My Grumpy Billionaire Boss Needs Me for Three Months

The envelope was thin, which meant the answer was no. Nora Bennett read the letter twice in the lobby of Eastbridge Community Bank, rain still dripping from her sleeves, hoping the words might rearrange themselves. We regret to inform you that your loan application has not been approved. "I'm sorry, Miss Bennett." The loan officer had the soft, practiced face of someone who delivered this news twenty times a day. "Your income doesn't meet the requirement." "Then I'll change my income," Nora said, and smiled. Smiling was cheaper than screaming. Outside, the November wind slapped her cheeks. Her phone buzzed. She didn't need to look. Only one number called this often. Billing Department: Outstanding balance $14,380. Payment due in 14 days. She leaned against the cold brick wall and closed her eyes. It was her rule: five seconds to feel it, and then she put it away. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. She opened her eyes, squared her shoulders, and went to see her brother. Leo's room on the fourth floor smelled of antiseptic and orange juice. He sat propped against three pillows with a chessboard on his knees, glaring at it as it owed him money. "You're late," he said, without looking up. "Visiting hours started forty minutes ago." "The bus broke down." "The bus always breaks down. Leave earlier." "Spoken like a ten-year-old who has never bought a bus ticket." She kissed the top of his head, and he squirmed, pretending to hate it. "Who's winning?" "Me. I'm playing both sides." He slid a knight forward with great ceremony. "How was the bank?" Nora's smile didn't waver. She'd practiced it the whole way here. "Great. Nothing to worry about." Leo looked up. He had their mother's eyes, wide and brown and far too sharp for his age. "You do that thing with your eyebrow when you lie." "I do not." "You're doing it right now." She laughed, and her voice cracked only a little. "Drink your juice, genius." He studied her for a long moment. Then, because he was ten and brave and kinder than anyone had a right to be, he let it go. "Okay. But if it's bad, you can tell me. I'm not made of glass." No, she thought, tucking the blanket around his thin feet. You're all I've got. At two in the morning, Nora sat cross-legged on the sagging couch she shared with her best friend Tessa, laptop glowing, tea gone cold at her elbow. Tessa had given up an hour ago, saying, "Drink some water and go to sleep." Nora had agreed to both and done neither. She'd applied to seventeen jobs that week. Waitress. Receptionist. Night cleaner. The ones that paid enough were already filled. The ones that weren't filled didn't pay enough. She was about to close the laptop when one listing at the very bottom of the page caught her eye. TEMPORARY PERSONAL ASSISTANT TO THE CEO: HALE GROUP 3-month contract. Immediate start. $9,500 per month. Nora read the number three times. The fourth time, she covered her mouth with her hand. Nine thousand five hundred a month. Twenty-eight thousand five hundred in three months. That was Leo's bill, and the next one, and a few weeks of breathing room. Walk-in applications accepted until 9:00 AM. Candidates must be organized, discreet, and able to handle pressure. She almost laughed. She'd been handling pressure since she was nineteen. Then she read the final line, and her stomach dropped. Note: the previous four assistants resigned within two weeks. She stared at the screen. The old radiator clanked in the wall. Rain drummed on the window like impatient fingers. Nobody lasts. Which means nobody wants it. Which means I might actually have a chance. Nora closed the laptop. Then she opened it again and hit print.: At 8:47 the next morning, Nora ran. She ran through the rain in her only good blazer, folder pressed to her chest, hair giving up with every step. The Hale Group tower rose over the financial district like a blade of glass. The bus had broken down. Of course it had. She burst through the revolving doors at 8:54, soaked and breathless, still holding the paper cup of tea she'd grabbed from a cart because her hands wouldn't stop shaking. The receptionist looked at her like she'd dragged in a storm. "Executive floor. Elevator B. You have six minutes." Nora ran again. The elevator doors were already opening when she reached them, and a man stepped out, head down, reading his phone. She saw charcoal wool and a broad shoulder, and then she hit him at full speed. The tea went everywhere. It poured down the front of his coat in a hot, dark rush. His hand shot out and closed around her upper arm, steadying her before she could fall, and the heat of his palm went straight through her wet sleeve. Neither of them moved. "I'm sorry," she said, and her voice came out lower than she meant it to. "I wasn't looking." "No," he said. "You weren't." She looked up. He was younger than she'd expected, with dark hair, a hard jaw, and gray eyes that seemed to take her apart in one slow pass: the rain in her hair, the pulse beating in her throat, the damp blouse clinging to her collarbone. His gaze stopped there for a fraction of a second too long. Then it snapped back to her face, and something in his expression went cold and controlled, like a door closing. He still hadn't let go of her arm. "Name," he said. "Nora Bennett." She was suddenly, painfully aware of how close they were. He smelled like cedar and rain and something warmer underneath. "I'll pay for the dry cleaning." "The coat is fifteen thousand dollars." "Then I'll pay in installments." A muscle moved in his jaw. It might have been irritation. It might have been something else. He released her arm slowly, and the place where his hand had been felt cooler than the rest of her. He peeled off the ruined coat and dropped it over his arm. Beneath it, his white shirt was damp at the shoulder where the tea had soaked through, and she made the mistake of noticing the line of muscle beneath the fabric. She looked away fast. He saw. She knew he saw, because the silence changed. "Why are you here, Miss Bennett?" She held up the folder with as much dignity as she could manage. "The assistant position. The listing said walk-ins until nine." He glanced at his watch. 8:58. "Four assistants have quit this month. You read the warning." "I read it." "And you still came." "I need the job." Her chin lifted. "I'm not afraid of hard work. Or hard bosses." Something flickered in his eyes at that. He held her gaze a moment too long, and she felt it like a hand at the small of her back. "There were three hundred and ninety-nine applicants before you," he said quietly. Her heart sank. "Then I suppose I've lost." "You are the four hundredth." He stepped back into the elevator and held the door with one hand. "Get in, Miss Bennett." The elevator was small, with mirrored walls. There was nowhere to look that didn't show her the two of them standing a careful foot apart. He pressed the button for forty-two, and the doors slid shut. The silence hummed. She could hear her own breathing, and she was almost certain she could hear his. "You're dripping on my floor," he said. "It's raining." "I'd noticed." His eyes met hers in the mirror, steady and unreadable. "You ran here." "The bus broke down." "And you didn't think to leave earlier?" "I thought about leaving earlier," Nora said. "Then I thought about paying for a hospital bill instead." She hadn't meant to say it. The words just fell out into the silence, honest and too raw, and she wanted to take them back. He turned his head. For the first time, he looked at her directly instead of in the mirror. The elevator hummed, and the numbers climbed: twenty, twenty-five, thirty. "Don't apologize for it," he said, very low. "I wasn't going to." "Good." Something dark and electric moved between them. His gaze dropped to her mouth for half a second, no more. Then he looked away, jaw tight, and she saw his hand curl slowly into a fist at his side, like a man holding something back. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine. Nora didn't breathe. Forty-two. The doors opened. He stepped out first and didn't look back. "Interview begins in two minutes. Don't be late." She followed, her pulse still hammering, his scent still on her skin where he'd held her. Whatever this job was going to cost her, she thought, it was not going to be just money.