Imperfect Match (Elixir Bachelor Billionaires #1)

What can even the best PR team accomplish, when their client hates the limelight and media attention with a vengeance?

But this man is committed to the Hawthorne family. My family.

I head over to the minibar in my office and snag a water bottle. I’m about to turn around and hand it over to him, preferably before he explodes with all that suppressed tension, but my eyes catch sight of the unmissable pink paper napkins embossed with golden letters: Have a day that’s as magical as a unicorn!

They clash against the sleek black surface like a glaring anomaly.

Damn this woman.

After grabbing the stack, I shove them behind the whiskey decanters. There’s no point in tossing them out. It’s not like I haven’t tried that in the past. Within the hour, they’ll magically reappear, courtesy of her relentless determination to annoy me.

How does she do it?

Maybe she keeps a secret stash of items she knows will get under my skin, just for the sheer pleasure of getting a rise out of me.

“If you’re done admiring your posh bar, I’m eager to hear your thoughts, Charles.” Jimmy’s voice jolts me back to the present, away from my eccentric executive assistant, who occupies far too much of my mental real estate with her nonsensical behavior.

I hand him a bottle of water.

“What does the media think, I’m going on my deathbed tomorrow? I’m only twenty-nine, for Christ’s sake.”

“And in all these twenty-nine years, you’ve shown no interest in any woman. There haven’t been any sightings of you at parties with potential love interests.”

My teeth grind together. People pointing out my lack of a social life always hits a nerve. “That’s because I don’t go to those damn parties.”

“And we need to fix that.”

Completely undeterred by the murderous look on my face, Jimmy retrieves an envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“This is an invitation to a social gala honoring your great-great-grandfather, the founder of the city hospital. As always, the Hawthorne family will match donations collected, but this year, you’ll be there to personally hand over the check.”

“If you think I’m even touching that thing, you’re sorely mistaken. Plus, who even follows gossip news these days?” I sink into my chair and recline back, refusing to take my eyes off Jimmy.

He meets my gaze for a few more moments before his shoulders slump. Just as I release a pent-up breath, thinking this torturous meeting is finally over, Jimmy fixes me with a penetrating gaze.

“You can ignore me all you like, Charles, but your efforts in this office mean nothing if the board members don’t trust you enough to vote you as the next head of family business.”

My fists clench as Jimmy exits my office, his words echoing in my mind.

All my life, everything I’ve done is to be the best and be worthy of heading the Hawthorne Empire, but once again, I fail to be enough. A knock interrupts the silence that’s slowly becoming unbearable.

Daisy Price waltzes in, dressed in a rose-gold circle skirt that grazes her knees, paired with a pastel blue top. She looks like she could be staff at an ice-cream parlor, or perhaps, like an ice-cream cone herself.

She glances straight to the minibar, undoubtedly catching sight of the crumpled stack of napkins peeking out from behind. She bites her lip, trying to stifle a smile and failing anyway. But I give her no satisfaction and don’t even mention the color pop she attempted in my office.

“Jimmy didn’t look very happy,” she starts, gliding behind my desk and arranging pink Post-its on the glass wall in their order of priority.

I swivel in my chair, following her movements as she methodically scribbles the tasks onto the tiny colorful paper squares before sticking them onto the glass wall. Her heels, which are just an inch shorter than would be declared hazardous, match her skirt with a blue bow on the back, complementing the one on her hair clip. If there were an award for color coordination, my assistant would win it every day.

“He’s not paid to look happy, but to do his job.”

“He can’t do anything unless you listen to him.” Her hands halt, and she glances over her shoulder at me. Disagreement shines in those brown eyes, which seem to always speak volumes.

“Are you here to persuade me on his behalf?” If she thinks she can convince me to attend any social gathering, she can try at her own risk.

“How could I dare to do something like that?” The way she arches her eyebrow suggests she would dare indeed.

I motion toward the untouched invitation Jimmy so conveniently left behind.