His office door swung open a crack, and Chloe’s head with its prim bun appeared in it. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Trainor, but do you want me to stay?”

He glanced at his watch, surprised to find that it was after six. The poor temp wasn’t used to working the longer hours of an executive assistant. “I’m sorry. You may go home. I assume they pay you extra for overtime.”

She nodded. “Flexitemps is very good to its employees. Good night.” Her head disappeared and the door closed softly.

The temp was a funny little thing. Her manners were flawlessly professional, but he got the feeling she disapproved of him. He didn’t mind as long as she continued to manage his phone calls and calendar as competently as she had today. He’d hold all the high-level work until Janice got back.

That reminded him of the notes she’d taken at the meeting. She said she’d e-mail them to him when they were finished. He’d better doctor them up while the meeting was still fresh in his mind. The technical jargon had been flying, and he was sure she hadn’t been able to keep up despite her mad scribbling.

Returning to his desk chair and finding the e-mail on his screen, he began to read. And read. And read. When he was done, he sat back, staring at the document in front of him in disbelief.

“Well, well, it looks like Flexitemps sent in a ringer.”

“Sorry I’m so late, Grandmillie.” Chloe bent to kiss her grandmother’s soft, wrinkled cheek. “I got promoted to executive assistant by the flu epidemic and had to work late.”

“I’m perfectly capable of fixing myself a bowl of soup, you know,” Grandmillie said.

“But I like to have someone to cook for,” Chloe said. She laughed as she put the takeout Thai food on the counter. “Or in this case, to buy for. When I walked past Boonsong, it smelled so good, I couldn’t resist.”

Grandmillie loved Thai food, but splurging on takeout was something they couldn’t often do. Since Chloe was getting a higher wage for the executive assistant position, she’d decided on the treat. And she was too tired to cook after her stressful day.

Her grandmother stood up and followed Chloe to the dining area, using her brightly decorated cane for balance. The oak table was already set with Grandmillie’s exquisite gold-rimmed wedding china. She said she couldn’t take it to the afterlife so they might as well use it here.

Once the food was served, Grandmillie said, “What executive are you working for?”

“The big cheese. Mr. Trainor himself,” Chloe said. “Mmm, this pad see ew is fantastic.”

“Is he pleasant to work for?”

Chloe took another bite and chewed as she thought about that. “He’s not unpleasant. I think he doesn’t believe I can do much since I’m just a temp, so he kept it pretty simple today.”

“That’s considerate of him.”

“I guess you could call it that.” Chloe put down her fork. “It got very interesting this evening, though. Right as I was finishing up some notes from a meeting, this tall brunette wearing the most gorgeous Louboutin heels waltzed in. She claimed she had a dinner date with him. When I got him on the intercom, he was clearly not happy about her arrival, but he told her to come in anyway.” She took a sip of water and leaned forward. “When she came out not long after, her face looked like a thundercloud. She stomped by my desk so hard I was afraid she was going to break the heels on those beautiful shoes.”

“Sounds like he canceled the date,” Grandmillie said, her blue eyes twinkling.

“She muttered something about a bracelet, but she wasn’t wearing one that I could see.”

“Don’t rich men give their mistresses jewelry when they end the relationship?” Grandmillie asked.

“I’m shocked. How do you know such a thing?” Chloe teased.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, dear. And I read Regency romances.”

In fact, Grandmillie was one shrewd cookie. She’d owned a bar with her ex-husband, even when he was ex. So she’d seen more of the gritty side of life than Chloe had.

“I don’t think she was his mistress, though,” Chloe said. “I’m pretty sure mistresses don’t come to their sugar daddy’s office during the workday. Unless they want to be ex-mistresses really fast.”

“Maybe that’s why he tossed her out,” Grandmillie said, pulling chicken satay off the skewer with her fork. “She broke the rules.”

“Technically speaking, wouldn’t he have to be married to have a mistress?”

“He’s not married?” Grandmillie’s attention became very focused. “How old is the man?”

“Pretty young for a CEO.” And pretty hot too. “He may be married, but I didn’t see a ring.”

“Google him on your phone,” her grandmother ordered.

Chloe kept eating. “He’s a billionaire. He’s not interested in a temporary assistant.”

“Not yet.” Grandmillie put down her fork and looked at Chloe.

“Fine.” Chloe got up and grabbed her handbag, digging her phone out of it and typing in Nathan Trainor’s name. She chose a basic bio that appeared up-to-date. “Not married. Never has been. That’s kind of weird.”

“Why, dear?” Her grandmother resumed her consumption of the satay.

“Because he’s so—” She’d been about to say “good looking” but decided she didn’t want to give her grandmother any additional ammunition. “—rich.”