Page 17

Subject: Conferences set up
Camila,
While in Chile, I’ve decided to meet with each of the vineyard employees. I need you to set up the meetings next week, in the mornings. It makes more sense to move all the London meetings to the afternoon.
I’ll be waiting for the schedule.
V. Godoy
Head of the Godoy Group
London, Alamo Peaks
My finger hovers over the send button, but I can’t bring myself to do it. What is going on?
You want to hear her voice again, dickwit.
I release a deep exhale. I’ve only heard her voice once—so why am I so intrigued?
She has an accent—definitely Hispanic. The way she rolls herr’s is a dead giveaway, but I can’t place where she’s from.
And what does she look like? Is she pretty? Hot?
I should have checked her resume—maybe I’ll do that in the morning.Or maybe not. I have no business thinking about my assistant like this. That would be harassment, and I’m not about to get sued because, at thirty-five, I’m still thinking with my dick.
Shutting off my phone, I decide to call Camila first thing in the morning and be more explicit about the meetings I need her to set up. Shaking my head, I catch myself smirking.Have I always been so full of shit?
I take another sip of wine, chuckling at myself. Time to get some rest.
I wake up at exactly four in the morning. Rubbing my eyes, I stretch out on the bed and roll side to side as my heart pounds in my chest. Suddenly, I feel very warm and need to get out of bed.
Needing to cool down, I go to the bathroom and splash water on my face.
Why am I awake so early?
Because you can’t wait to hear her voice.
Checking myself in the mirror, I notice my hair is disheveled. It’s not a video conference, so I go back to my room, pick up the phone, and dial the office number.
Instead of her sweet voice greeting me, an automated message plays:You have reached Mr. Godoy’s executive assistant line. Please hold while I transfer your call.
What the hell? Why is my call being transferred? And where?
“Good morning, Camila speaking. How can I help you today?”
Oh, there it is—her sweet, chirpy voice rings in my ear, and I can’t help the relief that washes over me. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but hearing her somehow puts me at ease.
“Good morning, Camila. Why was the call transferred? What’s going on?”
“Oh, Mr. Godoy. Hi. Well, I can’t be in the office until nine. Since you requested that I start working at seven, I thought I could do remote work for an hour before I head to the office.”
I wasn’t expecting that answer, but I can value her sense of commitment.
“And why can’t you be in the office? I’m not sure this is going to work, Ms. Flores,” I say flatly, despite thinking it’s a good compromise.
What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s like I can’t help but behave like an arsehole with her.
“With all due respect, Mr. Godoy, my contract specifies that I’m required at work from nine in the morning to six in the afternoon. Since I’m an executive assistant and you are currently out of the country, I figured I'd oblige and extend my working hours to be more efficient. But if you think you can demand that I be at your beck and call, you are sorely mistaken. I can quit if that’s your take.”