Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry…” I shook my head. “I thought I was the CFO now.”
“You are,” he said, gesturing to my nameplate. “Obviously.”
“So, why are you asking me to do assistant things?”
“Because I don’t have a new assistant, Miss Stone,” he said. “And until I do, you’re still mine.”
The words slid under my skin before I could stop them.
“No…” I shook my head. “I’m not.”
“You are.” He nodded. “Until I find the time to replace you.”
“I can speed up that process by helping.”
“You’re not in HR,” he said. “I’ll handle that. Trust me.”
“I don’t.” I stood up. “I don’t trust you, and I should’ve known this was too good to be true.”
“How many minutes do I need to allot for this next argument?” He glanced at his watch. “I’d prefer if we didn’t go past nine.”
“I can’t be your assistant and the highest financial officer in the company, Harrison.”
“You becoming CFO doesn’t put us on a first-name basis, Miss Stone.”
“You can’t keep doing this to me.” My chest ached. “Like, do you not see how ridiculous you’re being?”
“I doubled your salary,” he said evenly. “I didn’t double your authority.”
“I don’t have time to pack for a conference that’s a week away right now,” I said. “I have a full schedule of meetings.”
“I signed us up for the additional corporate tier.” He completely ignored my comment. “That starts tomorrow morning, so I suggest you do the math on the flight and when you need to be at the private airport this evening. Oh, and…
I couldn’t hear the rest of his words.
All I could do was glare at him with utter rage running through my veins.
After this conference, I was getting a lawyer.
I’m done. Forever this time.
TWENTY-EIGHT
HARRISON
Andrea stepped out of the town car on the private tarmac, the early evening light catching the glass of the terminal behind her.
Even from the bottom of the steps, I could see it.
Her eyes were red and puffy.
When she climbed the stairs and stepped into the aisle of my private plane, I set down my tablet.
“Are you sick?” I asked. “Have you been crying?”
“No, Mr. Cross,” she said. “I’ve been accepting.”
“Accepting what?” I asked.
“Reality.” She placed her bag in the closet. Then she settled into the seat across from me.
“Will there be any more passengers this evening, Mr. Cross?” the flight attendant asked.
“No,” I answered. “Just me and Miss Stone.”
She nodded and served us water and fruit before checking in with the pilot.
I waited for Andrea to elaborate—to explain herself—but she was simply glaring at me.
“As much as I’d like to play the staring game with you,” I said, “I’d rather use our time doing something productive. Do you have my introductory speech ready?”
She slipped a hand into her purse and held it out to me.
I hesitated before taking it, but I didn’t ask why it wasn’t in my cloud.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t say, “You’re welcome.”
I glanced at the sheet and stopped reading after the first page.
Good evening.
My name is Harrison Cross and I’m an asshole billionaire who dragged my CFO here. Pleasure to be amongst fellow evil tyrants.
“There better be another draft,” I said.
She opened a book.
“It’s going to be hard to communicate with my executive assistant if she’s refusing to talk to me.”
“I’m not supposed to be your fucking executive assistant,” she hissed, unbuckling her seatbelt. “I’m supposed to be more than that, and I’ll never forgive you for playing such a cruel game with my livelihood.”
“Miss Stone—”
“Don’t talk to me until we’re at the conference.” She stood up and drew an imaginary line between us. “Respect my boundary.”
She moved to the back of the plane and took a window seat.
She didn’t say another word for the rest of the flight.
And when we landed in Hawaii, she took a separate car to the hotel.
It wasn’t until I arrived after her that I realized she’d booked us in two separate suites.
On two separate floors.
I wasn’t sure why that made my chest hurt.
TWENTY-NINE
ANDREA
The Rising Coffee Conference was an absolute paradise.
For everyone except me.
Outside, guests partied beneath strings of warm lights that shimmered over the shoreline. Inside, the scent of espresso and caramel drifted through the terrace doors while laughter spilled from the lobby.
Who the hell schedules a work conference in Hawaii?
Every major coffee chain in the country was here for the week—some eager, some predatory, all pretending they weren’t quietly calculating how to outlast everyone else.
If I had come with anyone else—literally anyone else—I’d probably be dancing barefoot in the sand, pleasantly buzzed and careless.
Instead, I was staring at myself in a mirror, preparing to stand beside Harrison Cross in a ballroom full of men who measured their worth by how many companies they’d devoured.
Sighing, I adjusted the straps of my dark gray dress and turned to the side. My matching stilettos featured a blood-rose charm, and I’d added a tiny skull to remind myself that this man was all but dead to me once we returned to Manhattan.