Charles had stayed late into the evening, working, and having the IT team remove the ridiculous post off of the office forum. Mainly, he was trying to work off his anger and frustration over the whole situation.
He knew now that Gemma wasn't responsible (the IT team proved her innocence. He checked.) but ever since she had come to work for him it seemed his relatively peaceful life had been turned on end.
She was sarcastic, and shameless. She dressed seductively he was sure on purpose. She refused to be restrained in his presence, was bold, and never showed fear.
She was sexy and she knew it. She was hilarious and flirtatious, and extremely effective at anything he threw at her. Because he'd tried to overwhelm her, thinking that she would quit. No. Not Gemma.
The thing that really bothered him, downright scared him, was that not only was she the best and longest lasting personal assistant to date, but the longer she worked with him the better she was able to anticipate his needs and she completed them before he could ask. For most, a subordinate who could anticipate their superiors' needs and wants in the work place was a boon, a godsend.
Not him. Charles Wen had been groomed from infancy not to let anyone get too close. Emotions, especially those of love, kindness, and friendliness were crushed by his father as much as possible. A businessman must be emotionless and ruthless if he wants to be successful. You are born for success, his father would tell him.
So a woman who could anticipate his needs in the office was a threat to his carefully constructed walls that surrounded him.
If he was emotionless then Gemma was the exact opposite. She wore her feelings on her shoulder and expressed them vibrantly. He found that terrifying.
He stretched in his seat and groaned. It was time to leave. Past time to leave. He grabbed his suit coat off the back of his chair, as well as his briefcase.
Loud music, a love song, began playing loudly from his suit coat pocket. Gemma's phone. He knew before he even reached for it. The caller ID said, "Brent."
Who was Brent? Why was he calling her so late at night? Why did it all stir up anger inside him.
He stepped back to his computer and looked up the personnel files and scribbled an address on a notepad. He hurried down to the parking garage and hopped into his sports car. He tore out of the parking lot like an arrow shot from a bow.
A few minutes later, he arrived at the address and found the right apartment. He rang the bell, wondering what he was doing.
It took a few minutes, but finally Gemma stood at the door. She was wearing a pair of silky, sexy pajama shorts in emerald green and matching top that highlighted her vast cleavage. A lose fitting, floral robe was draped around her. Her hair hung wildly around her chest. Her makeup had been washed and her eyes, full of sleep, stared up at him in confusion.
"Why are you here?" She blurted.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" He asked, wondering what made him ask to begin with.
She stepped aside reluctantly and motioned him in.