Roman Mondays were my favourite day of the week.
The mornings were even better.
After boring weekends and endless invitations—and declinations—to social events, the start of the week would finally give a better excuse for the refusals.
Of course, I’d still refuse if I wanted to without giving any explanation whatsoever.
But today, there was something particularly offensive about the morning.
Maybe the universal law of hating Mondays somehow decided to visit me.
Sixteen unread emails, seven missed calls from California, a financial report that required my signature, and a deal that appeared to have developed a personality overnight.
I sat behind his desk, staring at the figures on his screen.
“This can’t be right.” Brooklyn, my assistant, who had been standing across from my desk for the last five minutes, did not look remotely concerned.
She raised her eyes from her tablet.
“I checked.
It’s right.” I glared at her.
She gave that ridiculous smile that I hated.
The smile that told me she was not wrong, even when I wished she were.
“The shipping projection?” “Correct.” “The revised customs estimate?” “Also correct.” “The additional storage fees?” “Completely correct.” I leaned back into his chair.
“So I’m paying more to receive less?” Brooklyn nodded.
“Essentially.
Like I warned, but Mr Dubois said he knew what he was doing.
It seems like he did not.” I looked at the report again.
The Sandale deal which started as a straightforward acquisition of distribution rights for a French import company expanding into the American market had turned into a major loss.
Straightforward had apparently become an insult.
Dubois had a lot of explaining to do.
Sandale Imports had a strong network across Belgium, Spain, Germany, and the Netherlands, with established relationships with manufacturers of specialty machinery, luxury home fixtures, medical equipment, and industrial components.
Sterling Capital wanted access to their North American distribution network.
Sandale wanted capital.
The relationship should have been simple.
It wasn’t.
I tapped my pen against the desk.
“Why are they changing the storage agreement?” Brooklyn swiped on her tablet and placed it in front of me.
“They are not.
The warehouse they’re using changed its tariff structure.” I looked up.
“Without informing us?” “They informed Dubois and Sandale.
They were the ones who didn’t inform us.
I think they were trying to fix it before we found out.” I swept from page to page.
The numbers kept increasing as I went.
“Call them.” “Called already.
They are sending a revised proposal.
And an apology.” Like I wanted that.
They could shove their apology so far up this asses.
“How revised?” “Enough that you’re going to hate it.” I groaned.
I already hated the original.
Brooklyn took her tablet, replacing it with a thick file that had been sitting quietly on my desk.
“This is Bovil’s final compliance documents.” she flipped and tapped away.
“I need your signature on pages twelve, sixteen, and twenty-two.” I followed her directions, snuffling a groan.
“Don’t complain.
Legal already signed it, but you are the principal signatory, so your ink is needed.” I flipped the pages, signing where she tapped.
Most people read through any official document, but most people didn’t have Brooklyn.
She was as efficient as she was sassy.
And I trusted her.
As the CEO assistant, she had as much license as I had to do anything except the one my seat and name provided.
Complete authority.
She was also the only other woman, other than Riley, who I gave the light of day.
“I’ll send in revised Sandale’s projections as soon as they come.” I nodded.
She turned toward the door.
“Reply your emails, please.
There’s a pending one from Singapore.
And don’t forget your twelve-thirty.” “Cancel it.” I was not in the mood for any freaking meeting.
Truthfully, I have not been in any mood for days.
Brooklyn stopped at the door.
“Cancel your meeting with Harrison?
You’ve been trying to get his attention for three weeks.” “He’s been trying to get mine for six months.
Cancel it, and send in Cole from Legal.” “Alright.
You’re the boss.” The door clicked shut and silence returned.
I glanced down at my watch.
10:47 am.
I have been in the office for nearly three hours, working enough to shock the executives for an entire day, not because I needed their approval, but because I needed to keep busy.
Scrolling through the mails, I shook my head to control my thoughts, but my mind had drifted far from the deal.
Like it had been drifting all weekend.
I couldn’t care now about the Harrison meeting.
Or the email from Singapore.
Or even the problem sitting in front of me on the computer.
All my stupid thoughts kept replaying was the blonde woman with dark eyes, an infuriating mouth, and a medical degree.
Dr.
Megan Holt.
I felt the frown creep in.
There was no reason—well, no good reason—why I was thinking about her except for the fact that she did not know who I was.
What?!
I am Roman fucking Sterling.
Everyone knew who I was.
Everyone.
And those that didn’t, have heard about me.
How was she the exception?
I have come across over a thousand people in my life.
Businessmen, lawyers, politicians, women who wanted something from me and men who wanted to take something from me, yet none had stayed in my head for days after a five-minute conversation.
Megan Holt had.
And that irritated me more than I could say.
I was not used to being dismissed.
Especially not by someone who looked at me with that maddening combination of annoyance and confidence.
My phone buzzed.
Jonathan: Roman, clear your schedule for this evening.
You are coming to The Louvre tonight.
Roman: Can’t.
Busy.
Jonathan: That’s why I said to cancel it.
Ren’s in town.
I considered it for a minute.
Roman: Okay.
And slammed the phone down.
Work, I told myself.
I needed to continue working.
I reached for the next file, searching for what needed to be amended or signed.
Yes, this was right.
Work did not ask questions, did not put up a fake smile.
Work did not have dark eyes and whenever it challenged, I could handle it.
It certainly did not tell me I was being unreasonable.
This was absurd, I thought.
I had a company to run.
A multimillion-dollar acquisition hanging in the balance, and three other investments requiring my attention.
Yet all I could think about was Dr Holt.
It was absurd and stupid.
The intercom beeped and I grabbed it.
“Sandale has replied.” Brooklyn said from the other end.
“They’re eager.
They’ve accepted the revised storage arrangement and have agreed to absorb the customs increase for the first eighteen months.
I sent it to you already.” I searched and opened the file.
“And oh, I told them if they wanted Sterling Capital’s money, they needed to stop trying to spend it for us.” That earned a smile from me.
“What did they say to that?” “What else?
They understood.” “Good.” Brooklyn was beyond efficient and that was why I trusted her.
And she was discreet too.
Something I needed right now.
I leaned back into my chair.
“Brooklyn?” “Yes sir?” She sounded distracted.
Over the phone, I could hear her tapping away on her keyboard.
I paused.
What was I doing?
What the hell was I about to do?
The tapping stopped.
“Roman?” “Hmm?” “Do you need something?” I wiped my hand over my face.
“No.
Never mind.” The phone went back in its cradle.