnished. That was more than enough for these two.
“And what do you know, this apartment has heat,” I added, remembering the cold, drafty hallway in her ancient brownstone.
She shoved one of her hands deep into those pink-purple locks and massaged her skull in frustration. Seeing her sweating made my cock twitch. Luckily, I was behind a desk.
She had no way out. This was happening.
“I’ll call Rosie and see what I can do,” she muttered, her eyes shooting daggers at me. Blue with light purple hair. And that Harley Quinn courier bag.
How could you not want to fuck this chick? Of course I was hard. She looked like a rainbow.
“Here’s a friendly reminder. Your sister’s not your boss. I am. So you better not come back with the wrong answer.” I twisted to my laptop when I heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called out, and Floyd entered my office, reeking of Brooks Brothers.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Spencer?” he stuttered, smoothing his starched shirt. He looked like he might’ve shit his pants.
I was hoping he had because that would absolutely kill any chance of him and Help ever hooking up. I nodded at him while Emilia gave us a hooded glance, wrinkles knitting the corners of her eyes.
“I’ll get out of your way, then” she said and turned to leave.
“Stay,” I ordered sharply and pushed back, sprawled in my chair. I’d always been comfortable with other people’s defenselessness. “Close the door and take a seat, Floyd. You too, Ms. LeBlanc.”