“Well? You got five seconds to tell me before I call up Security.”
“I’m Alexa Holland.” I stuck my hand out. “Mr. Carraway’s new PA.”
It was her turn to blink owlishly. Slowly, as her gaze roamed over me, a smile stretched those youthful lips of hers. “So you’re Alexa, huh? Oh, I heard all about you.”
She had? “You have?”
“Mmm-hmm. When Caine told me he’d hired the offspring of that bastard that destroyed his family, I thought for sure he was making a big mistake.” She laughed as she drank me in. “Now I get it.”
“Uh …” I didn’t.
“I’m Mrs. Flanagan. I live in the other penthouse.” She gestured down the hallway past the elevator. “Come, have tea. We’ll talk.”
As curious as I was to chat with the flamboyant Mrs. Flanagan, who clearly knew Caine well enough to know his history, I had to be back at the office. I couldn’t help grimacing in disappointment. “I’m sorry. I wish I could, but I have to get Mr. Carraway’s salad to him.”
Mrs. Flanagan’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, no worries, sweet-heart. Caine’s putting you through the paces, huh? You tell him I said he’s not to work you too hard. If you don’t get enough sleep you won’t age well. I know. Look at me. I get a solid eight hours every night and have done so for the past fifty years. I’m a walking testament to the power of beauty sleep.” She waved her finger in front of my nose. “You’ve got natural beauty. Don’t let lack of sleep waste that shit.”
I burst out laughing, completely charmed by this character in front of me. “I will endeavor to get my eight hours if it means I’ll look as good as you when I’m your age.”
“Oh, I like you.” Mrs. Flanagan chuckled. “When you come back you and I definitely need to sit down over some tea and cakes. Speaking of, tell Caine I’m making his favorite—banana cream pie—so he better stop by tonight.”
Caine liked banana cream pie? I looked down at the bag in my hand that carried his salad. For three days I’d been in his employment and so far I’d discovered the man was a health nut. He visited the gym every morning before work and he only ate steamed veggies, soup, and salad.
Banana cream pie was a whole other side of him.
I grinned. “I will definitely tell him.”
Dean from the main reception desk threw me a sympathetic smile as I flew past him with an out-of-puff “Hey, Dean!”
Although I hadn’t had a chance to really mingle with many of Caine’s other employees, and doubted I ever would with the schedule he gave me, Dean had dropped by a few times to check in with me. He was sweet and friendly, and honestly just having one person treat me like a human being helped me get through the day.
I hauled ass toward Caine’s office and tried to catch my breath as I stopped at my desk to arrange his food on a plate and on a tray. I called into his office to let him know I had his salad. He told me to come in and I strode inside, thankfully no longer out of breath, to find him settled on his sofa with one ankle resting on his opposite knee as he frowned at the paperwork in his hands.
I approached with the tray and Caine looked up at me. I quickly wrenched my gaze away from his forearms. His sleeves were rolled up, displaying his corded, tan arms.
The son of a bitch had to have some kind of physical flaw. I was going to find it. I was.
“You’re late.” He curled his lip in annoyance.
Personality flaws, on the other hand … oh, I’d already found lots of those.
“Sorry, Mr. Carraway,” I murmured, placing the tray on the coffee table in front of him. “I was delayed by Mrs. Flanagan.” I straightened, eyeing him for a reaction.
And I got it.
Wariness had crept over him.
If I could have I would have done a fist pump in triumph.
“She wanted me to tell you that she made your favorite—banana cream pie.” I grinned with faux sweet innocence. “You’re to stop by tonight for a piece.”
The unhappiness radiating from him would have quelled any normal person into silence—or at least wiped the stupid teasing smile off their face. But I never claimed to be normal. Nope, I was enjoying his obvious discomfort, because it meant I had found something real out about him, and I was eager to learn more about the charming Mrs. Flanagan.
“Get out of my office, Alexa.”
At the growled command, I decided it was wise to choke back my chuckle and do just that. Caine’s gaze burned into my back the whole time.
The next morning …
I braced myself as Caine marched toward my desk, his appearance dark and grim. I was so busy looking at his face I didn’t notice what was in his hand until it was clattering down on top of my desk.
I stared in bewilderment at the Tupperware container. Inside it I could see a piece of pie.
I looked up at Caine in question.
He was clearly pissed off and extremely uncomfortable. “Mrs. Flanagan insisted you have a piece of pie,” he said, teeth gritted.
I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with a sharp “Don’t.” With that he threw open his office door and slammed it shut behind him.
Caine cared enough about his elderly neighbor to follow through on her instructions despite the fact that it almost physically killed him to do so.
I opened the Tupperware box and stuck a finger in. Licking the sweet cream off it, I smiled and settled back in my chair. “Thank you, Mrs. Flanagan.”
And not just for the pie.
CHAPTER 5
I left the conference room as an intern rolled in a tray decked out with pastries I’d bought. It was Friday morning and I’d survived almost an entire week working as Caine’s PA. He had a conference in fifteen minutes and he wanted me to make sure that the room was set up.
I smiled at Caine’s CFO’s secretary, Verity, as I passed. His CFO¸ a Ms. Fenton, was scary. She was a little robotic—all cold and efficient and superintelligent. There was nothing motherly about her and that was why I was surprised to discover that the reason she was one of the busiest people I’d ever met was that she was also a wife and mother to two kids. Suffice to say we’d spoken fewer than five words to each other. I knew Verity a little better. She was friendly and we’d managed to chat for a brief few minutes when I was at the photocopier, but Caine had me running one errand after another, so I still hadn’t gotten to know any of my colleagues at all well.