The Bishop Affair Page 2

  “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out alone at night. There could be trouble.”

  I swallow hard, breaths coming rapidly, hands shaking. “W-What kind of trouble?”

  The pad of his thumb slowly strokes my cheek and the corner of his mouth stretches up slightly. “You want to find out don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Please don’t hurt me. I have money, here take it,” I whimper, reaching into my pocket to find my wallet I usually take with me to the gym and holding it out to him.

  His hand closes my fingers over the wallet. “You have something else I’m interested in, and you’re not going to give it to me—” He steps closer, our bodies beginning to press together, his lips nearly nibbling on my ear. “—I’m going to take it.”

  I was lost in fantasy when I noticed arctic blue daggers piercing me to the core.

  Those brooding eyes were staring right back at me.

  Oh God. Did he know I was watching him? Panic sent my heart slamming into my chest. Just when I thought I was about to fall off the treadmill like that poor woman almost had earlier, a nervous blonde stole his attention, offering him a towel to dry off, but when he turned to face her, she handed him the towel and scampered off, no doubt regretting her moment of courage as she rejoined her amused friend. He quickly dried himself, acting as though enamored women being frightened of him was an everyday occurrence, then vanished into the men’s locker room.

  In an attempt to catch my breath, I slowed the machine down to a walk. For the second time today I was left wondering, who was that guy? First it was Mr. Beefcake, now Mr. Dark and Dangerous. If this was any indication of the city’s male population, there were certainly no shortage of hotties to choose from.

  I mopped my face with a towel and decided to search for the nearest water fountain. With how posh this gym was, I wouldn't be surprised if they offered bottles of artisan water in sterling silver buckets of ice.

  As I stepped off the treadmill, the floor suddenly shifted, and my knees wobbled. I struggled to regain balance but soon found myself crashing face first into a wall.

  Ouch! I cried out in pain and clutched my forehead, realizing that I probably should’ve taken it easier on my first day back into exercising.

  “Wow, that looked like it hurt.”

  “No kidding,” I replied, a little irritated from the pain as well as from having some jerk poke fun of my misfortune. Then I identified the voice and immediately regretted my response.

  “Let me take a look at it,” said the face that suddenly made me all too aware of my panties. He strolled over to me, gently cupped my face, and carefully inspected it before I could protest. His warm hands were so calming that the sharp pain turned into a dull annoyance. “It probably feels a lot worse, but it’s not serious. Just a bruise. Put some ice on it when you get home and you’ll be fine in a few days.”

  “Thanks...” I hadn’t heard more than a few words. I was too preoccupied with my own embarrassment as well as Mr. Beefcake’s eyes, which up close I could see were a beautiful melange of green and gray. Not to mention he smelled sinfully good. Spicy and rich, it made me think of wild oak and honey.

  “Need any help with the stairs?”

  My mind on autopilot drew a picture of him piggybacking me, his thick arms gripping the rear of my thighs as my hips bounced decadently against his strong back with each step down the stairs, and a wave of electricity flushed through my legs. I was almost certain my embarrassment was written all over my face. Embarrassment or arousal—neither of which were good first impressions to make. Pull yourself together.

  “That’s all right. I’m okay,” I replied, fumbling with my towel and stumbling towards the stairs on shaky legs that still hadn’t fully recovered from running. When his hands had left my cheeks, the regret was almost physically painful, but I had to leave before I made an even bigger fool of myself.

  He didn’t say anything further, and I didn’t look back to gauge his reaction. Scurrying down the stairs and grabbing my tote from the locker room, I left the building and headed home with a smile on my face despite knowing he probably thought I was a weirdo.

  ***

  When I entered the apartment, Sam was sitting on the sofa riveted to the television screen, bowl of popcorn on one side and tissue box on the other. She gave me a quick glance before returning her attention to the film.

  "I love this city," I said, kicking my sneakers off into the corner to join the dozens of other shoes there.

  "Workout that good?" she replied without taking her eyes away from the movie.

  "Working out in the presence of two stunningly handsome men will make it an excellent workout." I put my bag down and stepped into the kitchen to get a drink. “And having one of them nurse your injury even better.”

  Sam switched her attention to me. “Wait did you say you met two—jeez, what happened to your noggin? You okay?”

  “I’m fine, nothing serious. Just stupidly bumped into a wall when I got off the treadmill.”

  She got a good laugh from that. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been so adorably clumsy, I love it.”

  I wrinkled my nose at her while pouring a glass of water for myself. “Gee, thanks for the sympathy.”

  “All right then, spill it girl. What happened and who are these hot men you’re talking about?”

  “One of them was this guy who looked like a Greek statue, I mean perfectly sculpted body, not a flaw on him. Not sure if he was actually Greek. But I swear he was probably a fitness model or something. He’s the one who looked at my forehead.” Sam raised her eyebrows, intrigued to hear more. “The other was this swimmer that had the most amazing abs I’ve ever seen. I’m not kidding, you could probably grate cheese on those puppies.”

