The Gift, Book 1 (EBOOK)

Tobias noticed the smirk on her face as soon as Candace strutted into his office to hand him his lunch. “What’s so funny?”

“It seems we take on just about anyone.”

Puzzled, he lifted an eyebrow.

“That woman,” Candace continued, “from the toy store last week; the one with the kid you took pity on.”

Last week was a lifetime away in Tobias’s life. “What woman?”

“At the charity event at the toy store … for the adoption centers. The woman with that big hole in her stockings. She’s in room 218.”

Now he remembered. The woman whose son had wanted to stay. The one with the inhaler. “She’s working here?”

Candace nodded. “That’s exactly what I thought. She’s working here. Can you believe it?”

He shrugged, not sure he understood what she was getting at. “What’s so strange?”

Candace stifled a laugh and wrapped her shiny nails around the fur collar of her coat, holding it snug against her neck. “She doesn’t even look the type.”

“I didn’t know we had a type,” Tobias responded smoothly. He hadn’t been a type—this local boy from Queens. But someone had believed in him, had mentored him and given him a chance. Someone had seen something in the young, dyslexic child whom teachers had given up on. He had a fast and clever brain and a killer instinct for making million-dollar deals.

For all her talk, the only thing Candace had going for her was that she was his PA, and that in itself gave her prestige.

“She’s wearing a cheap ten-dollar suit. It doesn’t look to me as if she’s even run a brush through her hair. And you should see her shoes. Covered in orange paint!” She wrinkled her perfect nose.

“If she can do the job, I don’t care.”

“I don’t understand why Briony couldn’t get one of her regular people to do that job. It’s those customer files you wanted scanned and digitized. It’s something a three-year-old could do.”

“I don’t want a three-year-old or anyone who works for this company, for that matter, to go through my customer files. I want someone to come in and quickly finish the job.” He unwrapped his corned beef sandwich and waited for her to leave.

Candace hoisted her slim and slender fingers on her hips. “I’d forgotten how paranoid you are, Tobias.”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“Don’t worry,” she turned to walk out of his office. “I doubt that woman can even read.” She gave him a wicked smile, confirming her bitch status.

She did a good job for him though, and so he let her be. He tore into his sandwich and considered the idea of the woman who now worked on the same floor as him. For a moment, he wondered how her son was but just as quickly the thought was dismissed as his attention quickly drifted to his emails.

It was only later, when he got out of the elevator after meeting with one of his managers, that Tobias’s curiosity got the better of him. Instead of returning to his office, he walked a few doors down to Room 218. The boy so reminded him of himself that Tobias’s interest in him drove him to hover outside the door, wondering how to casually walk in and inquire about the child.

Not one to make conversation with people at the best of times, he decided against it. While he was interested to hear how the boy was doing, he had no desire to talk to the boy’s mother. He started to walk away but the sound of something big and heavy falling, punctuated by a frightened shriek at the end, stopped him.

He rushed back and flung the door wide open.

“Oh…shit!” The woman lay sprawled on the floor with her legs akimbo and surrounded by a heap of plastic boxes that had fallen. Only one stack of boxes remained standing.

“Are you all right?” he asked, crouching by her side. She stared up at him, eyes wide, her hair falling around her shoulders.

She scrambled up to a sitting position. “I’m fine.” She brushed her hand over her clothes, as if trying to smooth them down.

“Are you hurt?” He glanced over her, clearly noticing that her skirt had ridden up to her thighs and that the middle button of her shirt had come undone.

“I was trying to get one of those boxes down.”

The boxes were heavy and she could have been hurt. “Are you insane?” he asked, not without a hint of irritation. He held out his hand and pulled her up.

Once standing, she let go of his hand as if it was on fire, then smoothed her skirt down again. “They were piled on top of one another and I’d finished the others—”

He wasn’t interested in explanations. “You could have hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine, really, I am.”

“A lawsuit is the last thing I need.”

She let out a cry of indignation. “I would never—”

“Your blouse,” he said, his gaze falling to her chest and the button that had gaped open revealing an off-white bra. He turned away as she colored the shade of blood red. She turned her back to him as she did up her button. Now wouldn’t be the time to tell her that the back of her stockings had a hole in them. Again. “How’s your son?”