Chapter 1

TREVOR

"Come on, Trixie! Don't do this to me now," I pleaded.

I rubbed my hand over the dashboard of my old Honda, coaxing her gently. She chugged along the busy street, struggling to keep pace with the newer vehicles that hurriedly swerved around us, a few drivers shouting and gesturing rudely with one finger as they sped past.

She'd been four years old and already had several thousand miles on her when I bought her. With her shiny blue exterior and black leather seats she was in much better shape than any of the other cars on the used lot and frankly, nicer than anything I'd expected to find within my price range—which was next to nothing. Best of all, she was reliable.

Trixie was thirteen now. Her blue paint was rusted in spots, the leather seats cracked and split exposing yellow cushioning inside, and one headlight was held together with only duct tape and a prayer.

But she'd seen me through numerous odd jobs, a couple of failed relationships, and one crazy—yet memorable—road trip with my best friend the summer before we headed off to college. She was a part of my history, a trustworthy friend, and I wasn't ready to give up on her just yet. Besides, my job as an IT consultant barely paid the bills, much less afforded luxuries like a new car.

I'd fought like hell to put myself through college, taking classes during the day and working jobs in the evenings for minimum wage then staying up late each night, studying and writing papers. It was exhausting and left absolutely no time for a social life, but in the end, I'd earned my degree in computer engineering and software design. Totally worth it. Or so I thought.

Every interview I'd been to had turned out the same. "You show great potential, Mr. Reed. Your knowledge of troubleshooting and Active Directory are quite impressive and I'm sure you'd make an excellent addition to our team, but we're looking for someone with a little more…experience."

As it turned out, companies only wanted people with at least five years' experience. But how was I supposed to gain any experience if no one would hire me?

It was a catch twenty-two and frustrating beyond belief, but I continued to hold out hope that someone, someday, would give me a chance. I just had to keep my head above water until then.

Luck was on my side as I found an open space near the building and maneuvered Trixie into it. She made a loud wheezing noise as I shut off her engine and an embarrassing black plume of smoke billowed up from under her hood. I didn't know the first thing about cars, but even I knew that wasn't good.

My shoulders slumped. It looked like I was going to have to scrape together enough money to get a new car after all. And soon. So much for keeping my head above water. I ignored the people walking by; men and women in fine looking clothes who turned to stare at me with wrinkled up noses or worse, pity.

I grabbed my bag of equipment off the passenger seat and climbed out, already calculating how long I thought it would take me to save up for a new car if I got a second job in the evenings.

Fortunately, I lived with my best friend—who also happened to be a caterer—so at least I wouldn't have to worry about going hungry. Doug was always bringing leftover food home from work. Unfortunately, it looked like I was going to be riding the bus or taking the subway for the foreseeable future.

With that depressing thought in mind, I made my way inside. Marshall Industries was a large corporation and one of our best customers, preferring to outsource all their computer needs rather than housing their own IT department like many other companies did. It was a smart move on their part, saving them a ton of money each year in salaries and insurance since they only needed to call us if there was an issue.

The lobby of the building was as busy as the street outside. People rushed around, briefcases in hand, shoes clicking against the polished marble floors, somehow managing not to run into each other despite their eyes being glued to their phones.

I pulled my own out and double-checked the text from Jake, our office manager at Tech Solutions. Whenever a call came through for a job, he'd send a text to the nearest available consultant. Today, that happened to be me.

Drive recovery on the…fifteenth floor. My eyebrows shot up. The top floor. Everyone knew the top floor of any building was reserved for the company's elite, CEOs, COOs, etc. I'd worked in this building many times, but never up high enough to be around the bigwigs. The security guard was busy assistant an older gentleman, so I went on, making a beeline to the elevators.

Nerves sliced through me as I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button. The door slid closed, and I glanced down at myself, taking inventory of my appearance. Shit! I'd been so frazzled by my car breaking down that I'd completely forgotten to grab my ID badge out of the glove box.

Oh well. No time to go back and get it now. As usual, Jake had already sent three more texts with jobs I needed to get to after this one. IT help was in constant demand, and I knew the jobs would continue to roll in until I was finally off the clock and could drag my exhausted butt home.

I straightened my tie and made sure my button-down shirt was tucked in properly. Even though my job often required me to climb up into dusty ceilings to run new wires or had me crawling under someone's desk to take apart their processor, I tried to always look professional.

The doors slid open to a large open space. Unlike the cool marble floors of the lobby, these were rich hardwood. The real kind, not the vinyl look-alike stuff most places used these days.

Sleek, modern furniture made up a small waiting area in the middle and beautiful sconces—which probably cost more than I made in a week—let off soft light that warmed the space. The whole thing screamed of money and prestige, two things I'd never had much experience with, growing up as a poor kid in Indiana.

Along the back wall, a long wooden desk separated the waiting area from the reception area. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled my nose as I walked towards it. I'd always loved the smell of coffee but could never understand how anyone could drink something so bitter and vile.

