What the fuck?
Before I can order her inside my office, she pushes open the door and marches in with a smile on her face.
A bright, I-have-no-care-in-the-world, smile.
“Sit down,” I order, pointing at the two chairs facing my desk. “Take a seat now.”
The smile doesn’t fade as she plops herself in one of the chairs. Crossing her legs, her hand moves to close the slit at the front of her dress.
She’s not quick enough to steal my chance to get an unobstructed view of her thigh.
I lean back in my chair. “Explain to me what was going on out there.”
Her gaze darts over her shoulder briefly. “I was watching Ansel and Elara.”
Putting names to their cherub faces makes no difference to me. They’re kids. They belong in places where children play, not in the office of the executive assistant of the CEO of a Fortune 500 company.
“You were babysitting?” I ask the question, even though it’s rhetorical.
“I was watching over them,” she clarifies as though I don’t understand the definition of babysitting. “I do that every second Thursday afternoon. Duke loved having the kids in the office.”
Why the hell doesn’t that surprise me?
My jaw clenches. “Who are they? I want to know who they belong to.”
She cradles the gift she brought me in her palm. “Marcy Clover.”
More information would be helpful, but Isabella isn’t offering it, so I roll a hand in the air. “Who is that? Your friend? A relative?”
Her mouth thins. “Marcy Clover runs Empire Soaks.”
And Garent Industries owns Empire Soaks. It was another acquisition from Duke’s era that is bleeding money. Unless something changes dramatically, their doors will close permanently before year’s end.
“Marcy Clover needs to make new childcare arrangements for every second Thursday.” I scrub a hand over the back of my neck.
Her head shakes defiantly. “No.”
“No?” I question back. “We’re not running a daycare here. Tell their mother to find someone else to take care of them.”
She slides back on her chair. “I can’t do that.”
“You will do that.” I keep my gaze focused on her face. “You work for me, not her. Simple.”
“It’s not simple.” That draws her to her feet in a huff. “If you’d just give me a chance to explain.”
“The topic isn’t open for discussion.” Glancing at my watch, I get up from my chair. “I have a meeting in ten minutes.”
She drops her gift on my desk. “Marcy thought you might appreciate this. It’s Empire Soak’s body wash for men.”
I pick up the plastic bottle that’s shaped like a baseball. I crack open the lid to the smell of a muddy swamp.
“What the fuck?” I recoil, clamping the lid shut before I shove the bottle back in her hand. “Get rid of that.”
An audile gasp escapes my assistant. “Marcy worked hard on developing this. Duke loved it. He bought it by the case.”
Duke’s lack of taste in furniture can only be matched by his absent sense of smell. I swear to fuck I’m lightheaded after getting a whiff of whatever the hell was in that bottle.
Empire Soaks just shot to the top of my list of Garent subsidiaries that need to be shutdown.