Not In Her Job Description

ALMOST THERE!

KYLE I was up the moment Kayla flounced out of the room. Not because she'd rattled me, certainly not that but because I had no intention of lying in bed stewing when there were things to be done. I had a new role to step into in forty-eight hours and a mental list of priorities that was growing by the minute. I was halfway to the bathroom when my phone screen lit up on the nightstand. I glanced at it. Amelia. I stood there for a moment, looking at her name, and then I picked up with the resigned energy of a man who already knew this call was going to cost him something. "Well hello Kyle." Her voice came through bright and deliberate, pitched at that particular frequency, that perfect, that too perfect sultriness that had always set my teeth on edge. It was not quite natural, not quite a performance, somewhere entirely its own. "Is there a problem, Amelia?" "I heard you're back in London." "You heard right." "And about the promotion." A beat, carefully timed. "Congratulations, Kyle. I mean that. No one's worked harder for it." "Thank you." Then she exhaled, soft and loaded. "I just hope you're happy. With this ‘job’ that drove a wedge between us." "Don't." The word came out flat and final. "Don't start that." "Kyle, you have to admit that—" "Enough." I cut her off cleanly. "The breakup was months ago, Amelia. I won't be revisiting it today. Or any other day. We're done having this conversation." A pause. Then, quietly — "Bastard." The line went dead. I set the phone down and exhaled slowly, releasing a tension I hadn't even registered building in my shoulders. Amelia had always had that effect, the ability to install pressure without you noticing until it released. I hadn't expected her to be that composed, all things considered. I could only hope our paths wouldn't cross again anytime soon. London had a way of making that difficult. I freshened up quickly, dressed without deliberating. I've never been a man who agonizes over clothes, combed my hair and went downstairs. Kayla was pacing the length of the entryway like a caged animal. When she saw me, she stopped and narrowed her eyes. "You took entirely too long." "Be grateful I'm here." I pulled the front door open and gestured for her to go ahead. "And stop nagging. It's far too early." She walked past me with her chin elevated, radiating the quiet triumph of someone who had won simply by getting me out of the house. --- We were already in the car and moving through London's Saturday morning traffic before it occurred to me to ask where, exactly we were going. "Belgravia Square," Kayla said, not looking up from her phone. "Where on Belgravia Square?" She finally glanced up, something mischievous flickering at the corner of her mouth. "If you'd asked Amelia this many questions, your breakup wouldn't have been half as messy." "Mind yourself." My voice came out quieter than I intended, which was somehow worse than if I'd raised it. "I don't do crowds, Kayla. You know this. Give me the exact address so I can make the necessary arrangements, or I tell Alex to turn this car around right now." "Kyle, it was years ago. You really should consider—" "Don't." The single word landed like a door closing. "The address. Now." She gave it to me, grumbling under her breath in that theatrical way she'd perfected since childhood; loud enough to register her protest, quiet enough to maintain plausible deniability. I made the call immediately. "Good morning, Mr. Worthington." Mr. Harrod's voice carried the particular warmth of someone who had been expecting to hear from me eventually. "I was just reading about your promotion — congratulations are absolutely in order, sir. Worthington Corp couldn't have made a finer—" "Thank you. My sister and I will arrive in approximately thirty minutes. I'd like the floor cleared of all non-staff before we get there. Can that be arranged?" "Of course, sir. Absolutely. You'll have the full attention of our best personal shoppers and I can assure you the experience will be—" I ended the call. Kayla was staring at me from across the backseat with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and reluctant understanding. She didn't push it further. To her credit, she rarely did. She just liked to make sure I knew she disagreed first. The rest of the ride passed in comfortable enough silence. I used the time productively, working through my phone, familiarizing myself with the current heads of department at Worthington Corp's London headquarters, my new direct reports, the pending items that would land on my desk first thing Monday morning. I went through the names methodically until I reached one I didn't recognize. Indira Miles. Administrative Assistant to the CEO. Previously: Team Lead, Sales Department. I frowned slightly. Gran's doing, clearly and since Gran