Chapter Two
1149 Words
James had never been a morning person.
He considered mornings an unnecessary interruption to sleep.
Unfortunately, the rest of the world seemed determined to disagree with him.
His phone rang for the third time.
James groaned beneath the sheets and turned his face into the pillow.
The phone stopped.
Silence.
Five seconds later, it rang again.
He reached blindly across the nightstand and grabbed it.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, Mr. James.”
His eyes opened immediately.
That voice.
Beatrice.
Even through a phone call, she sounded irritatingly composed.
James looked at the time.
8:21 a.m.
“Good morning,” he muttered.
“Are you coming to the office today?”
He frowned.
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
“Your nine o’clock meeting.”
“I know.”
“You haven’t confirmed your attendance.”
“I don’t need to confirm my attendance to you.”
There was a brief silence.
Then:
“I am your secretary. Confirming your schedule is literally my job.”
James smiled despite himself.
There it was.
That tone.
Beatrice never sounded impressed by him.
Not even slightly.
“Relax, Beatrice.”
“I am relaxed.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m perfectly relaxed.”
“Then why do you sound like you’re preparing my obituary?”
Another silence.
“I’ll see you at nine.”
James grinned.
“Good.”
“Mr. James.”
“Hmm?”
“Please don’t be late.”
The call ended.
James stared at his phone.
He hated that woman.
Not really.
But sometimes he genuinely wanted to know what it would take to make her lose her composure.
He dropped the phone onto the bed.
Beatrice was possibly the only person in his life who treated him like an inconvenience instead of an achievement.
Everyone else knew who James Kenneth was.
The only son of Kenneth Williams.
The heir to one of the largest privately owned business empires in the country.
A Harvard graduate.
A man with a master’s degree in business administration and a reputation for being frighteningly intelligent.
People often assumed that because his father was wealthy, James had simply been handed everything.
They were wrong.
James had been given opportunities.
He had turned them into results.
At Harvard, professors had called him brilliant.
At twenty-seven, he had already helped restructure one of his father’s struggling subsidiaries.
At thirty-three, he was overseeing a significant portion of the family business.
And yet, despite all the things he had accomplished, there was one description that followed him everywhere.
Spoilt.
Perhaps it was deserved.
James had grown up in a house where doors opened before he touched them.
Drivers waited for him.
People remembered his preferences.
Women pursued him.
Money had never been something he needed to think about.
And James had never developed the habit of denying himself anything he wanted.
Especially women.
He was a notorious flirt.
A rake, his father had once called him.
James had laughed.
He wasn’t ashamed of it.
Relationships were complicated.
Women were beautiful.
Life was short.
Why make things harder than they needed to be?
He finally threw the covers off.
The morning light entered through the enormous windows of his bedroom, illuminating the expensive simplicity of the room.
James stood and stretched.
At six-foot-two, with broad shoulders, a naturally athletic build and a body maintained through years of boxing, swimming, and gym sessions, he looked nothing like the lazy man who had just complained about waking up.
His dark skin caught the sunlight.
His jaw was sharply defined, his hair slightly disheveled from sleep.
He walked toward the bathroom.
His phone rang again.
He stopped.
Beatrice.
He answered.
“What now?”
“Your driver says you’re not downstairs.”
James looked at the clock.
8:34.
“Are you monitoring my movements now?”
“I’m monitoring whether my boss will arrive at his own meeting.”
“I’m getting dressed.”
“You said that ten minutes ago.”
James raised an eyebrow.
“How do you know what I was doing ten minutes ago?”
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
“Mr. James.”
He smiled.
“Yes, Beatrice?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“I heard you.”
“Good.”
She hung up.
James stared at the phone.
“Perfectionist,” he muttered.
That woman could turn a simple reminder into a personal insult.
He walked into the bathroom.
As the shower started, he caught his reflection in the mirror.
He looked good.
He knew he did.
He had been told often enough.
James wasn’t vain so much as accustomed to knowing the effect he had on people.
Women looked twice.
Some looked three times.
He had learned long ago not to pretend he didn’t notice.
But Beatrice?
Nothing.
Not even a lingering glance.
She would straighten a stack of papers on his desk, tell him he had three meetings, criticize the fact that he had changed his schedule without informing her, and walk out.
Never impressed.
Never intimidated.
Never flirtatious.
It was irritating.
And, though he would never admit it, mildly fascinating.
By 8:52, James walked into the office.
The moment he entered, several employees greeted him.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. James.”
He nodded.
Then he saw her.
Beatrice sat behind her desk, already working.
Glasses perched neatly on her nose.
Hair pulled back.
A file open in front of her.
Coffee beside her.
She didn’t even look up.
James stopped.
“Good morning to you too.”
Beatrice continued reading.
“Good morning.”
That was it.
James stared at her.
“You don’t seem happy to see me.”
“I am your secretary.”
“Exactly.”
She finally looked up.
“You are eight minutes late.”
“Eight minutes?”
“Yes.”
“I came.”
“You were supposed to come at nine.”
“It’s 9:08.”
“Exactly.”
James smiled.
“You missed me.”
“I missed having an organized morning.”
He laughed.
There it was again.
That irritating composure.
He walked into his office.
Behind him, Beatrice called:
“Mr. James?”
He turned.
“Yes?”
“The documents for the board meeting are on your desk.”
“Thank you.”
“And please read them before the meeting.”
James raised an eyebrow.
“Do you think I don’t read?”
“I think you skim.”
“There’s a difference?”
“A significant one.”
He shook his head.
“You are impossible.”
“And yet, you keep me.”
James looked at her for a moment.
“Unfortunately.”
Beatrice returned to her computer.
James walked into his office smiling.
He didn’t know why.
Perhaps because for the first time that morning, something had finally become interesting.
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