A woman sat behind the desk, her blonde hair perfectly styled in a neat twist, her fingers flying furiously over the keyboard. She glanced up at me through wire-rimmed glasses, her painted red lips curling into a smile. "May I help you?"

I smiled back. "Hi. I'm Trevor—" was all I managed to get out before her eyes flew open and she jumped to her feet, her desk chair sliding away abruptly and nearly crashing into one of the filing cabinets behind her. My eyebrows darted up in surprise, the rest of my introduction dying on my lips.

"Thank goodness you're here!" She rushed around from behind the desk, grabbing my elbow with her slender fingers. "This way. Hurry! You're already fifteen minutes late and Mr. Marshall doesn't tolerate tardiness," she scolded.

I let her drag me down a long hallway and past several closed doors. She moved surprisingly fast for someone wearing high heels.

I ran her words through my head again but none of it made any sense. Jake never promised clients that we'd be there by a certain time since we never knew exactly what issue we were dealing with or how long it might take to fix it until we got a system in front of us. He simply told them we'd get there as soon as possible then added them to our queue.

"I'm sorry, but I think maybe there's been some kind of mix up."

The woman—I still didn't even know her name—shot me a stern look over her shoulder as we neared the last door, centered at the end of the hall. "Look, I can answer your questions later. Right now, you need to get in there and do your job. That is, if you still have one." I wasn't sure I was supposed to hear that last part as it was said under her breath, but before I could question it, she was knocking on the door.

A deep voice answered. "Yes?"

The woman opened the door slightly, blocking my view. "Excuse me, Mr. Marshall. Mr. Lewis is here now."

I frowned at the woman, even more confused. Clearly there'd been some sort of mistake. She'd called me Mr. Lewis, but my last name was Reed. "Wait! I'm not?—"

"It's about time. Send him in quickly, Kelly," the man barked.

The woman—Kelly, apparently—gave me a sardonic look as she turned and slipped past me. "Good luck," she murmured. I stared at her retreating form, feeling like I'd somehow ended up in the Twilight Zone.

The loud clearing of a throat caught my attention and I turned, opening the door the rest of the way. The man—she'd called him Mr. Marshall—was sitting behind the desk, wearing a rather perturbed look on his face.

I was secure enough in my masculinity to admit he was handsome. Extremely so, with thick coal-black hair, a strong jawline, and vibrant green eyes which narrowed at me. "Are you going to come in or are you going to keep standing out there and continue to waste my time?"

"I'm uh…going to come in?" My words came out as more of a question than a statement, which wasn't surprising since I still had no idea what in the hell was going on. "Actually, I need to explain. I think there's been some sort of mistake."

"The only mistake is me thinking I could trust a recruitment company to find a competent person to work for me. Apparently, it's true that if you want something done right then you need to do it yourself," he said bitingly. "Now, I have a conference call that's about to begin and I need you to take notes, if you think you can manage that."

My mouth opened and shut like a fish as I sank down into one of the chairs across from him. I couldn't seem to get my brain to work well enough to form any actual words, but he'd already turned his attention away from me and was typing something into his computer. A second later, a man's voice came through the speakers. They exchanged a few pleasantries and then launched right into their meeting.

I glanced around, marveling at the spacious office with its rich mahogany cabinets, plush carpet, and luxurious leather furniture.

To my right was an informal sitting area complete with a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table. On my left was a full-sized conference table with twelve chairs situated around it.

Behind me was a bathroom and—I did a double take—a bar area. An actual bar with glass shelves containing the kind of high-end labels I could never afford. I thought people having bars in their offices was only in movies.

Straightening in my seat, I peered out the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the entire wall behind the desk. The view of the city was spectacular, and I itched to get a closer look. I could only imagine how breathtaking it must be at night when everything was lit up.

There was no doubt about it. The office was sleek and sophisticated, much like the man it belonged to. My eyes darted to him, widening when I found him staring back at me. The frown marring his handsome face made it clear he was unimpressed.

I swallowed hard as he rolled his eyes then opened one of the desk drawers and tossed a pad of paper and a pen at me irritably. I had no idea what kind of notes he wanted me to take, so I began jotting down anything I thought sounded important, writing furiously as I struggled to keep up with their conversation.

My head snapped up when his tone suddenly turned sharp. "I don't care how difficult it is."

"But, sir?—"

Mr. Marshall cut the man off before he could say another word, the severe look on his face making it clear he was not someone who should be messed with, yet he kept his tone even. "I don't want to hear your excuses, Roger. I pay you very well to take care of these things for me. Now, do your job and figure it out."

Roger hesitated only a moment. "Yes, sir."

My jaw went slack. I'd never seen anyone display such authority without even raising their voice. Obviously, he knew what he was doing when it came to business, and he was willing to do whatever it took to get things done the way he wanted. Watching him, I had to admit I was impressed, if not a bit intimidated.

They exchanged a few more words as the meeting began wrapping up and thank God because my hand was starting to cramp from furiously writing. I set the pen down and shook my hand out to the side, trying to get the blood to flow back in my fingers.