rarely explained herself, it meant I was simply expected to trust her judgment on this one. I wasn't opposed to that in principle. My grandmother had built an empire on sharp instincts, and I had never known her to be wrong about people. But I didn't tolerate incompetence. Not in my personal staff, and certainly not in the person who would be managing my schedule, my correspondence, and every moving part of my professional life from Monday morning onward. Whoever Indira Miles was, she'd better be good at her job. I closed the tab and looked out the window as Belgravia came into view. --- INDIRA I stepped out of the Uber feeling like an entirely different version of myself. I was an Uber woman now, apparently. No more squeezing onto the Tube on a Saturday morning, no more bus journeys with my bag on my lap. I tipped the driver, smoothed the front of my dress, and floated, yes floated because there really is no other word for it through the entrance of the store. Anika's office was at the back, past the hushed, perfume-scented interior with its carefully lit displays and soft string music. I knocked once and walked in. She looked up from a stack of order sheets, reading glasses pushed up on her head. The moment she took me in, a slow, delighted grin spread across her face. "Why look at you." She pulled her glasses off entirely and leaned back in her chair for a better view. "You look absolutely fantastic. This is what you should have been doing all along, not hiding yourself under those horrible grey things for years." "I haven't been hiding Ani," I said, dropping into the chair across from her. "I've been dressing professionally." "You've been dressing like the color beige invented a dress code." She stood up, still grinning. "You have an incredible figure and a face that people would genuinely pay for. Own it, Indira." "I can't have people thinking I got to where I am because of my looks." Anika blinked at me. "You're going to be working for an octogenarian woman. Nobody is going to think you slept with Ms. Emilia to get the job." She paused, then dissolved into laughter at whatever image her own brain had just produced. "Truly, nobody." "I never said I'd be working for Ms. Emilia," I said, watching her compose herself. "She retired the same day she promoted me. I'll be working for her grandson. The new CEO." Anika stilled. "Her grandson?” "Kyle Worthington. He takes over Monday." "Kyle Worthington." She said the name slowly, as though feeling its weight. "Indira. Do you know who Kyle Worthington is?" "He runs acquisitions. Or he did, until—" "He is gorgeous, is what he is." She gave me a very pointed look. "This promotion just got considerably more interesting." "It's a job, Anika." "It's destiny," she said grandly, already moving toward the door. "Now come on. We have a wardrobe allowance to destroy and absolutely no time to waste." --- Anika in a*****e is a force of nature that I have no adequate language for. She moved through the rails with terrifying purpose, pulling items with the speed and certainty of someone who had been mentally preparing this shopping trip for years which, knowing Anika, she probably had. She had me in and out of fitting rooms at a pace that should have been exhausting but was somehow exhilarating. A sharp black blazer suit that I loved immediately. "You look like you're attending a very elegant funeral," she said, and put it back. A deep violet pantsuit that made my eyes look like something out of a painting. She held it up, tilted her head, and nodded once, decisively. That one stayed. Corporate separates in sage, ivory, cobalt and camel. Silk blouses. Tailored dresses in cuts that I had previously assumed weren't made for a body like mine and which turned out to be absolutely made for a body like mine. Anika knew every single one. She held up a dress last — midnight black, the kind of black so deep it edged toward blue in certain light. It was structured at the top, fluid below, with a neckline that was striking without being excessive. And the back. There was no back. It was completely backless, starting at the waist. The kind of dress that didn't ask for attention so much as simply command it. "Try this one," Anika said. I took it from her and was heading toward the fitting rooms when a staff member appeared at Anika's elbow, leaned in, and murmured something close to her ear. Whatever it was, it shifted Anika's expression immediately to professional and decisive in an instant, all shopping-trip energy tucked away. "I'll be back in a moment," she said, already moving. "Don't come out of that fitting room until I return." She was gone before I could ask a single question. I stood holding the midnight dress, looking after her, with the distinct and inexplicable feeling that something was about to happen. I just had absolutely no idea what.