Promise Me Forever: Manhattan Ruthless

A bead of sweat dribbles down my spine, making me shiver even in the climate-controlled reception area of James and James. I have no idea why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I haven’t had a job before. In the past year alone, I’ve had five, in fact. Only none of them felt as important as this one.

This one is real and permanent, and it comes with so many benefits it makes my head spin. Including, most importantly, health insurance for nominated next of kin—in my case, my mom. I’m sure the work will be hard and the hours will be long, but the staff here is treated fairly and well. That’s a marked difference from my office temping gigs.

That, of course, is what’s making me nervous. This matters. I can’t afford to mess this up. I tell myself I’ll be fine. That it’ll be like riding a bike. Except maybe that’s not a great comparison, because the last time I rode a bike, I did a spectacular face-plant into a flower bed.

Amelia Ryder, get a damn grip. You are a Harvard-educated business graduate, and you will not be face-planting anywhere.

The pep talk isn’t entirely successful, and as I look around the beautifully decorated reception area, I can’t help feeling like the gawky new kid on my first day of school. I bet there’ll be mean girls and jocks and teachers who make me feel stupid. Still, I navigated high school, and I’ll navigate this place as well. It’s big and it’s fancy, but at the end of the day, this is nothing I’m not capable of. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have gotten the job otherwise. I should trust their judgment even if I don’t trust my own.

People pass me as I sit and wait, some giving me a cursory glance and others too absorbed in their own workday to pay any attention to me. It’s like a corporate fashion show—men in well-tailored suits and polished brogues, elegant women in pencil skirts, colorful blouses, and terrifyingly tall heels. They all look so stylish, so busy and confident, like they absolutely belong in this plush space.

I glance down at my own attire, which I felt good about when I left home. I opted for a simple black wrap dress and classic black pumps. Perhaps it’s too plain. Too casual. Am I dressing for success or dressing for a funeral? I run my hands absentmindedly over the fabric. It’s too late to worry about it now.

“Miss Ryder?” A familiar voice interrupts my musings, and I glance up to see Nathan James towering over me. My new boss. The one people warned me was an asshole but who comes off as anything but. Tough, yes, and possibly a little scary if you’re on the wrong side of him, but an asshole? Not as far as I saw. I quickly close down that train of thought. It reminds me of discussing it with my one-night stand, and I don’t have the brain space to think about him right now.

I stand, ready for him to show me my desk and eager to get started. The sooner I can dive into some work, the sooner I’ll start to feel useful. Useful people don’t have time to feel like the new kid.

“Mr. James. It’s so lovely to see you again.”

He smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. That’s the smile that put me at ease in my interview, and the questions he asked and the way he asked them allowed me to overcome my nerves and present the best version of myself. He understood the gaps in my resume and didn’t judge when I told him I’d been focusing on my family. He was interested in the different places I’d lived and how it felt to be back in New York. He had a way of drawing truths out of me, of reading me better than I’d ever been read in an interview.

I release the breath I was holding. The fact that he liked what he heard enough to offer me the job should be enough reassurance. He was certainly more pleasant than Linda, the poker-faced woman from HR who sat in with us. Even the memory of her scowl is enough to make me shudder and want to cross myself with holy water. Hopefully I’ll have no run-ins with her any time soon.

Nathan gestures to the corridor on our left. “If you come with me, I’ll show you where you’ll be based.”

I glance in the other direction. To the hallway that leads to his office. “Is it not …?”

He frowns. “Not what?”

I clear my throat. “Isn’t your office that way? I assumed I’d be sitting near you if I’m your secretary.”

He winces, and my heart drops through my chest. I’m so nervous that the slightest sign of anything going wrong has me heading for a tailspin. Have I made a huge mistake on my first day?

“Ah. It appears there’s been a misunderstanding, Miss Ryder. You see, I already have a secretary, and while I’m sure you would do a very good job …” He looks around as though he’s checking for witnesses, then leans in and whispers, “I’d be kind of lost without her. Plus, she’d kill me if I even considered replacing her. I mean that. I’m terrified of her.”

