She’d do.
“Come on in,” I said, moving aside to let her pass. “I’ll give you the tour.”
“Go ahead and get dressed first,” she told me briskly. “I don’t mind waiting.”
My brows shot up in intrigued surprise. I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had asked, no ordered, me to put my clothes on.
“I’m fine,” I assured her. “The essentials are covered.” I started moving, motioning for her to follow me. “Right this way.”
I led her straight to my office. The back wall was lined with my book covers. I explained this to her.
“Yes, I can see that,” she said wryly. “Red Twin is my favorite, but Red House is a close second.”
“You’ve read my books?” I tried to recall if any of my former assistants had ever read my books.
No.
I tried to recall if any of my former assistants could read.
Who knew?
She raised a vaguely insulted brow at me. “Well, yes. Of course I did,” she said. “I’ve read them all. I’m looking at this job as a mentorship. I want to enter into the field myself at some point.”
“You want to be an author?” I asked with no surprise.
Everyone thought they wanted to be an author until they realized how fucking hard it was to write an entire book without hating it, the world, and yourself by the end.
“Yes. And an illustrator, though I know that’s not in your wheel house.”
My brow furrowed, “An illustrator? What genre are you interested in?”
“All of them. I read everything.”
“No. I mean, which genre are you going to write in?”
“Guess,” she said with no expression.
So she was playful, with a dry sense of humor. I liked that. “Fiction?”
“Yes, but I’m not impressed by your guessing skills. Don’t you think you can narrow it down?”
I studied her. “Perhaps some sort of graphic novel? Manga? I’m trying to get a feel for how the illustrating ties in. Nothing in the horror category. You’re not crazy enough.”
“You don’t know me that well.”
“True. But I’m still eliminating it.”
“That’s fair,” she said blandly.
Damn, she had a good poker face. “Not romance. No offense, but you don’t look like you have a romantic bone in your body.”
“Fair enough,” she agreed.
“Not erotica. No one could write good sex and dress that way. No offense.”
“Offense taken,” she shot back, looking not at all offended.
Oh, God. So she was sarcastic and good at it. I really liked that.
“Historical. No,” I kept musing, almost to myself, answering my own questions as I went. “Sci-Fi. No.”
“Definitely not fantasy,” I said with conviction. “You’re too level-headed to have your head in some other world all the time.”
“God, you’re terrible at this,” she told me with a small smile.
I got a kick out of that, because she was right, and because, even on her first day on the job, she had no problem giving me shit.
“Children’s books,” she put me out of my terrible guessing misery. “I want to write and illustrate children’s books with a focus on ages four to eight.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that, it was so unexpected.
And it was adorable. “Well, I hope you know that’s not what I do,” I warned. I wasn’t sure how I could help her on that particular path, but I was game to try if she was.
“I’m aware. Your books would give children nightmares and probably put them in therapy, but it’s not about the genre. I believe I can learn a lot from you. Like I said, I’ve read all of your books, and you’re clearly competent at the many nuances of your craft.”
She said it with no expression, none of the fan enthusiasm I was used to, but I somehow found myself more flattered because of it.
I was trying to think of a proper response, a thank you maybe, but that was when a half-dressed redhead leaned in the doorway, sending me a very pointed smile.
I’d flat out forgotten about her, which was kind of sad, since I’d left her sleeping naked in my sex room mere hours before. “Oh, hi,” I told her pleasantly. “You’re awake. Well, I’m working, but help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen before you leave, and feel free to make an extra for me if you decide to cook.”
A throat cleared not so subtly behind me, and I turned to grin at Devereux. “Oh, sorry. How rude of me. Glasses, this is . . . Red. Red, meet my new assistant, Glasses.”
Devereux shot me a less than friendly look, approaching the other woman, who towered over her. She held out her hand exactly as she had to me, and the redhead let her shake hands, looking confused at the exchange.
“My name is Devereux,” she told the other woman pointedly. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, um, nice to meet you. My name is Jennifer.” She shot me a friendly grin. “Though Red works fine, too.”
I smiled blandly back. That was good, since I had no intention of remembering her name beyond this moment. There was only so much space in a brain for one-night stands.
“Okay, back to the emails,” I began when Red/Jennifer had left.
I was sidetracked by another figure promptly filling the doorway. I smiled warmly. It was the blond with the mad oral skills from last night that I’d left naked in my sex room a few hours prior… in bed right next to the redhead. How could it be I’d already forgotten there were two?
She was wearing one of my T-shirts, and I was assuming not much else. “Hey,” she said in a soft bedroom voice.
“Hey, erm, Blondie,” I said back. “New assistant, this is Blondie. I’m working, but feel free to feed yourself breakfast before you take off.” I turned away, trying to get back to business.
Devereux wasn’t having it, rising again, shaking the other woman’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Devereux,” she told Blondie.
“I’m Sara,” she replied, eyeing Devereux up with less than friendly eyes. I, for one, thought the hostility was uncalled for.
Blondie/Sara looked pointedly back at me. “Do you have to work right now? I’m in the mood to spend the day in bed.” She was using her best bedroom voice and her best bedroom eyes.
She was good, but I was done. “Not today. I have your number though, right? Maybe I’ll text you sometime.” I turned my attention back to my computer, putting the whole thing from my mind.
It would have stayed off my mind if a persistent little voice hadn’t said archly, “Red and Blondie, really? You could at least remember their names.”
It was probably for the best that I hadn’t gone with my first auto-names for them. If she took offense with Red and Blondie, she’d have had a conniption if I’d just cut to the chase and called them the first thing my filthy mind had come up with: Spit and Swallow.
“They didn’t mind. I just met them yesterday. How can they possibly be offended?” I was standing in front of her, looming over her tiny form, and I didn’t even remember how I’d gotten there.
That should have been my first warning that she was going to be trouble, but I was so distracted that I didn’t wonder at it.