Blindfold: The Complete Series Box Set (2 page)

“It’s a job and your hours are negotiable with your boss. You're matched by hours available and your personality.” He paused and then added, “Okay, keeping that in mind, you’re in trouble.”

“Very funny, asshat,” I said darkly. “You’re screwing with me. A personal assistant? I’m going to school to be a psychiatrist, not a secretary.”

Deacon’s voice hardened. “Our mom's a secretary, Toni. Remember?”

He didn’t have to point that out for me to feel bad. I wanted to kick myself the second the words left my mouth. “I know that.” Self-conscious, I glanced over at Vic. He gave me a sympathetic look, but it didn’t help.

“Look, Toni. You know what Mom and Dad always told us. There’s no shame in any kind of honest work. And it's not like it'd be forever. Just until you finish your degree. That does still matter to you, right?”

Nothing else he said could have made me go.

Absolutely nothing.

***

The gleaming of Winter Enterprises made me think of a penis. I couldn't help it. I was the youngest of four brothers and they were guys to the nth degree. Everything was a penis metaphor to them, even if it wasn't. They'd been overprotective, but that hadn't kept them from talking like typical guys around me.

I actually felt a little bad about thinking that way about Winter Enterprises. While they'd been involved in charities since they were founded by Dominic Snow a few years ago, he'd recently announced that he'd founded In From the Cold to help find people who'd been victims of, or involved with, human trafficking. The foundation had gotten a lot of extra press recently due to the scandal of some high society woman who'd gotten arrested for conspiring to blackmail Snow and his fiancé. Considering his fiancé was a small town girl who'd become his assistant and was now wearing his ring, it had been like Christmas for the media.

Shaking my head in an attempt to clear it, I moved forward. All the people milling around made my nerves jack up even more and that just irritated me even more. I didn't like being nervous. Ask me to organize and keep track of the workings of an entire doctor's office, I'm fine. Put me in the middle of my brothers and their crazy friends, no problem. Professionally and with my family, I was a rock, but this crowded job fair was turning me into a five foot, twenty-four year-old ball of nerves.

Taking a deep breath, I made my way inside and looked around, taking a minute to acclimate. Early in life, I’d learned to deal with being thrown into situations where I wasn't comfortable. One of the many joys of having always been smart.

Lines for registering, lines to get sorted…

What a fucking mess.

I took another look over some of the groups clustered around, and had the sinking sensation I’d have to tell my brother that this just wasn’t going to work out. These were so not my kind of people.

Many of them were dressed to the nines in designer names and expensive haircuts. And then there was me, with my cute sundress and chic little shrug draped over my arm. I had a file and my iPad, while others carried giant briefcases and padfolios likely stuffed with impressive resumes.

“Something of a zoo, isn’t it?”

The quiet voice came from next to me and I glanced up to see a stocky, pleasant-looking man standing next to me. With his salt-and-pepper hair, I put his age in the early forties. “I’d say that sums it up.” I couldn't help but add, “I see mostly herd animals, very few standing out from the pack.”

That elicited a chuckle, his dark blue eyes sparkling.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what position are you applying for?”

I took a closer look at him and realized with a start that he was an employee here. Not that he wore a nametag. This place probably stopped with the nametags outside the lobby.

“Personal assistant,” I said slowly. I shifted toward him, using the movement to tuck my single file folder behind my back. I was really starting to think this was a bad idea.

“
Exclusive
.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.
Exclusive
was the name Winter Enterprises had given to the new service offering to match up personal assistants with the New York elite. Again, I told myself I was an idiot. This so wasn’t the job for me. What did I know about helping out the jet set?

What did I
care
about the jet set?

“May I?” He held out a hand, clearly waiting for the file I’d stowed behind me.

Reluctant, I turned over the file. He opened and skimmed it, but I had the feeling he was more interested in me than in what a couple of papers had to say. “What would you do if your employer received a call that they were being investigated by the IRS for tax fraud?”

“Call their accountant,” I responded without even thinking. What did I know about their taxes? “And probably whatever lawyer they have on retainer for that sort of thing,” I added after a moment. If they were rich enough to use a service like this, then they probably had a lawyer.

He flicked me a look over the edge of the file, but I couldn't read it.

“Your client asks you to pick up someone at the airport and to make sure that their luggage bypasses security. Would you ask questions?”

Frowning, I held his gaze. This was a loaded question. I could already tell. Finally, I shrugged and said, “I would tell my client that, while I don't need to know what's in the luggage, I wouldn't be comfortable bending the law. If the client insisted, I would hand in my notice. I don’t want to work for criminals.”

He nodded and held out a hand. “I’m Robson Findley. Come on. I’ll finish your interview myself.”

***

It was the quickest and weirdest interview of my life. Instead of asking me about my previous experience, he hammered me with more odd questions.

It’s your off night and you get called to order some flowers and candy sent to an unknown address. What do you do?

You’re meeting a friend for your employer and the friend hits on you. Do you tell your employer?

You’re visiting your employer and you hear some unusual noises coming from one of the rooms. What do you do?

It didn't take me long to realize that this wasn't going to work. I didn't interrupt though. I wanted to be able to tell Deacon I at least gave it a fair shot. I waited until there was a gap and then rose. “Mr. Findlay, I really appreciate the opportunity, but I don’t think this job would be right for me.”

“Yes?” He cocked his head, eyes shrewd, but not annoyed. “Just why is that?”

