* * *
I haven’t spoken to Max Kingston since I got Maddie’s text the other afternoon. I emailed him the past two mornings to let him know I wasn’t coming in to work and needed to take some personal days. I had no idea the reception I’d get when I walked into the office today, but it certainly wasn’t what I got.
A beautiful woman, who looks like she belongs on Themyscira with Wonder Woman and the other Amazonians, is sitting at my desk, arguing with someone on the phone.
Max couldn’t have replaced me after two days... could he?
That thought rocks my world like everything seems to be doing lately.
I stand, stuck in place for a moment before deciding to bypass her and walk right into Max’s office. Unfortunately for everyone within a five-mile radius, my give-a-fuck meter is running really low. If he replaced me already, I need to know. Now.
Max is on a call, so I drop my vintage green leather messenger bag on the floor next to his desk and wait for him to look up with my hands on my hips.
When he finally does, I cross my arms over my chest and cock my brow, then wait him out.
The look on Max’s face is a cross between annoyance and amusement. “Let me call you back, Becks.” Once he hangs up the phone, he leans back in his executive chair and crosses his arms, mirroring me. It’s barely eight o’clock in the morning, but he’s already got the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up his forearms. Colorful ink dancing along corded muscles makes my mouth water until he speaks... “Welcome back, Daphne. Are you feeling better?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Why does this man insist on using my full fucking name? I chose not to waste what little patience I still have on that question and go for the gold instead. “Who’s sitting at my desk?”
I’m not even attempting to temper the attitude I’m throwing.
Stupid? Yes. But I’m past the point of caring.
I’m done allowing myself to be moved like a pawn on a chess board.
I knew I shouldn’t have left my damn bed.
Max doesn’t seem phased at all by my outburst. Calm. Cool. And collected, as always. “My assistant.”
“I’m your assistant.” I point toward the Amazonian. “And that’s my desk.” Damn all the men in my life for taking my safety nets from me.
He rolls his lips in over his teeth like he’s trying to stop himself from laughing at me.
The fucker.
“I didn’t know if you were coming in today, and I needed help. Scarlet let me borrow her yesterday.” He says this calmly, like it made sense.
Newsflash: It didn’t.
I feel smaller and more insignificant than I already did. My family used to own this building, and now I feel like Oliver Twist, begging for scraps at the table. Not a great way to start the day.
She steps into Max’s office. Stops next to me and looks down.
Not like she’s better than me, more like she’s tall enough to have to look down at me.
No lie, this woman has to be at least five-foot-ten to my five-foot-three. Even her heels are higher than mine, and I’m a heel kinda girl. She’s wearing a cream pantsuit, and her chocolate-brown hair looks like it belongs on a shampoo commercial. Seriously, I’d do her if I swung that way.
Maybe I should give up on men and give it a try.
Men are assholes.
“You must be Daphne.” She offers me her hand. Great. She’s more professional than me too. “I’m Taylor. Nice to meet you.”
I shake her hand, albeit begrudgingly. She’s got what my grandpa would have called a good shake. Strong. Firm. No weak wrist. “Nice to meet you. Thank you for filling in while I was gone. But I’m back now.”
She doesn’t hide her smile like Max did earlier. Instead, she turns toward Max, and her perfume wafts my way. Dammit. She even smells good. Probably did my job ten times better than me too. And again, I need this job now more than ever.
“You good with me heading back to the King offices, boss?”