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“What if you’re on a date or something?”
I laughed. “You’re my date. I’ll see you tonight.”
I was still chucking to myself when I looked up to find Lesya standing in my open doorway, carrying her ever-present tablet and staring at me like I’d grown a second head.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
She shifted on her heels. “You gave him access to your apartment.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. But before you go getting ideas?—”
“You asked him to stop by.”
I sighed. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking it. Hugh and I are friends?—”
“Close friends, clearly.” Lesya smiled wolfishly. “Since, in answer to his earlier question, no, the office is not soundproofed. I’ve already called maintenance to have that rectified this evening.”
I shifted a bit in my seat, slightly embarrassed. “I thought you were taking a lunch break. And not that it’s any of your business?—”
“Despite the fact that I just heard you getting your boyfriend off against the door…”
“Hugh is not my boyfriend,” I emphasized.
Though she pursed her lips and nodded, the disbelief in her eyes was clear.
“I don’t date, Lesya. Therefore, no boyfriend. Simple as that. What Hugh and I are is…” I cleared my throat. I was not getting into the whole fake-boyfriend story with her. “Complicated.”
“Sure,” she agreed easily. “It’s simple but complicated. He’s your friend, but you’re messing around. He’s the guy who stopped talking to you back in July because he refused to keep his feelings in the box you put him in, thus leading to the greatest pseudo-melancholy I’ve witnessed in all the years I’ve worked with you, and now he has the metaphorical keys to your apartment and carte blanche to stop by whenever. The honeymoon is going swimmingly. Should I prepare research about the use of the Oxford comma? You know, in preparation for the rocks? Or do you think you’ll stay in the honeymoon phase through the holidays?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I gave her my most cutting, withering billionaire glare. “I assume you have a point, Ms. Velky.”
My assistant remained unfazed. “You like this man, and from what I’ve observed—from what you’ve told me—he feels the same. You can’t get to the renaissance, Oscar, until you stop trying to control?—”
I held up a hand. “A work-related point?”
Lesya made a noise deep in her throat that sounded like water boiling. “Yes, Mr. Overton. I was thinking I’d call Chuckie and move up his pitch meetings.”
I frowned. “What for?”
“Because you’re useless once you hit the melancholy, and I want to make sure he has everything in place before then.” She tucked her tablet under her arm and strode out of the office.
“This isn’t a real relationship,” I called. “I told you that.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Overton, sir,” she called back.
But sure enough, within ten minutes, a new note popped up on my calendar, letting me know that my meeting with Chuckie had been moved from next month to early the next week.
She’d also booked me a trip to visit Boone in early January.
“There will be no melancholy!” I shouted through my open door.
She didn’t bother to respond…
Probably because we both knew I was lying.
20
HUGH