His tone is light, and his body language says this isn’t a big deal. That it’s amusing, if anything. Maybe that’s how it seems to him, but my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I feel like an idiot who doesn’t even know what job she applied for. I was absolutely convinced that my role was as secretary to Mr. James, the man who interviewed me. I guess it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, provided the pay and conditions are the same, but I’m humiliated. I came here thinking I was working for the man in charge, and instead I’m … well, who knows? I suppose there’s only one way to find out.

“I see,” I say calmly, amazed at how unflustered I sound. “Then whose secretary have I been hired to be?”

He laughs, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. There’s something oddly familiar about him now. Something I didn’t notice at my interview last week and that I can’t quite put my finger on. “Please accept my apologies,” he says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “This was all done in a bit of a rush. Perhaps we should have been clearer.” He gestures toward the hallway again, and I walk with him. “You were hired to work for the other Mr. James. My brother.”

“Oh?” I blink, taken aback. I was aware from my research that James and James is run by two brothers, but I was under the impression the other one ran their Chicago office—at least that’s what it said on the website. As I wasn’t applying for a job in Chicago, I didn’t pay a great deal of attention to his name.

“Yeah, he’s only recently returned to the city, and he’s in desperate need of some help. I hope that’s okay? The pay and position are exactly the same, and on the bright side, you don’t have to work for me. I’ve heard I can be a bit of a grouch.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” I reply politely, even though that’s exactly what I heard too. I’m relieved that the job is basically the same, and how different can the other Mr. James be? They are brothers, after all.

“So you’re happy to stay and give us a shot?”

“Of course I am! I’m a bit surprised that you’re doing this yourself though. Don’t you have, um⁠—”

“I think the word you’re looking for is minions. And yes, ordinarily, I might have sent one of them to show you to your desk. Today, though, everyone’s pretty busy with our annual staff HR training, and I really wanted to make sure you were given a proper welcome. I would have asked my brother to come and greet you at reception, but he’s still trying to work out his new coffee machine. And that, to let you in on a little secret about my caffeine-addicted brother, takes top priority.”

He stops outside an office that has the door propped open, and points to a desk with nothing but an iMac and a welcome basket of fruit on it. I smile at the neat and tidy workspace, looking forward to making it my own. “Thank you, Mr. James. This looks perfect.”

“Let me tell him you’re here.” He knocks on the door of the adjoining office, then turns to face me, his eyes pleading. “Perhaps you can help him make an espresso before he has some kind of withdrawal-related seizure?”

“I’m sure I can,” I reply, eager to appear capable. “Uncooperative coffee machines are a specialty of mine.”

He pushes open the door, revealing his brother, who has his back turned to us and is wearing a charcoal-colored suit that I can tell cost more than my annual rent. He doesn’t seem to notice we’re there, mainly because he’s too busy abusing a poor, innocent coffee machine. He slams his fist down on top of the expensive-looking device. “Useless piece of shit,” he grumbles.

“Drake!”

The word doesn’t even have time to register in my mind before he spins around. His eyes land first on Nathan, and then on me. My heart surges up into my throat, and the shock takes my breath away. My knees start to buckle, and I hold onto the door handle to stop myself from crumpling into a heap. How can this be? What have I done in a past life that was bad enough to earn me this kind of karma? And who do I need to pray to make this go away? I blink slowly, harboring a childish hope that I might have imagined it. That when I open my eyes again, I’ll realize it was all an optical illusion or a stress-related hallucination.

No such luck. He’s still there, standing before me. He’s still Drake James, my new employer. Still the other half of James and James, the man I thought was based in Chicago.

More alarmingly, he is still the gorgeous sex god who made me scream using only his tongue. Still the man with the biggest dick I have ever seen. Still the one-night stand I spent the most insanely passionate time of my life with. My boss.

I close my eyes again and try to convince myself this is my mind playing tricks on me. This isn’t some cheesy Hallmark movie where I play Cinderella and fall for the billionaire. This is my life, and I desperately need this job, not only for myself but for my mom.

“Miss Ryder?” Nathan’s concerned voice penetrates my thoughts, dragging me back to the here and now.

