Page 31 of Falling for Raine

Oh. Fuck.

“Ooooohhhhh.” I drew at least ten syllables out of two and let me say, I’d never been happier to see a tiramisu in my life.

He eyed me sharply as he poured milk into his tea. “Something wrong?”

“No, no, I just…”

“You just…what?” he prodded.

I cleared my throat and set my spoon on the dish. “It’s not their fault—it’s mine.”

“How so?”

I stuffed my mouth with tiramisu and winced. “I might have accidentally, unintentionally, and maybe a teensy bit on purpose told a fib or two to get hired.”

My words tumbled out in a nervous rush that no doubt required a moment to decipher.Shit, damn, fuck. I’d probably screwed myself for real this time, and maybe Julia or HR by default, but I didn’t want to lie. He’d been kind to me, and Icouldn’t repay his generosity by pretending to be something I wasn’t.

“I believe you mentioned that in Vegas.”

“Oh, yeah.” I widened my eyes incredulously.

“If I didn’t know, I would have figured it out. You stick out like a sunbather at a formal ball. I don’t mean that unkindly, so don’t be offended. It’s just rather obvious that you’ve never worked as an assistant at an executive level.”

“What gave me away? Was it my overly ironed shirt?” I asked sheepishly. “I still think that’s England’s fault.”

Graham chuckled. “The shirt was a minor hint. So was your, shall we say…relaxed approached to office etiquette. Bernadette is a perfect example.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s fondly referred to as the Ice Queen behind her back. She knows it, of course, and I think she quite enjoys striking fear in corporate ranks. In other words, she would never discuss turquoise jewelry or share a personal penchant for it with anyone in my office.” He picked up his cell and tapped the screen. “She sent a message that a nice young man was waiting for me in my lobby with an empty folder, but not to worry…my office door was locked. Security was on alert if needed.”

“But I told her I was Julia’s assistant.”

“She didn’t believe you, but she liked you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and smiled. “To be honest, she probably assumes you’re my…”

“Boy toy?” I suggested.

He huffed irritably. “Possibly. Under her carefully worded text message is a question. Why is this lovely American pretending to be an assistant, and how shall he be dealt with?”

I gulped. “Oh.”

Graham sipped his tea. “It appears I’ve been duped. I haven’t had a chance to pull up your CV. What does it say?”

“My résumé. Right. Uh…that I worked for an LA-based law firm.”

“And?”

I tugged my collar as I pushed the tiramisu to the middle of the table. There went my appetite.

“And…that I was an indispensable employee who’d aided the firm in crucial cases. In my defense, caffeine runs were considered vital. I also did some filing and answered phones when the receptionist took a break. It was just…boring, so I didn’t stick around for long. But I’ve always done some kind of assisting,” I added enthusiastically. “I worked in the office at an LA fitness center and I ran errands at the design center.”

“I see. Anything long-term?”

I blew my cheeks out like a sad, deflated balloon at the end of a birthday party. “I was a research assistant for a professor at a private university for five years, but um…that’s not on my résumé.”

He set his cup down and cocked his head. “Why not?”

“It didn’t end well.”