Page 40 of Tangled Roses

“Beck and call?” I shift in my seat.

“Um, explain. Please.”

It’s getting really hot in here and he says shortly, “Business, Ellie. You will learn how to be the best god-damned assistant you can be, because I demand the best. That’s it. I require your mind and your organizational skills and nothing else. Occasionally, I may ask you to accompany me on evenings out with clients. That is all. You arrange my diary, my cleaning and my social life. Not that I have much of that, but I occasionally like to date. They expect flowers the next day and a gift. You will organize it.”

He has shot me down in flames and put me firmly in my place.

So, this is how it’s going to be.

I failed.

I took charge of something that wasn’t mine to control and he is driving that point home. Business. It will always be business with him and I must learn to accept that.

I take a deep breath and nod, desperately trying not to reveal how upset this conversation is making me.

I glance up as the door opens and a man in white—of course he’s in white—wheels a trolley into the room with several domed dishes set on it.

He proceeds to serve the most extravagant breakfast and when he leaves, Arman says firmly, “Now eat. We have thirty minutes before we head to the office. Our first meeting is at ten and you will spend the first hour filing in those forms. Then report to the reception and wait for my ten o’clock meeting to show and escort them to my office. Penelope, in human resources, will familiarize you with the layout of my offices.”

I say nothing as he reaches for the newspaper, effectively shutting off the conversation, leaving me to pick at my food that tastes like straw in my mouth.

The fact I’ve just landed a dream job is beside the point because I have a feeling I lost something extremely valuable due to my reckless behavior last night.

I’ve lost him.

The only man who has made me drop to my knees willingly and he will be the last. A cold barrier settles over my heart as I struggle to regain control. Yes. It’s always been me, just me and Ellie Adams will be no exception to that rule.

At nine forty-five I am still reeling from the past two hours.

We traveled to his office in convoy but this time Luka sat beside Arman and I was relegated to the car behind. Alone.

He is being so cold. So distant and there’s a dull ache in my heart that was full last night.

Penelope was a sweetie, but even she couldn’t lift my spirits and I sensed her frustration with me. I guess she is wondering why he hired me because I lack every single skill required, it seems.

Ten o’clock soon comes around and I wait nervously in the reception area, wondering if somebody will tell me who I’m meant to be meeting. I watch with interest as various people blow in off the sidewalk, wondering if any of them are the person I’m waiting for. In fact, I’m getting nervous because it’s now five past the hour and there is still no sign of them.

Have I failed already and missed my mark? Are they even coming at all, or was this just a test?

At ten minutes past the hour, I glance up as a woman heads through the revolving doors and something about her assured swagger tells me she is the person I’m waiting for.

She is tall, possibly in her late forties, wearing a smart navy suit and a white shirt. Pearls choke around her neck and huge oversized sunglasses obscure her eyes.

She is carrying a huge leather purse that is slung around one shoulder and her heels trip on the marble as she heads to the receptionist.

I must admire the woman. She is certainly elegant if not vaguely familiar.

The receptionist smiles at me and gestures for me to come over and I head toward them and as the woman turns, the receptionist says formally, “Miss Steele to meet Mr. Romanov.”

I swear the blood drains from my face because what the actual hell?

As she removes the shades, I catch my breath as she studies me with a quizzical expression.

It’s as if she is assessing me and I have lost all power of speech and then her slightly curious gaze is replaced by a brief smile as she says formally, “Good morning. Please excuse my late appearance. Traffic was a bitch.”

She sweeps her gaze past me and glances at her watch, and I swear my heart has shattered.

She doesn’t recognize me.