Page 47 of Undeniably Corrupt

The hand on my hip pulls me into his side and holds me close. He doesn’t say anything, and I think I prefer it that way. What is there to say? This is just how things are between us. And it seems that’s how it’s going to stay.

15

I’ve been staring out my window all morning after my breakfast with Liora when Alesha pops her head into my office.

“Can we please get rid of your new assistant?”

That catches my attention, and I spin around to face her, my hands on my lap. “Why?” Liora mentioned that Alesha is jealous of my past relationship with her, and it’s clear as day to anyone that Alesha doesn’t like her. But I wonder if there’s something else.

“Because she’s incompetent,” she snips, entering my office uninvited and shutting the door behind her. Boldly, she walks over to me and sits on the corner of my desk, crossing her legs in her skirt and allowing it to rise up to her mid-thigh. I don’t look, not even the least bit tempted, and she frowns.

Alesha is older than me by at least five or so years. When I hired her, she was still married. This flirting or sexual advances, or whatever you want to call it, didn’t start until her divorce was finalized about six months ago. I’ve been ignoring it, but since Liora came on, she’s upped her game.

“How is she incompetent?”I ask.

Other than being new and knowing nothing about cybersecurity, everyone else on the floor seems to adore Liora. She’s sweet and personable, and I happen to know she adjusts things on my calendar for my staff when they need it.

“Come on, Vander. You know she is. She doesn’t know the first thing about cybersecurity. More than that, she’s creating issues. She removed my access to your calendar, and when I confronted her about it, she said you’re the only person who should have access.”

That stops me for a minute. I had no clue Alesha—or anyone else, for that matter—had access to my calendar. Not that it has anything on there but work shit, but still. Liora removed her access to protect me and my need for space and privacy. Champagne must have allowed it, as no one else could have.

Alesha continues to rant on about ten things she feels Liora is doing wrong, which are either bullshit or aren’t part of her job description. “I understand she’s your ex-girlfriend or whatever, but?—”

“That’s not why I hired her.”

She likes that response and bends forward a little, trying to tempt me with a peek of cleavage, and I just can’t with this. I just can’t.

“She’s right about my calendar, Alesha. No one should have access but me.”

She flushes, growing defensive. “There are more issues than just the calendar. You know that.”

“I’ll speak to her.” Because I didn’t mention Vega or her father the other day, and I need another read on her. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. At breakfast we didn’t talk about work. We didn’t talk about Lavender Lake or her family or mine either. We fought over movies and music, and she asked me about my drumming. It was fun, and it felt like a date despite my saying it wasn’t.

Alesha touches her chest. “You’ll do that for me? You’ll fire her?”

“No. I said I’d speak to her. I never mentioned firing her, nor do I plan to. And any conversation I have with my assistant is for me to have and not you or anyone else. And if I discover that you’re being rude or disrespectful to her, you and I will have a problem.”

“But Vander?—”

“You can go now. Thanks for bringing your issues to my attention. I’ll speak with her about them now.”

With a pinch of her lips, she quietly gets her bony ass off my desk and leaves my office. My phone sits quietly on my desk, and I pick it up.

Me: Will you come in here for a few minutes? I need to talk to you about something.

Angel: And that’s something you can’t do via text or phone?

I sigh. This girl.

Me: Obviously not if I’m asking you to come in here.

Angel: I’ll be right there, sir.

Brat.

A minute later, she’s at my door holding her iPad against a hideous floral dress that’s a little too big. All of her clothes are like this. Ill-fitting and old. My teeth are set on edge.

“What are you wearing?”