I snap to and nod. I need to appear competent, even if I don’t feel it. Nathan looks slightly worried, but there’s no hint of recognition on his brother’s face. No shock, no surprise, no horror. Has he forgotten me already? Was I really that unmemorable? Was he possibly that drunk? Or maybe these things happen to him so often that it meant nothing at all. I don’t suppose the reason matters—if he’s playing things this way, then I need to go along with it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. James. I’m Amelia. Amelia Ryder.” I force out the words because it seems like the ground isn’t actually going to do me a solid and swallow me whole. Is this really happening? Am I going to lose a job before I’ve even started it?

“You too, Miss Ryder,” Drake replies coolly.

“Perhaps she can work your coffee machine.” Nathan claps his brother on his back. He either hasn’t picked up on the tension or he’s choosing to ignore it.

“Stupid thing is broken,” Drake snaps, his mood much sourer than the last time I saw him. Which is unsurprising, as the last time I saw him involved nudity and orgasms. The memory unfurls in my mind’s eye, and an unwelcome warmth spreads through my core.

Dammit, Amelia. Imagining the boss making you come is so unprofessional.

“I could take a look?” I offer cautiously, still entirely unsure how to navigate the incredible awkwardness of this entire situation. Coffee seems as good a place to start as any.

Frowning, Drake glances between his brother and me as though he’s trying to decide what to say next.

He’s saved from the moment by the arrival of Satan’s handmaiden, or Linda from HR as some people know her. “The briefing is about to start,” she announces as she walks toward us. Her nose is wrinkled like she smells something off, and she glares at me. Does she know I’ve already screwed the boss, or is this her default setting?

“There’s no need for either Drake or I to attend, Linda. We’re well aware of our HR policies,” Nathan says dryly. Huh. I wonder if this situation right here is covered in those policies.

Linda purses her lips and looks me up and down, assessing me and finding me not quite up to par. “Actually, I was thinking our newest employee should attend. These policies are important, Mr. James.”

Nathan runs a hand though his hair and laughs. “They are, I agree, but on her first day? We don’t want to scare her off now, do we?”

I feel like I’ve walked into the twilight zone and have no idea what to say or how to behave. All my instincts are telling me to run, but I can’t.

After a few tense moments, it’s Drake who answers. “That sounds like a great idea, Linda.”

I glance briefly in his direction, and he avoids my gaze. So he does remember me. Well enough to want to get rid of me, at least. Of course he does. He might have spent more time with his head between my thighs in twelve hours than my ex-husband did in twelve years, but I’m fairly sure he looked at my face as well, at least when we were getting to know each other before all the naked time started.

“You can follow me,” Linda says. “And make sure you pay attention.” I can’t help pulling a little face at her back as she strides away. She reminds me of Miss Trunchbull from Matilda. I do as she says, though, because Drake isn’t the only one who needs some respite. I feel like I haven’t drawn a proper breath in the last five minutes, and getting away from him will give me time to pull myself together.

I leave my purse on my office chair as I pass, because it makes me feel like I’ve claimed it. Like Drake will walk out of his office and see it there and have second thoughts about firing me on my first day. It’s only a purse and it’s only a chair, but it’s all I have to cling to right now.

After listening to the snoozefest that was the James and James HR policies briefing, I head back to my desk, wondering how long it will actually be my desk. I did pay particular attention to the policy regarding office relationships, and while they are not encouraged, they’re not explicitly banned. However, the employees must disclose any relationship to HR in case it impacts the firm or its reputation in any way.

I suspect that having to reveal intimate details about your private life to Linda would be enough to nip any office romance in the bud. Hopefully, the policy doesn’t count if it’s retrospective, because I really don’t want to have to write a memo about how many times Drake James made me come on our one night together.

There’s a bright yellow Post-it Note on my desk, sitting right beside my welcome basket. I bite my lip when I see it, afraid it’s a particularly slapdash way of giving me the boot. He wouldn’t, would he? I mean, he was cold the next morning, sure, but nothing implied he was the kind of bastard who would destroy someone’s career for accidentally sleeping with him. But what do I know? He is a stranger, after all. And that stranger now has an awful lot of power over my life.

He could fire me. He could refuse to give me a reference. He could make my professional world hell. Whatever is written on that Post-it Note might set the tone.

I’m flooded with relief when I actually pick it up and read it. No mention of me facing a firing squad—just a scrawled message giving me the password to his online calendar and a request for me to start organizing his schedule. I sink down onto my chair and fan myself with the flimsy paper. There will undoubtedly be tricky situations to work through, but this is a start.

