Lines for registering, lines to get sorted…

What a fucking mess.

I took another look over some of the groups clustered around, and had the sinking sensation I’d have to tell my brother that this just wasn’t going to work out. These were so not my kind of people.

Many of them were dressed to the nines in designer names and expensive haircuts. And then there was me, with my cute sundress and chic little shrug draped over my arm. I had a file and my iPad, while others carried giant briefcases and padfolios likely stuffed with impressive resumes.

“Something of a zoo, isn’t it?”

The quiet voice came from next to me and I glanced up to see a stocky, pleasant-looking man standing next to me. With his salt-and-pepper hair, I put his age in the early forties. “I’d say that sums it up.” I couldn't help but add, “I see mostly herd animals, very few standing out from the pack.”

That elicited a chuckle, his dark blue eyes sparkling.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what position are you applying for?”

I took a closer look at him and realized with a start that he was an employee here. Not that he wore a nametag. This place probably stopped with the nametags outside the lobby.

“Personal assistant,” I said slowly. I shifted toward him, using the movement to tuck my single file folder behind my back. I was really starting to think this was a bad idea.

“Exclusive.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded. Exclusive was the name Winter Enterprises had given to the new service offering to match up personal assistants with the New York elite. Again, I told myself I was an idiot. This so wasn’t the job for me. What did I know about helping out the jet set?

What did I care about the jet set?

“May I?” He held out a hand, clearly waiting for the file I’d stowed behind me.

Reluctant, I turned over the file. He opened and skimmed it, but I had the feeling he was more interested in me than in what a couple of papers had to say. “What would you do if your employer received a call that they were being investigated by the IRS for tax fraud?”

“Call their accountant,” I responded without even thinking. What did I know about their taxes? “And probably whatever lawyer they have on retainer for that sort of thing,” I added after a moment. If they were rich enough to use a service like this, then they probably had a lawyer.

He flicked me a look over the edge of the file, but I couldn't read it.

“Your client asks you to pick up someone at the airport and to make sure that their luggage bypasses security. Would you ask questions?”

Frowning, I held his gaze. This was a loaded question. I could already tell. Finally, I shrugged and said, “I would tell my client that, while I don't need to know what's in the luggage, I wouldn't be comfortable bending the law. If the client insisted, I would hand in my notice. I don’t want to work for criminals.”

He nodded and held out a hand. “I’m Robson Findley. Come on. I’ll finish your interview myself.”

***

It was the quickest and weirdest interview of my life. Instead of asking me about my previous experience, he hammered me with more odd questions.

It’s your off night and you get called to order some flowers and candy sent to an unknown address. What do you do?

You’re meeting a friend for your employer and the friend hits on you. Do you tell your employer?

You’re visiting your employer and you hear some unusual noises coming from one of the rooms. What do you do?

It didn't take me long to realize that this wasn't going to work. I didn't interrupt though. I wanted to be able to tell Deacon I at least gave it a fair shot. I waited until there was a gap and then rose. “Mr. Findlay, I really appreciate the opportunity, but I don’t think this job would be right for me.”

“Yes?” He cocked his head, eyes shrewd, but not annoyed. “Just why is that?”

I didn’t have an exact reason I could give, and in a moment of utter desperation and stupidity, I blurted out, “I don’t like rich people.”

It sounded offensive enough that I assumed I'd be thrown out on my ass as soon as he called security. I lifted my chin, crossed my arms over my chest, and waited.

To my surprise, Findlay laughed. He dropped down into the chair behind his desk, tipped back his head and actually laughed. A few moments passed before he stopped, but when he looked at me, his eyes were still glinting with mirth. “Can I be blunt with you for a moment?”

I stared at him.

“Sometimes, I don't like them much either.”

The moment he said it, he blinked, almost as if startled he’d actually said it.

It was a look I was familiar with. I was always having people tell me things they wouldn't have told anyone else. I'd been told I have one of those faces. It’s not really all that great.

He cleared his throat and began shuffling papers on his desk. “As I was saying…”

He hadn’t been saying anything, but I didn’t call him on the lie, just watched as he regained his composure.

“I think you’re going to work out rather well, Ms. Gallagher. Assuming we find you the right match. And while I still need you to fill out the forms, I already have a couple of ideas for good matches.”

Hesitant, I eyed the forms. I still had some serious misgivings about this.

“Perhaps you should have an idea what it pays,” he said with a smile.

The figure he named made my jaw drop.

Hello college tuition.

Chapter 2

Toni

Fifth Avenue.

What the hell was I doing on Fifth Avenue?

Especially this part of Fifth Avenue.

Smoothing a hand down the trim black pants I’d selected to wear, I approached the door and tried not to look like I was hesitating. There was no doorman. That might have struck me as odd, except this massive building wasn’t some collection of ultra-cool, ultra-expensive condos.

It was one, ginormous family home.

I couldn’t even fathom how many millions of dollars a family home on Fifth Avenue must have cost. The buzz of traffic around here was noticeably less, and as I drew closer to the house, some lady decked all in white sailed by with her dog on a pink leash. There was a sparkle at its neck and I had the insane idea that the sparkle might be from diamonds. Real diamonds. But that couldn't be possible, could it?

My skin started to prickle. I looked up at the ditz who put the diamonds on a dog and found her sending me a sidelong look. When she caught me eying her, her nostrils flared as if she’d smelled something bad, and she whipped her head around.

Wow.

Mentally bracing myself, I marched up the steps between two stately lion statues and knocked.

I’d been paired with a woman by the name of Isadora Lang. I supposed if I paid more attention to the society pages, I would've known the name, but all I had was what Mr. Findley sent me yesterday afternoon.

Isadora was twenty years old and needing help a few days a week – my choice of days – to help her keep her life organized. She hadn't requested any off-hours availability or included a list of crazy demands. It really sounded like a dream job.

But I had a sinking feeling I was about to endure the same sort of treatment I’d received from the ditzy dog owner.

The door swung open and I flashed the suit-clad gentleman my best smile. He was wearing a suit that probably cost more than two months' rent and looked to be in his mid to late fifties.

“Hello. I’m Toni—”

A woman's voice interrupted me.