Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
But a job is a job, and this is where my new boss lives. The cabin is in a remote area of the forest, so People Assist explained that I’d be living with my employer as there are no hotels nearby. That’s fine. Two women snug as a bug on a winter’s day is okay with me.
I drag my luggage to the front door and knock twice. But when the door opens, I’m left blinking with shock. There’s a huge man standing there, wearing jeans and a red plaid shirt. He’s so broad that he almost takes up the entire doorway but it’s his expression that has me stumbling back. He’s glowering, like I’m an insect squashed on the bottom of his shoe.
“You’re the maid the agency sent, correct?” His husky voice makes me shiver a bit, and a pleasant tingle runs down my spine. It’s obvious that this man is annoyed or, at the very least, impatient. Is he mad at me for being a bit late? Who is he anyways? I’d assumed that my boss was single, but maybe her husband is living here too.
“No, I’m not the maid. I’m Haley McKnight, the new personal assistant to …?” I chirp with a smile, fingering my luggage.
He glowers at me.
“Bo,” he says. “I’m Bo Nielsen.”
There was a certain coldness to his voice that made me both afraid and attracted to the man. It had to do with his glacially blue eyes, and the fact that his features were rough-hewn yet undeniably handsome. Black hair hung in comma over one eye, and poked over the collar of his shirt messily.
“The agency didn’t tell me the name of the maid they were sending,” he growls. I blink at him.
“Wait, I’m sorry, Mr. Nielsen. I’m here to be a personal assistant to the author in residence. No one said anything about being a maid. Besides, who are you? Are you the author’s husband?”
He stares at me with a mix of surprise and amusement.
“I didn’t ask for a fucking personal assistant,” he says. “I asked for a fucking maid. M-A-I-D. That damned People Assist. They have no idea what they’re doing, and I’m going to call them and give them a piece of my mind.”
I stare at him.
“For the fifteen millionth time, I am not a maid. Besides, who the hell are you? You still haven’t answered my question.”
The burly man stares at me, those blue eyes cold enough to freeze ice.
“I told you. I’m Bo Nielsen, otherwise known as Bo North. No, I’m not the husband of your famous author. I’m THE author. Didn’t they tell you anything at the agency? Fuck, I’m going to give People Assist a tongue-lashing because they’re so incompetent.” I begin to speak, but the burly man cuts me off. “This has been a huge waste of time for both of us.”
I gawk at him.
“Bo North?” I whisper, my eyes wide. “The thriller writer?”
He grabs my suitcase and hauls it into the cabin before motioning for me to come in. Then, the huge man slams the door, sending drifts of snow swirling across the living room.
“That’s me,” he says in a surly voice. “Famous author extraordinaire. Walk into any Barnes and Noble and they’ve got all of my books.”
I gasp. Holy shit, the agency wasn’t lying when they said he was an international bestseller. Bo North has an action and adventure series focused on Edward Mason, a James Bond-type spy who goes about foiling international terrorists at every turn. He’s sold millions of books all over the world, and is probably translated into every language that exists.
“Wow,” I murmur, staring at the man before me. But then I get my bearings. “People Assist told me you were a woman though.”
The handsome man grunts and shakes his black head.
“Trust me, I’m all man. Please tell me I don’t have to show you.”
I blush, trying to think while biting my lip. Was the agency ever specific about gender, come to think of it? My mind darts back, desperately recalling factoids, but I can’t recall all the details. I suppose it’s possible that I automatically assumed that I’d be working for a woman, and that no one realized the mistake.
“Oh shit, what do I do? I thought you were a woman and now we’ll be staying together in this cabin. Just the two of us.”
“I’ll call the head of the agency right now and cancel,” Mr. Nielsen says in a cool tone. “I’ll explain what happened. You turned out to be a very obstreperous young woman, and I’m an old coot who also happens to be a man. I’m sure they’ll understand,” he says in a dry tone.
“No!” I say, much louder than I’d intended to. “I mean, don’t worry about it. It was just a mistake. I’ll leave immediately, Mr. North.” The last thing I want is for the agency to hear his side of the story. It would be awful because what if I really just made a mistake? That would be a disaster, and People Assist might never place me again.