I glance at the closed door behind me, wondering if he’s in there. Maybe he’s brooding at his desk like some sort of angry demigod, wondering how he managed to screw his new secretary. Maybe he’s wondering how long he needs to keep me around until it’s acceptable to say it hasn’t worked out. Or maybe I’m giving myself way too much credit. Hell, maybe he screws all of his assistants and I’m nothing special. It’s possible that every woman he comes into contact with simply drops her panties at his feet and begs for his magic touch. That could be why Linda looks like she’s permanently sucking a lemon and why he wasn’t at all affected by me walking into his office.

Seeing him, realizing who he was, was one of the most jaw-droppingly awful moments of a life that has included quite a few awful moments. I wanted to faint, throw up, and run away—not necessarily in that order. It was a miracle I didn’t crawl beneath my desk and start singing nursery rhymes.

He, however, barely reacted. He looked cool as a cucumber sandwich on a bed of iceberg lettuce. Only his coffee machine seemed to dredge up any kind of emotion from him. I’m definitely overreacting if the man is more emotional about a coffee machine than he is about me.

My stomach growls, reminding me that I’m starving. I was too nervous to eat breakfast this morning, even before discovering that Scarlet’s guilty secrets had come back to haunt her. The HR briefing lasted three-and-a-half hours, and now my body is begging to be fed. I’m sure I’m allowed a lunch hour, but this has been a crazy day so far, and I don’t want to make any assumptions. I better check and be ready to accept the possibility that I will be eating nothing but the contents of a fruit basket all afternoon.

I take a deep breath and stand outside his door, my hand poised to knock. What if he’s in a meeting? What if he’s on the phone? What if he has a woman in there with him? I blow out a breath, disgusted at my own nerves. If I’m going to keep this position, which it seems I am, for the time being at least, then I’m going to have to interact with him. I should know if he has a meeting or if he’s on the phone. Hell, I should even know if he has a woman in there, and if he does, I guess I should also find out when her birthday is and whether she likes diamonds or pearls.

I shake my head, annoyed at my uncharacteristic pettiness. That’s not a part of my job, and neither Drake nor Nathan strike me as the kind of men who’d ask such a thing of their secretaries. They’re too professional. And I can be professional too. I am professional. What happened between Drake and me was a mistake. Had we known, I’m sure we both would have behaved very differently. That was the past, and I need to focus on the future. Would Kimmy be standing here trembling? Would Emily? No, they damn well wouldn’t.

Pep talk administered, I roll my shoulders back and knock on his door. A second later, he calls out for me to come in, his voice still as deep and dark as rich melted chocolate. It’s all good and well telling myself it was a mistake, that it was in the past, but why does he have to sound like that? Why does he have to look so good? It doesn’t seem fair.

Gingerly, I push open his door and step inside. He sits behind his desk against the backdrop of the Manhattan skyline. I was too stunned to take in the sight earlier, but it is truly breathtaking. The floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a spectacular view, but even that doesn’t stop my eyes from drifting to Drake. His tie is pulled loose and his hair isn’t quite as neat as it was a few hours ago, as if he’s been running his hands through it. I remember how thick and soft that hair is, what it felt like to run my hands through it … Dammit. This is not good.

“Did you need something?” His clipped tone snaps me out of my torrid thoughts.

I tip my jaw up, determined not to look as bothered as I feel. This is a normal business relationship, after all. “I just wondered if I had time to get some lunch before I started work on your calendar?”

He glances at his watch before returning his attention to his computer screen. “Of course.”

And I guess I’m dismissed. Awkward. He doesn’t look up again, and I turn around to head out.

“Actually, Miss Ryder, may I have a word?”

My heart sinks. This is it. He’s going to fire me. I’m going to get the whole it’s not your fault, but you can’t work for me after I made you scream my name in rapture speech. There will be some offer of an extended notice period and the assurance that I’ll be recommended and other nice words—but I’m on the chopping block. I feel it in my bones. Why oh why oh why did I have to meet this guy at a wedding? And of all the weddings in all the cities in all the world, he had to walk into Emily’s?