  "Oooh yummy. Six pack abs are my favorite.”

  “Yeah, this guy probably had ten, if that’s even possible.”

  She chuckled. “Even better. Did you talk to any of them?"

  "Well not really. I didn’t talk to abs guy who by the way looked totally sketch with a scar on his face and all and muscles guy I was too embarrassed to say anything while he was touching my forehead. I pretty much just ran off.”

  “Oh Lori,” Sam shook her head. “You gotta flirt a little to show you’re interested. Drop them a hint or two. It sounds like he was interested if he was looking after you. He could’ve been a doctor.”

  I blushed at the thought. “I don’t know, he probably had a girlfriend anyway.”

  “What if he didn’t? You could’ve chatted with him to find out for sure, or at least get his name so you could Google him.”

  As usual, Sam had a good point and my mind began brewing scenarios in which I had talked to him like a normal, mature person instead of acting like a nervous teenager with a crush. “Oh well. I have a few more days at the gym before my trial runs out. Maybe I’ll see him again and ask him.”

  “Take pics next time too. I want to see these fine men. Better yet, let me come with next time you go. Ugh, I’ve been slacking on exercise myself these past few months. Work has been eating up all my time these days.”

  “What do they have you doing?”

  “Just a lot of reading articles and paperwork stuff. Not fun. Plus this guy who works on my team has been asking me to go out with him. I’ve been trying to tell him I’m not interested, but he’s a persistent one.”

  “Why not go out with him?”

  “He’s just not my type. I mean he’s handsome, smart, and driven and all, but I don’t know...” She paused to think about it. “I guess I just don’t like his shoes.”

  I nearly choked on my water. “Wow, talk about picky. And here I thought I was the unreasonable one being hung up on my ex for so long. You’re hung up over a guy’s choice in footwear.”

  Sam grinned. “I know, it sounds ridiculous. I can’t really explain it. But there’s also the whole mixing business with pleasure thing. That never ends well, at least that’s what they say.” I knew she w
as trying to avoid the subject. Sam’s never had a boyfriend for longer than a few weeks and every time I brought the topic up, she would always find a way to change the subject or shrug it off. “Anyways, we can talk about it some other time, you should get some sleep. It’s your big day tomorrow.”

  “True,” I said taking one last sip from my cup. “Well I’m going to shower, then sleep. Enjoy the rest of the movie.”

  “Night.”

  ***

  Bright and early the next morning, I woke up well before my alarm sounded. I bounded out of bed and began dressing. I hadn't been this excited about anything in months. Sam and I had gone shopping as soon as I had moved in, and absolutely everything I was wearing was new, down to my underwear. I applied a tasteful amount of makeup and, pursing my lips in the mirror, blotted away excess color with a piece to tissue paper. Smiling in the mirror, I held my hand out, trying to anticipate what kind of impression I was going to have on my new manager. I had to laugh at my nervousness even as butterflies bubbled up from my belly to my throat. I was probably just going to be on coffee and copy duty.

  Checking the clock on the apartment wall, I realized my eagerness for my first day of work made me get ready too early. Well, no time like the present to make a good impression, I told myself, taking one last spoonful of yogurt before tossing the container in the trash.

  I darted outside, feeling alive in the hustle and bustle. The city didn't care that I was early. Its state of mind was a constant present, always awake, always of the moment. I caught a bus that would take me downtown — I was thrilled that my future employer was located in the heart of the city — and sighed with happiness. This was my life now, and I adored it. I peered up at the skyscrapers just outside the window, feeling so lucky to be a part of everything.

  A block before my stop, I disembarked. I was still very early and wanted to savor the pulse of activity. The way I felt was hard to describe — I somehow felt very small and very big at the same time. I knew I was one of millions, but I felt I was going to really make something of myself here. And here I was: Bishop Corp. My building careened up from the sidewalk, its name displayed prominently in gold-lettering amid a fountain gushing twenty feet in the air. It gave the distinct impression of power and wealth, which was a little intimidating. Bishop Corp was a big international media company that owned large stakes in everything from magazines and newspapers to television stations and movie studios. I remember being shocked to find out from their website that a number of the teen magazines I used to read when I was younger were actually owned by them.

  I really had no idea what I'd be doing as an assistant to one of the company's managers. The job application they posted on their site mentioned “administrative duties and other logistical necessities”—whatever that meant. I figured it probably involved writing, though not creative writing, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to complain. I was grateful to have any kind of job at all. I had a month to impress them during my trial period, to prove to them I was worth hiring for a permanent position, and I was determined to handle whatever they threw my way.

