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I nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see me. “Of course.”
“If you think someone’s going to do that, and you don’t think he’ll listen to you, I want you to call me. Will you do that?”
“I will.”
“Good.”
And then the call was done.
My head spun as I shuffled papers on the desk, my hands needing something to do. I’d need to shred even more of these things than I’d thought. I couldn’t risk anyone finding something they could use to steal his identity. I would be his assistant…and his protector.
I walked over to the door of the office and looked out to where Mr. Wexler was staring at one of his photos.
He seemed...intense.
I didn’t know why that particular photo captured his attention, but whatever the reason, he seemed to be caught up in those thoughts. I turned back to the office, knowing I couldn’t spend the day watching him, trying to figure out the type of man he truly was. I supposed I’d find out soon enough.
If he didn’t fire me first.
Which meant I needed to make sure I was invaluable.
So I went back to work.
I realized Mr. Wexler had a strange sort of order to his things. I’d always had a knack for seeing patterns, which sometimes gave me a different insight, and now, it was showing me that he was more organized than I initially gave him credit for. Not that it would appear that way to someone who couldn’t find the order under the chaos. Since my new job was to keep things in order, I decided to make my own filing system, but first I needed to clear out a few items laying around the office before lunch.
I picked up the various lens and parts, putting them all into a now empty box, then took a deep breath. As I stepped into the studio, the first thing I noticed was the lighting had changed, but it wasn’t because it was now early afternoon.
He was working.
He had an entire set up of lighting equipment with names I didn’t know and was moving around the pile of pillows at their center. His back was to me, but I could read the intensity coming off him in waves. I couldn’t even imagine being the focus of that sort of intensity, that...passion.
I couldn’t imagine having that sort of passion.
If my time at the temp agency had taught me anything, it was that a difference existed between a job I didn’t mind doing and one about which I was passionate. I’d seen that sort of purpose with my brothers for the family business, but I’d yet to have found my own.
As Mr. Wexler stepped to the side, I saw the subject of his focus.
An absolutely gorgeous woman.
Who was wearing very little.
Apparently, landscapes weren’t the only thing in which he was interested.