I swallow and turn back around. He’s standing behind his desk now and looking damn near edible. Could that suit be any more fitted to his body? The fact that I know exactly what he looks like out of it makes him even more sexy in it, and the serious cast to his face makes him even more handsome. This really isn’t fair. I even find the man attractive when he’s about to crap all over my life.

“Of course, Mr. James,” I say as calmly as I’m able to, hoping he can’t tell that my heart is racing like a runaway stallion.

He clears his throat. “Please take a seat.”

I do as he asks, and he sits back down behind his desk and loosens his tie a bit more. Is he feeling as uncomfortable as I am? The skin on my back is sticky with perspiration, and I’ve chewed the inside of my lip so much that I taste blood.

He clears his throat once more. “I just wanted to get this out in the open and clear the air. If I’d had any idea you were starting work here, I never would have …” He clears his throat yet again, and his strangled cough is matched by his pained expression. He really is feeling as uncomfortable about this as I am. This is like pulling teeth, and it will be better for both of us once it’s done.

“I feel exactly the same, Mr. James, I assure you. If I’d known you were going to be my boss …” I don’t finish the thought. Neither of us need any further reminder of what we wouldn’t have done. It’s too late. We’ve already done it.

His dark eyes rake over my face the same way they did two nights ago, and I can’t help wondering if I see something more than regret in them. That’s probably wishful thinking on my part. It’s possible that I am so desperate for him to have some fond memories of our night together that I’m imagining it. “I don’t date my employees, Amelia. Ever.”

Of course he doesn’t. He’s a billionaire and a founding partner of one of the most prestigious law firms in the country. He certainly wouldn’t date his secretary. That makes sense. That’s good. So what’s with the wave of disappointment that washes over me?

“And I certainly don’t …” He coughs again before his eyes lock on mine, reminding me of the eye contact he made the other night when he was …

I press my hand to my forehead as heat blooms beneath my skin. No. Don’t go there, Amelia. “You don’t what, Mr. James?”

He swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Fuck them senseless, Miss Ryder.”

Wow. What an arrogant douchebag. And I don’t care if it is true—it isn’t right to use it against me.

“I think you’ll find I’m still in full control of all my senses, Mr. James,” I reply, amazing myself at the calm and steady cadence of my voice, given that my legs are trembling. “This might come as a shock to you, but I’m not in the habit of dating my boss either, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I won’t be harassing you for a repeat performance, and I guarantee I have no feelings toward you other than professional. I want this job, Mr. James. I need this job. I will also be good at this job, and I feel just as upset as you do about this awful … coincidence. I’d suggest the best thing to do would be to stick to being Miss Ryder and Mr. James. Let’s leave Charlie and Scarlet where they belong—in the past. Would that suit you, sir?” I add the last word purely for sarcasm, but the look that flashes across his face makes me immediately wish that I hadn’t.

His expression is too complicated for me to read. He’s pissed off and amused all at the same time, and none of this makes any sense. This is too much. I need to get out of here and away from his square jaw and intense brown gaze. Away from the sight of his hands on his desk, and the way my body still remembers what he can do with those long fingers. I need to lock myself in the restroom and calm the fuck down. “Is there anything else?”

His brow furrows with a frown. “No, that will be all, Miss Ryder.”

Ugh. I suggested he call me that, but the way he says it is so cold. I pull back my shoulders and take a deep, restorative breath. I guess I should count myself lucky that I still have a job. I can cope with a little chill in the air. “Thank you, Mr. James,” I say stiffly before I leave his office, my knees threatening to give way with each step. Just keep going, I tell myself. Don’t look back, and don’t let him see your weakness.

When I sink into my chair a few seconds later, my heart is hammering so hard in my chest, I’m worried it’s going to beat its way right out of there and take off. I have no idea what Linda’s HR policies would say about that, but I’m fairly sure she wouldn’t be happy with a heart floating through the office. That would definitely be a health and safety risk.

It’s okay, I tell myself. I did all right. Drake didn’t find an excuse to fire me, and I didn’t give him a reason to. We can work together and be professional despite what happened between us. I’m sure of it. That was Scarlet, and I am Amelia Ryder. Sensible and dependable, the same person I’ve always been. The same person I will always be. My heart has survived far worse than this.