Mr. Marshall had just ended the call when there was a knock on the door. "Yes?"

Kelly stepped in, looking nervous and more than a little confused. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's been a…um…there's a man here."

He sighed. "I'm very busy, Kelly. Who is it?"

She wrung her hands in front of her. "Well, that's the thing. He says he's Mr. Lewis and that he's your new personal assistant."

"He…what?" They both turned to look at me, suddenly very interested in what I had to say.

I grinned sheepishly, shrugging my shoulders. "I tried to tell you."

"Give us a minute, please, Kelly," Mr. Marshall said quietly. The tension behind it sent a shiver down my spine. Nodding, she stepped back out, shutting the door behind her.

Scooting his chair back, he stood. He was taller than I'd expected, and his perfectly tailored suit accentuated the broad stretch of his shoulders. My pulse sped up as he came around to my side of the desk and leaned against the edge of it, folding his arms across his chest. Everything about him commanded attention and he certainly had mine. "You aren't Trevor Lewis?"

"N—no, sir."

"What's your name?"

I cleared my throat nervously. "Um…it's Trevor Reed, sir."

"Why are you here?"

"I work for Tech Solutions. I was sent here to do a drive recovery on your computer system," I explained.

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "You're with IT…and your name is Trevor. Same as the new PA that was hired for me."

"Apparently so," I murmured awkwardly.

He looked up at the ceiling as if asking the heavens to give him patience and let out a humorless laugh. "Unfuckingbelievable," he said under his breath.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, not sure if I should stay there or get up and go. Right. I should leave. I grabbed my equipment bag which I'd set at my feet and stood, but his hand on my arm stopped me. A strange swooping feeling swept through my belly at his touch. Nerves, perhaps.

We were standing so close I could feel his body heat radiating through the thin layer of his dress shirt, could smell his scent—sandalwood, mint, and something else I couldn't pinpoint but the mixture of all three was surprisingly pleasant.

Mr. Marshall reached for the pad of paper and held it up in front of me. "Why did you take these notes?"

I shifted from one foot to the other. "Because you told me to," I answered weakly.

"But you knew that wasn't your job. You could have refused."

I shrugged. "Your meeting was starting, and you seemed like you really needed someone to take notes."

I watched as he flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning over the words I'd written. "These are very…thorough."

"I wasn't sure what you needed exactly, so I just tried to get anything that sounded important," I replied lamely.

Mr. Marshall tilted his head, regarding me for several long seconds. I tried not to fidget but found it extremely difficult under his piercing gaze. Finally, he spoke. "Name your price."

"Excuse me?"

"How much would it take to have you come work for me?"

I stared back at him, dumbfounded. "Are you serious?"

"I never joke about business matters," he said as he made his way around the desk and sat down. "I'm in need of a personal assistant and clearly the one that was hired for me isn't going to work out. The position requires a lot of flexibility and dedication. Long hours, late nights, traveling as necessary."

"I'm fine with all of that, but I've never been a personal assistant before. I wouldn't know the first thing about doing that kind of job."

He pointed to the notes I'd taken. "I think you've already proven you're a fast learner, Mr. Reed."

"Yeah, but?—"

"Whatever you make right now, I'll double it."

"You must be jok?—"

"Triple it then."

My knees suddenly became weak. I sank back down in the chair, staring at him incredulously. "You're actually serious."

Mr. Marshall folded his hands in front of him and leveled me with a droll look. "What I am is a very busy man and what I need from you is an answer. Do we have an agreement, Mr. Reed?"

My head spun at the quick turn of events. The money he was offering was mind-boggling. It was life-changing for someone like me. I could get a new car, I wouldn't have to get a second job, and best of all, I would finally feel like I could breathe without the burden of financial strain constantly weighing me down.

I took a deep breath and nodded. "We have an agreement."

His eyes flashed with something akin to surprise. Did he really think I'd turn down such a generous offer? Or maybe he thought I'd negotiate for even more money. How far would he have been willing to go, I wondered idly. Not that it mattered. I was more than happy with his offer.

"Great. See Kelly on your way out and she'll give you all the necessary paperwork. I'll give you the rest of the week to tie up any loose ends with your current employer and then I'll see you Monday. Eight a.m."

"I'll be here. Um, thank you, Mr. Marshall, sir. I'll do my best not to let you down," I said as I stood and made my way to the door.

"Just Mr. Marshall will suffice. "Oh, and, Mr. Reed," he said, stopping me before I could walk out. I looked at him over my shoulder, my eyebrows raised in question. "Do try to be on time."

"Yes, Mr. Marshall"

I stepped out in the hallway and shut the door, leaning against it while I waited for my heart rate to slow. This day had gone from terrible to amazing in a matter of minutes and I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

My smile grew as I walked down the hallway, and even the small twinge of guilt I felt when I heard Kelly telling the other Trevor the position had been filled wasn't enough to make it disappear.

I'd been honest with Mr. Marshall about having no idea how to be someone's PA, but I was a hard worker and a fast learner. I left there, determined to be the best personal assistant he'd ever had.