He looks at me from his computer. "What are you apologizing for?”
"My resume?" I ask. "You saw it? I know I shouldn't have had it in the office."
"No," he says, "you shouldn't have."
“I recognize that, and I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.” I'm about to start cold sweating beneath my silk blouse.
Victor raises an eyebrow. “Despite how unprofessional that might have been,” he says, "I didn't call you in for that."
"Oh."
He leans back in his chair and looks at me in that full, scrutinizing way he'd done the other day. That's twice in a week. I bear the full brunt of Victor St. Clair's intensity, unsure if I'll survive a third time.
"So you want to quit," he says.
"No,” I say. “I mean, I might in the future. This has been a terrific job, truly. But I think I've learned all I can in this position. So I’m thinking of finding another job, one more challenging, so I can continue to grow. But that’s in the future.”
“Right. Well, that’s excellent."
I stare at him for a long moment, my heart pounding like I’ve run a marathon. His words don’t make sense. "It's… excellent, sir?"
"Yes. I have a new job proposal for you."
"You do?" He has never expressed anything but disdain or a complete lack of interest in me. Had I managed to impress him? I do everything he asks of me and a lot more he doesn’t.
"Yes. It's unorthodox."
“Unorthodox?”
He braces his hands on the desk. "You know that my grandfather passed a few months ago.”
“Yes, I do. I helped arrange his funeral."
“Right. Well, he left a will."
"Oh."
"A will with certain... stipulations."
This I understand. “You want me to coordinate with the lawyers?"
The lines of his face deepen. "No. I've already tried that for the past half year. They won’t budge.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry."
His jaw works. “My grandfather’s will stipulates that to gain access to my inheritance, I must be married.”
"Married, sir? Is it legal to include that in a will?"
"I doubt it," Victor mutters. His hands clench tight around the edge of his desk. "But the old bastard got his lawyers to agree somehow. They filed every loophole available to make sure my inheritance is contingent on my civil status.”
"Wow. I'm sorry, sir. I imagine that's difficult."
St. Clair is never going to marry. I know that from working a year with him. Hell, I'd known it after working for him a week. He dated like a tomcat. Over the past couple of months I'd set him up on dates nearly every week.
Not to mention there wasn't a woman in this world who'd tolerate the long hours he worked. The man had even spent Christmas Day in the office and forced me to answer his emails remotely.
And then there’s the issue of his personality, of course.