  Crossing the lobby, my heels clicked against the ruby-veined marble tiles that also covered the walls. As I waited for the elevator, I smoothed my auburn satin blouse, checking my reflection in the gleaming doors. The slate-gray pencil skirt did my figure so many favors, and I reminded myself to lavish gratitude on Sam when I got home. Once inside the elevator, I punched the number for the 26th floor per the new hire instructions emailed to me. I took advantage of being the sole rider, retouching my lipstick and checking my smile. The doors slid open to reveal a spread of modern couches and chairs scattered across an open-concept interior design. Low glass walls separated the desks while, further off, several dark, ornate doors were closed. It was quiet, and I was sure I was the first person there until a head popped around the corner.

  "Can I help you?"

  I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry. My name is Lori Gable and I start work today." I looked around at the empty offices. "I'm afraid I'm a little early."

  The woman laughed as she walked across the office. She had curly brown hair with a touch of gray at the roots and wore thick, round glasses. "I love early birds, being one myself." Her warm smile immediately put me at ease. Holding out her hand, she said, "I'm Susan."

  I took her hand, gripping it firmly. Her voice sounded familiar. "Susan Bosworth? You’re the one who interviewed me over the phone. I'm Lori," I said, then groaned and blushed. "But of course, I already told you that."

  Susan chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. First day jitters are completely understandable, especially with what you're about to take on." I cocked my head, confused. Sensing my bewilderment, she clucked. "I may be the secretary for the Bishop brothers, the two Co-CEOs of the company, but you're going to be their personal assistant."

  I raised my eyebrows. "Really?" The butterflies were back. "I thought I was assisting another manager.”

  "Yes, you were supposed to assist Carl," She waved her hand as if to dispel an odor. "But things changed since I last spoke to you during your interview. Carl was promoted and relocated to a different site while the CEOs just last week asked HR to hire a personal assistant to help them out while the company goes through a lot changes in the next few months. Funny how things work out that way. So for the next month at least — depending on how you work out — you'll be at the beck and call of Trevor and Jordan Bishop."

  I thought I was in some sort of shock. How would it be to work for two CEOs? I found myself wishing I had dressed up even more. Not even a necklace? I inwardly winced, grasping at my throat. When would I stop being such a tomboy and start accessorizing?

  Susan took me by the arm, shaking me from my despair. "Don't look so worried, Lori," she said kindly. "I've known those two for years. I can tell you everything you need to know.”

  She patted my arm vigorously. "Now let me show you around your new home away from home."

  We walked around the office floor, Susan keeping up a running commentary with her glasses pushed up on top of her head. She seemed to intimately understand the lay of the land, and I was more than relieved to have her as an early ally. As I looked around, I immediately appreciated the elegance of everything, from the rugs beneath my heels to the wall hangings and even to the desks. All the furnishings and decorations seemed to reflect importance, elegance, and industry.

  As we continued the tour, employees started to trickle in, an eclectic mix of men and women ranging in age from mid-twenties to beyond forties, all dressed in impressive suits and skirts. As soon as they got in, they went straight to work, moving briskly with thick binders and papers tucked beneath their arms as they rushed to their early morning meetings. No morning watercooler chatting here. This place meant business.

  Susan led me to a desk tucked into a corner. “This is where I usually spend my day, near the two Bishops. Their offices are located just around the corner." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder and I peered curiously down the dimly lit hallway. "And here's where you'll be spending your day."

  I followed her across the hall from her work area and she showed me to a broad desk with a computer and dual monitors. "Here I am," I said, smoothing my hand over the sleek wood of the desk's surface and comfortable chair tucked just beneath. Somehow, touching it made everything seem more real. I really was about to start a new life.

  “What kinds of things can I expect to be doing for the Bishops?” I wondered aloud.

  Susan shrugged and settled her glasses on her nose. “There’s no telling. Those boys are capricious. You could be doing anything from making dinner reservations to beating off hordes of beautiful women from them.” Susan smiled wryly.

  Wait a minute. Boys? Fighting off women?

  "In all seriousness, they're hardworking business moguls. They didn't inherit their money—they earned it. They're extremely important, extremely busy men. They’ll rely on you to help them manage the more mundane aspects of their life and it’ll be your responsibili
ty not to make their lives any more difficult than they already are."

  I gulped. The reality of who I’d be directly reporting to began to sink in. These guys were the bosses of everyone in this company, achieving ridiculous success at what sounds like a fairly young age. I expected someone with gray, thinning hair and a spare tire around their waist to be the head, but Susan’s description didn’t fit that image at all. Given their accomplishments, what would they expect of me?

  Susan chuckled and patted my shoulder. “I didn't mean to scare you, Lori. You won't have to worry about either of them right away. Their schedules are jam-packed today and I’m afraid they probably won’t have time to meet you in person.”

  I expected to feel immediately relieved, but was surprised at a tinge of disappointment. Susan’s description of the brothers both frightened and intrigued me. And my curious side wanted to find out what these men were like in person. For now, though, I was tasked with typing up a mountain of handwritten transcriptions that I had a feeling Susan had been saving from the moment she knew I'd be working there.