Page 6 of Over & Out (Redbeard Cove #3)

Chris

I burst out laughing. I laugh for a good long while. Until I notice Tru is not laughing at all. She’s resting her laced hands on her round belly, waiting for me to finish.

I cough, growing quiet. “I’m so sorry. I thought you asked me to work for that man.”

“I did. In my place. As you can see, I’ll need to take a leave from this role shortly.” She pats her belly.

I gawk. “You were at that table, Ms. Thomp?—”

“Tru.”

“Tru.” I touch my hand to my temple as if I can physically reduce my confusion. “I’m sorry, but you seem smart. So I’m wondering why on earth you think I might want to spend more than a millisecond more with that man. Especially as his…”

Tru smiles. “Personal assistant.”

I barely keep down the vomit. Assisting the Dick? As if.

Tru must see me turn green, because she laughs for the second time in as many minutes.

“I thought the very same thing when I was approached. I laughed, actually, just like you. And this was before—well, before things went south. I was the marketing manager for a big lifestyle brand. We were going to hire Hopper to do some advertising for us. This was before he was so…big. He doesn’t do that anymore.

Anyway, I lost my temper in a meeting and we lost him.

But that’s when Mabel—his manager—offered me a job, said I’d be perfect for it because I lost my shit on him. ”

“So what you’re saying is you have to be pissed off to work for him.”

“Sort of. Except what Hopper needs in an assistant isn’t exactly conventional.”

Oh God. “Is this a sex thing?”

“It’s not a sex thing.” Luckily she doesn’t sound insulted. In fact, nothing seems to faze her. If that’s what it takes to do this job, I’d be a failure right out of the gate.

“Hopper needs strong women around him, Ms. Maplewood,” Tru says.

“Sorry,” I say, relieved. “But what does that mean?”

“He respects women,” she says, reading my mind. “He was raised by a strong woman. He listens to them. Other men…well, he doesn’t always play nice.”

I would be impressed. But after what I just saw? “I’m a woman, and he sure didn’t seem to have much respect for me out there.”

Tru winces. “I promise that wasn’t personal. Something about this town has got him rattled. But I’ll admit, it wasn’t one of his finest moments.”

Does he have any of those? That man would have to do backflips for a year for me to think he’s a decent human being.

But his assistant is no slouch, I’ll give him that.

“Well, you seem lovely,” I concede. “But working for him sounds like hell, no matter how nice you get to dress. Your outfit is amazing, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I move to get up. “Thanks for the offer! It’s very flattering.”

Tru stays put. “What happened to your shoulder, Chris?”

I freeze, but gravity has me sinking back into the leather. I flatten my lips. Then say, “I was in an accident.”

“Car accident?”

No. I was distracted in my favorite place in the world. I made a stupid mistake and lost my safe place.

Dirtface’s voice, muffled through his helmet, filters through my mind. I don’t understand, sweetheart.

“Sort of,” I say, just because it’s easier that way. It’s close enough.

He left flowers at my bedside at the hospital. More than once. With a little card. I’m so sorry was all they said. As if it was his fault I fucked up.

Tru must see all this dance across my face, because she purses her lips like she’s trying to decide whether to prod further.

“I’m fine now,” I reassure her. “Just a little pain every now and again.”

I picture Hopper Donnach and his entitled demands at the table today to clear my head.

It works, but—nope. “ I can’t work for an asshole,” I tell her flat out.

It’s the truth. I can’t deal with dicks.

I know it must be some kind of dead-dad complex.

My dad was complicated. I loved him beyond reason, but he hurt me.

Dirtface was a dick—or I thought he was—and I developed some weird post-accident crush on him.

Or the Duke, during my recovery. Or something. I’m clearly a little messed up.

I clear my throat. “I’m sure you understand.”

Tru smiles. “It doesn’t seem like you have a problem setting boundaries.”

She does not give up easily.

“I don’t,” I say, growing just the tiniest bit frustrated. “And I’m?—”

“He has a second assistant.”

“Excuse me?”

“A gofer, though Cindi would kill you if you called her that. That’s the assistant who picks up the dry cleaning, takeout and such; oversees housekeeping, that sort of thing. She also cooks for him, but that’s only because she likes to mother him.”

I hate to give her any hope—this conversation is over as far as I’m concerned—but once again, my curiosity gets the better of me. Someone actually wants to mother that guy?

