Page 8 of The Naughty or Nice Deal

A smile tugs at my lips. “Mind repeating that so I can record it? I need to play it for Hayden.”

Gabriel laughs. “Off you go, Maeve.”

His use of my actual name rather than the mildly insulting nickname, soft and laced with a hint of a French accent, makes a bit of warmth creep up my neck. I turn on my heel and leave before he can pick up on my response, his deep chuckle following me out of the room.

I really need to learn to actually speak French so I can come up with an equally annoying nickname for him, but this job is so demanding that I really don’t have time. And Hayden reminded me just last night why it’s a bad idea to try and have any kind of life outside of work.

It’s basically lunchtime, so I head to the communal kitchen rather than my desk. But when I open the fridge, I see that although my lunch is still sitting there in the Tupperware container, the little pink pastry box containing the passionfruit tart I got myself has been moved.

I marked it clearly with the word ‘MINE’ as I do all of the containers in the fridge. And yet… when I open the box, sure enough, the tart is half gone.

Goddamn it.

Pressing my lips into a thin line, I carry the pastry box over to Ford’s office and march inside. “Do you ask Siri to dictate your contracts out loud to you? Is this why you need me to write so many emails on your behalf?”

Ford stops whatever he’s writing and looks up. “What are you talking about?”

His voice is sharp enough that most people would assume he was angry, but I know him, and that’s actually Ford’s casual tone of voice. I hold up the pastry box, making sure the side with the word MINE written on it in black sharpie is facing him.

“I’m talking about the fact that you clearly can’t read.”

“I did read it,” he replies without missing a beat. “It said mine, so I assumed it was… mine.”

“You know, I’m starting to see why your clients hate those little legal loopholes you throw at them.”

“It’s not my fault when people, including you, Spitfire, fail to be clear in their wording.”

I would literally rather face a firing squad than admit it out loud, but I kind of like that Ford calls me that. Spitfire. It makes me feel like maybe I actually do have some fire in me. I’m not just some poor girl who can’t get ahead in life and who couldn’t even hold onto the one long-term relationship she’d landed.

As much as he drives me insane, Ford took a chance on me when he hired me. I always want to prove him right, to show that I’m worthy of the trust he put in me. Still, that doesn’t mean I’ll let him get away with bullshit.

“You want to talk about legalities?” I reply, putting a hand on my hip. “Fine. Let’s discuss workplace harassment. Would you treat any other assistant this way, or is it because I’m your brother’s ex-girlfriend? Hmm? I don’t know if HR would like that. A clever lawyer could build a case.”

Ford leans back, a flicker of amusement in his icy blue eyes. “Oh, come on now, you and I both know what a double-edged sword that case would be. And I do believe there is a fun little phrase known as… what is it… persecution complex?”

“And yet, whether I was right or wrong, could you really afford the scandal?”

“Ah, but could you afford being known in the tabloids as the Passionfruit Princess who sued her boss over what’s basically a donut?”

“You know, Princess does have a nice ring to it, now that you mention it…”

“I think I prefer Spitfire.”

“And I think I prefer when my food is untouched.” I shake the box at him. “Last chance. If you just promise to stop stealing my food, we can settle out of court.”

Ford shakes his head and reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out his wallet. He grabs a couple of twenties and hands them over. “As compensation for the pastry.”

“You think you can buy my honor?”

“I would never dream of doing such a thing. But I never leave a debt outstanding.” He wiggles the bills at me.

I roll my eyes, but I take them. Ford won’t give up until I do. Besides, it’ll be really nice to afford some more treats this week. Buying a nice pastry is something I really shouldn’t do too often, no matter how much I love them or how much it brightens my day. But with this gift, I can definitely afford a few more. It’ll make the work days more bearable for a few weeks.

“And you being Liam’s ex doesn’t make me biased against you,” Ford says seriously. “For the record. In fact, it’s why I let you get away with having such a smart mouth.”

Ford never fully defrosts, but sometimes, a little bit of the glacier melts. Just a little. It drives me bonkers that it only seems to happen when he’s poking fun at me.

“Careful,” I warn him. “If you don’t watch out, this mouth will get smarter than you one day.”