The Personal Assistant by Kimberly Belle

Author:Kimberly Belle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HQ Fiction
Published: 2022-11-01T15:06:40+00:00

* * *

She awoke alone, in an empty bed. She lay there for a moment, blinking into the dark room. Did he leave? Go searching for the bathroom? She stretched out an arm, one hand splayed over the spot where his body should be. The sheets were still marked with the imprint of his torso, the fabric rumpled but cool. The clock on the nightstand shone the time: 2:08 a.m.

She sat up, her heart heavy in her chest. This was why she didn’t bring guys home, because either they saw it as an invitation to stay indefinitely, hogging her covers and scarfing down all her food, or they snuck out in the middle of the night, never to be heard from again. Apparently, he was one of the latter. Maybe she was right, when she thought the chase was more fun than the win. She should have known he was too good to be true.

Or maybe he really was married. A wife would explain why a man up and disappeared in the middle of the night, running home to her and a couple of kids, the ones he swore he didn’t have. Married men don’t always wear rings, and even when they do, a ring isn’t some magical kind of shield. If a man wanted to cheat, he was going to cheat. It was as simple as that.

She was cursing herself for falling for it when she heard his voice, a low murmur coming from deeper in the house. She slid out of bed, snagging his shirt from the floor. The fabric was soft as silk where it touched her skin, and it smelled like him, Italian leather and spicy cologne. She left it unbuttoned on purpose, padding into the hallway with the fabric hanging open.

There were only so many places he could be in a house this tiny. The bathroom across the hall, the square space to her right that was living room and dining room in one or the galley kitchen at the far end.

The last one was where she found him, in bare feet and slacks by the window. His back was to her, and a neighbor’s porch light spilled a warm golden glow through the glass, silhouetting his broad shoulders. His phone was pressed to an ear, his voice low but firm.

“...need another day or two to finalize the details, but go ahead and tell our Atlanta contact that it’s handled. I’ll have things up and running by early next week.”

Tonight at Bubba Jax, when she’d asked him what his job was, his answer was so vague. Managing money, he’d said, followed by a bunch of mumbo jumbo about stocks and other stuff she didn’t really understand. And now this, a contact in Atlanta. Things that would be up and running next week. She stood there in the shadows of the hallway, listening.

“Tell them as soon as I’ve got the logistics nailed down, I’ll drive up there and brief them myself. Tell them I’ll be on the ground to manage the first few transactions myself.

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