I didn’t have an exact
reason I could give, and in a moment of utter desperation and stupidity, I blurted out, “I don’t like rich people.”

It sounded offensive enough that I assumed I'd be thrown out on my ass as soon as he called security. I lifted my chin, crossed my arms over my chest, and waited.

To my surprise, Findlay laughed. He dropped down into the chair behind his desk, tipped back his head and actually laughed. A few moments passed before he stopped, but when he looked at me, his eyes were still glinting with mirth. “Can I be blunt with you for a moment?”

I stared at him.

“Sometimes, I don't like them much either.”

The moment he said it, he blinked, almost as if startled he’d actually said it.

It was a look I was familiar with. I was always having people tell me things they wouldn't have told anyone else. I'd been told I have one of those faces. It’s not really all that great.

He cleared his throat and began shuffling papers on his desk. “As I was saying…”

He hadn’t been saying anything, but I didn’t call him on the lie, just watched as he regained his composure.

“I think you’re going to work out rather well, Ms. Gallagher. Assuming we find you the right match. And while I still need you to fill out the forms, I already have a couple of ideas for good matches.”

Hesitant, I eyed the forms. I still had some serious misgivings about this.

“Perhaps you should have an idea what it pays,” he said with a smile.

The figure he named made my jaw drop.

Hello college tuition.

Chapter 2

Toni

Fifth Avenue.

What the hell was I doing on Fifth Avenue?

Especially this part of Fifth Avenue.

Smoothing a hand down the trim black pants I’d selected to wear, I approached the door and tried not to look like I was hesitating. There was no doorman. That might have struck me as odd, except this massive building wasn’t some collection of ultra-cool, ultra-expensive condos.

It was one, ginormous family home.

I couldn’t even fathom how many millions of dollars a family home on Fifth Avenue must have cost. The buzz of traffic around here was noticeably less, and as I drew closer to the house, some lady decked all in white sailed by with her dog on a pink leash. There was a sparkle at its neck and I had the insane idea that the sparkle might be from diamonds. Real diamonds. But that couldn't be possible, could it?

My skin started to prickle. I looked up at the ditz who put the diamonds on a dog and found her sending me a sidelong look. When she caught me eying her, her nostrils flared as if she’d smelled something bad, and she whipped her head around.

Wow.

Mentally bracing myself, I marched up the steps between two stately lion statues and knocked.

I’d been paired with a woman by the name of Isadora Lang. I supposed if I paid more attention to the society pages, I would've known the name, but all I had was what Mr. Findley sent me yesterday afternoon.

Isadora was twenty years old and needing help a few days a week – my choice of days – to help her keep her life organized. She hadn't requested any off-hours availability or included a list of crazy demands. It really sounded like a dream job.

But I had a sinking feeling I was about to endure the same sort of treatment I’d received from the ditzy dog owner.

The door swung open and I flashed the suit-clad gentleman my best smile. He was wearing a suit that probably cost more than two months' rent and looked to be in his mid to late fifties.

“Hello. I’m Toni—”

A woman's voice interrupted me.

“Please tell me that’s her, Doug! I can’t figure out this damn newsletter!” She sounded nearly frantic, but not obnoxious.

The suited man gave me a pained look. “Are you with
Exclusive
?”

“I am.”

A moment later, a tall, curvy woman came bursting out from somewhere behind him. She had stylish black curls, large olive green eyes, porcelain skin, and an elegant, beautiful face. Absolutely gorgeous.

“In, now,” she said as she reached around the man and grabbed my wrist. I stared at her, shocked into silence as she pulled me into the house. “Thank God you're here. If I don’t get this straightened out, I’m doomed.”

Once I was inside, she let my hand go and turned to beam at the man in the black suit. “You can shut the door now, Doug,” she said, giving him the sweetest genuine smile I'd ever seen. “My new assistant and I have a lot of work to do.”

My head was spinning. I didn't think I’d ever seen anybody smile that brilliantly and mean it. When she turned that megawatt smile on me, I felt almost a little dazzled. Heaven help any man who found themselves in her sights.

“Ma'am – uh, I mean, Miss?”

“Call me Isadora, please. Just as Doug here. I don't like the whole 'Miss' thing.”

“All right.” I nodded, starting to find my footing. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Her smile turned a little sheepish and she bit her lower lip. “I have to admit, Toni…it is Toni, right? I’m hopeless. I thought I could figure out this whole newsletter thing, but…” She spread her hands out wide and shrugged, her expression making her look less like a beautiful young woman and more like a wide-eyed, innocent child.

“You want a newsletter.”

“No,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t
want
it. I need it. I told the committee I could do it. I’m good on computers, and I didn’t think it would be that hard.”

Despite myself, I was starting to like her. Sure, I couldn't imagine what was so difficult about making a newsletter, but she didn't seem like she was above it. Just clueless.

“So what’s the newsletter for?” I asked with a smile.

“Rich assholes.”

She delivered the answer without blinking an eye.

Behind me, Doug, in his perfect black suit, smothered a laugh and pretended it was a cough before hurrying away.

“You know what?” I gave her my own version of a brilliant smile. “I think we should start from the top.”

***

She’d led me into a large, airy sitting room.

There was no way I could call it a living room. It was too elegant, too posh, for that. The walls were a pale, soft yellow with the trim painted a gleaming white. In the middle of the room stood a low, round table that gleamed like gold. In the precise middle of that table, there was a vase of the most beautiful white roses I’d ever seen in my life, each petal perfection.