Page 43 of The Christmas Trap

I shake my head. “No. I mean. Yes. I mean—” I rub at my forehead, feeling like I’ve stepped into an alternative reality.

Stay calm. It’s fine. You can work this out.

“I’m new. And I’m your executive assistant.”

“And part of your job description is to lead meetings in my absence.”

“Yes. But?—”

“Are you saying you can’t deliver on the demands of this role?”

I frown. “Of course not, that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s a board meeting. All senior management will be there. And I’ve never lead one of these before.”

“This would be a good way to start.”

I narrow my gaze on him. Is he being deliberately obtuse?

“I don’t have the kind of experience needed to lead a meeting of this importance.”

He scans my face. I’m sure he’s about to say something cutting. But whatever he sees on my face seems to strike a chord with him. His features soften.

“I wouldn’t be asking you to lead the meeting if I didn’t believe in you.”

“Oh.” Warmth coils in my chest. I feel like I’ve been ejected from my seat and am flying through the stratosphere. I realize, I’m staring at him with what must be a flabbergasted expression, for he frowns.

“You all right?”

“No.” I clear my throat. “I mean, yes. Thank you for this opportunity. You won’t regret it.”

He looks at me closely. Whatever he sees on my face must convince him this time, for he nods. “Don’t screw it up, Monroe.”

13

Brody

"No, I cannot meet you. I have a conference call at midnight." I take off my glasses and squeeze the bridge of my nose.

Gramps isn’t budging from this insane end of the year deadline for me to get married. Which means, it’s my responsibility to find a wife.

I’ve never had to actively date before because women threw themselves at me. I had my pick and didn’t have to woo them before I had sex. I fit the cliché of the wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am man and gave two shits about it.

It fit my lifestyle and provided a way to satisfy my urges without having to wade into the quagmire of emotions that comes with trying to have a relationship.

But given the insane timelines I’m working with, I engaged a matchmaker. Who lined me up with a string of dates over the past week.

It took only a few minutes on the first one to realize that I’m notcut out for this bullshit. You have to pretend interest in what the other person is saying. What the?—?

Then you have to give the women gifts. And pretend to like them. Apparently, there’s a blueprint to this dating with a view to finding someone to marry game. Before I propose to a woman, I actually have to win her over. A shudder scrolls up my spine.

It’s been a week since we met my grandfather. I’ve taken out a different woman every night for dinner for the last five days. Oh, and I've walked out mid-date on all of them. And yes, of course, I paid for the meals.

Far from being intrigued by the lives of the women I've tried to spend time with since that meeting with my grandfather, I’ve found most of them boring. Some downright repulsive. And if I’m being truthful, none of them are as interesting as my EA.There.That’s the crux of the matter.

Thoughts of Lark have crowded my mind since that fateful meeting with Arthur.