“So what exactly do you do?” I ask.

“I tell Hopper to get his shit together,” Tru says simply.

I let out a little laugh, despite myself. “What, you yell at him for a living?”

“I don’t often yell, but I do not hold back on my thoughts. ”

I sit up straight. I was joking. She’s not. “He likes that?”

“He needs that. I also, of course, manage his schedule, oversee a wide breadth of concerns, provide input to his manager and agent on professional matters, drive him to—and join—various meetings and appointments when appropriate, and work with his PR rep and manager to ensure his obligations are met. But honestly? I met with some other celeb assistants a while ago, and I realized this job is quite unlike many of theirs. It’s certainly not your typical assistant job.

Plus…” Here she gives me a little smile.

“Besides the very generous pay, there are several very nice perks.”

I sit on my hands. Then I squirm and fold them in my lap. Finally I lean forward and say, “Like what?”

Tru smiles, then leans back, making her earrings shimmer. “Like a wardrobe account. For you. Was the accident your fault?”

The non sequitur shocks me. “Excuse me?”

“Your driving record. Is it clean?”

“Yes.” The dirt bike accident wasn’t on the road. “I’ve been driving since I was fifteen.” I don’t mention that my dad let me drive earlier than that, including once, very illegally, allowing me to drive a firetruck. With the sirens on.

“Wonderful. In that case, you’ll have access to the fleet of vehicles, whether or not you’re driving with Hopper. Five-star hotels when you need to accompany him on trips. That type of thing.”

I swallow hard. I have to hand it to her.

She’s read me like a book. I told her I loved her outfit.

I’m very into gorgeous clothes of all types, though I’m more of a vintage girl myself.

But she also saw that I didn’t flinch at the driving mention, even after I told her I’d been in an accident.

I love peeling around in nice cars, which I haven’t done since I did a short stint as a teenager moving cars around on a luxury dealer lot.

And five-star hotels? The last time I took a trip down to Vancouver, I stayed in a motel where a literal roach crawled over my forehead in bed.

But what the hell am I thinking? It’s still him. The asshole.

The Duke.

I let out a frustrated breath. I don’t want to want this job.

But could this be the excitement I’ve been lacking?

Hopper’s face flashes in my mind, that smarmy smirk as he threw the Scotch eggs down his stupid gullet.

I twist the end of my ponytail around my finger and pull on it, in an actual tug-of-war with myself. Bad. This is a bad idea. Right?

Tru’s lips quirk up a bit, as if she can hear my inner battle.

“The role is only for three months, Chris. I’ve promised my husband our lives will be away from this job for three full months.

And it’ll be here, primarily, so you won’t need to relocate.

Hopper’s filming a movie nearby and we’ve already rented him a place just north of town.

I’ll be back just as soon as this child is able to hold its head up. ”

Three months. Here, in Redbeard Cove. Stylist. Cars.

“I already have a job,” I say. But my body’s betraying me. I’m leaning forward in my chair, my voice lacking the adamant conviction it contained a moment ago.

“My apologies if this is too personal, but I notice you’ve been rubbing your shoulder a bit—are you in pain? Because we have a full suite of medical and wellness professionals at your disposal. Open spa access here and in several locations in Beverley Hills.”

“Will the job buy my groceries and walk my dog, too?” I ask weakly.

“We could arrange for that.”

I flop my head back on the chair. “I don’t have a dog.”

Three months where I could figure out what’s next for me at this fork in the road. All while taking care of my body, wearing fancy clothes bought by someone else, and driving in hot cars. And all I’d have to do is yell at that man. Just…boss a movie star around.

“Does he know you’re doing this?” I ask. “I can’t believe he’d want me working for him.”

Tru looks away. “Well, he knows what’s good for him.”

I open my mouth to tell her how bad this would be.

He’d hate it. But I snap it closed again when I turn that around in my mind.

He’d hate it. A devious glee turns my lips up as I imagine Hopper’s ridiculous movie-star face when he learns the lowly server who pissed him off so badly is his new handler.

It would be the ultimate last word. I think this, if anything, is what makes me seriously consider Tru’s offer.

I chew my lip. “You’re due?—”

“In a month. ”

“Just out of curiosity, why did you wait so long to find someone?” And what was going to happen if she didn’t?