Kiss me under the Hollywood sign

Chapter 9

Slipping back into the office, I felt like a hormonal teenager sneaking back home after a steamy make-out session by the community pool. Daniel, thankfully, had his back turned while I struggled to catch my breath and calm my flushed cheeks. His attention was focused intently on his sleek silver laptop, its glow illuminating his chiseled chin and sharp jawline.

Armed with only a thin roll of paper towels and a spray of citrus-scented cleaning solution that I noticed on a shelving unit in the bathroom earlier (when I was panicking), I attacked the spilled espresso stain with intensity. The potent aroma mingled heavily in the humid air, hot and intoxicating like a summer night.

"Well well, look who decided to join us again," drawled a deep voice from behind, causing me to spike in temperature. I jumped like a frightened cat, barely avoiding spraying the solution all over my sweat-soaked self.

Daniel stood lounging cockily in the doorway, his untucked shirt clinging to his torso. He observed my frantic scrubbing with arrogant amusement, no doubt relishing the sight of me on my hands and knees. The room grew steamier by the second.

"Just tidying up," I muttered hoarsely, focusing intently on erasing any evidence of our earlier encounter while feeling his gaze scorch my skin. A drop of sweat rolled down my neck - from the heat or from nerves, I wasn't sure.

Daniel raised an eyebrow so arched it might've launched a swooning fan right into his arms. "Don't you know the janitorial staff handles such menial tasks? I hired an assistant, not a scrub brush. But I suppose if the shoe fits..."

Well excuse me Mister Hollywood, but where I come from we clean our own mistakes.

His voice was rich as a chocolate soufflé, but had a hint of sharp cheddar underneath. I could tell he wasn't one to suffer fools or spilled beverages lightly.

I shot him a glare.

"Well, I'm not most assistants. Consider this my sorry for dousing you with coffee my first day."

"Feisty thing aren't you," he remarked, pushing off from the door like a slug leaving a trail of slime. I swear this man knew how to enter a room slower than an arthritic sloth.

He slumped into an armchair big enough for three, stretching out long as a lazy Sunday. I have to hand it to him, the man was confident - he probably thought the stars were put in the sky just for him.

"Let's get to business," he declared, waving a hand without lifting an elbow. Business? My mind was still on that little incident involving clothes and hands. Trying to get a hold of myself, I finished the stain and stood up straight and tall. Or as straight and tall as my 5'2" self allowed.

"Yes, business. You're my assistant, which means keeping my mad life in ship-shape order. Poor Mark has been pulling double duty since the last two assistants quit with no notice. Just up and vanished" Daniel reminded me, pointing at the shiny iPad on the table.

IS IT THAT HARD TO HANDLE DANIEL????

The tab gleamed like a mirror, ready to show me the dizzying schedule underneath. A calendar filled to bursting with who-knows-what. Just looking at it gave me stage fright.

"That gadget is your partner now. There you'll find my schedule for the next month - meetings, appearances, interviews, all meticulously planned and color-coded for optimal time management. A mere trifle for one such as myself, of course, but it should provide suitable busy-work to keep my new assistant occupied."

Gulping, I said weakly, "Right, the schedule." This was it, my first real task.

Taking a deep breathe, I picked up the tablet, the cool metal feeling comfortingly weird in my sweaty hands. The screen lit up with more stuff to do than you could count. Names, places, times – it was an orchestra of info that might drown me in its depth.