know everything about this place, Adelaide. Tell Mr. LeBlanc,” Laurel instructed with a nauseating amount of cheer. “You gave me such a thorough tour of the place that I thought it would never end. There’s not a nook or cranny at LBC that you don’t have some sort of insight into. Is there?”
Obediently, Adelaide shook her head. “No, ma’am. I’ve been here seven years and started in the kitchen as a volunteer. I love every last board and nail in this place.”
“I could tell.” Laurel jerked her head at Xavier. “Mr. LeBlanc was just bemoaning the fact that he didn’t have anyone to help organize a fundraiser that LBC so desperately needs.”
Oh, dear God. That was not what he’d said. At all. But before he could correct the grievous misrepresentation that gave everyone the impression he was being a big baby about the tasks laid out for him, Laurel rushed on.
“I figured, this is Addy’s opportunity to really make a difference. Step up and show us all what she’s made of. You just do what Marjorie did and that’ll leave me free to help Mr. LeBlanc get some money flowing in. Are you good with that?”
When Adelaide smiled and clapped her hands like she’d just been given the biggest Christmas present, Xavier’s mouth fell open. Hastily, he closed it before anyone figured out that Laurel Dixon had just shocked the hell out of him. He didn’t shock easily, and it was even harder to remember the last time he’d been unable to control his expression.
The two women went back and forth on the logistics for a furious couple of minutes until Xavier couldn’t take it any longer.
“So, that’s it?” he interrupted. “Adelaide, you can do what Marjorie did and everyone’s good with that?”
Both women swiveled to stare at him. Laurel raised a brow. “Sorry, did we lose you again? Yes. Adelaide is in charge. She’ll do a fantastic job.”
Xavier should have asked more questions back in his office, like whether partner meant something different where Laurel had come from. When she’d thrown out the idea that they’d be working closely together, he’d reassessed his idea of how their interaction might go. And he’d come to the conclusion that perhaps she could come to him for approval on the budget, or maybe to get his help vetting new volunteers. That sort of thing.
He had not once suggested that she sign herself up to take over his inheritance test. That was his. He needed to prove to his father—and himself—that he could and would handle anything the old man threw at him. Ten million dollars was a cheap price to pay in order to get back on even ground, regain his confidence and lose the edge of vulnerability he’d been carrying since the reading of the will.
No one was allowed to get in the way of that.
“Excuse us, please,” he said to Adelaide through gritted teeth.
Pulling Laurel back into his office, he shut the door and leaned on it, half afraid she’d find a way to open it again despite the hundred and seventy-five pounds of man holding it shut.
Instantly, he realized his mistake.
Laurel’s presence filled the room, blanketing him with that otherworldly, mystical nonsense that he couldn’t think through.
“What the hell was all that about?” he demanded and couldn’t find a shred of remorse at how rough it came out. “You shuffled off all your duties to Adelaide—without asking, by the way. What, exactly, are you going to be doing?”
“Helping you, of course.” She patted his arm and the contact sang through his flesh clear to the bone. “We have a fundraiser to organize. Which I’m pretty sure is what I just said.”
The trap had been laid so neatly that he still hadn’t quite registered whether the teeth had closed around his ankle or not. “You don’t have enough experience fundraising.”
She shrugged. “I do have some. What’s your hang-up about experience? Adelaide doesn’t have any experience.” She accompanied that statement with air quotes. “But she’s been learning on the job for years by following Marjorie around. She’ll do great.”
“Running a charity takes an iron fist,” he shot back instantly. “Not an owl face and a lot of head nodding.”
Laurel just laughed. “Owl face? Better not let her hear that. Women who wear glasses don’t take kindly to name-calling.”
“I didn’t mean—” The headache brewing behind his eyes spread to his temples. “I called her an owl because she just stands there and looks wise. Instead of telling people what to do. I—Never mind.”
Laurel Dixon had officially driven him around the bend. And now Adelaide had just been given a promotion that she seemed super pleased with. He couldn’t take it away, though likely he’d have to spend a lot of time following her around to make sure she didn’t drive operations into the ground. Hiring Laurel had been one thing, because at least he could blame that on Val if it didn’t work out, but this was a whole other mess.
One he had no graceful way of undoing without upsetting the admin. Or Laurel, who might do God knew what as her next trick.
“Okay. Fine,” he ground out. “Adelaide is Marjorie. She’s going to be great. You’re going to help with fundraising. Are you going to be great, too?”
“Of course.”
She flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder again, and he couldn’t help but wonder why she wore it down when her hands were constantly fiddling with it. She should wear it up. Then he wouldn’t be tempted to put his own hands through it just to see if it felt as satiny and lush as it looked.
He crossed his arms. No point in tempting fate. “Fantastic. What’s the plan, General?”
“Nicknames already?” Her long eyelashes swept her cheeks as she treated him to a very long, pointed once-over that lingered in inappropriate places. “I thought that wouldn’t happen until much later in our association. Under...different circumstances.”
In bed, she meant. The implication was clear. And he definitely shouldn’t be feeling the spark of her suggestion in those inappropriate places. “It fit. Can’t help it.”
“Don’t worry. I like it.” The atmosphere in the office got a whole lot heavier as she stared at him. “And I like that you’ve already clued in that I don’t sit around and wait for things to happen to me.”
“I knew that a half second after Adelaide told me you were here for an interview that I hadn’t arranged,” he told her bluntly. “You’re an easy read.”
Something flitted through her gaze. A shadow. He couldn’t put his finger on what she had going on beneath the surface, but that gut-deep feeling told him again she had something to hide.
How many secrets might she spill if he did take her into his bed?
Once that thought formed, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He wasn’t like that, not normally. But Laurel had barreled right through what he’d call his normal and redefined everything. Maybe he needed to return the favor.
“I’m pretty transparent,” she agreed readily, but another layer dropped into place over her expression.
She
