I need to shake up my workforce. Trim the excess, then recruit.

A stolen glance at Kara chases the irritation away. She’s hiding a smile, taking diligent notes in that looping handwriting of hers, and I know she can sense me wrestling with my temper.

I’ve offered her endless gadgets for her note-taking. Laptops and tablets and dictaphones and god knows what else. Hell, I’ve even offered to hire Kara her own assistant, but she insists that handwriting everything helps keep her attention sharp.

She was downright outraged at the assistant offer, too. That was a relief. I don’t want another person working on our floor with us.

I like our time alone.

And maybe I should take handwritten notes in these meetings. Perhaps then I could focus on something other than my assistant for more than five minutes at a time.

“We think you’ll be very pleased with our new casting process, Mr Onasis—”

“Do you?” It’s harsh to interrupt him this way, and the manager fumbles in his speech, his grip tightening on his water glass. In my peripheral vision, Kara ducks her chin.

She’s never been afraid of me like the others. I know my reputation—know they think of me as the devil in fine tailoring. That they run from me in the halls.

Even if I hadn’t heard their whispers, I’m sure I could smell their fear in the air, as though I’m truly a monster and not simply a man who demands quality. Everybody wants Onasis Studios on their resume, but so few want to pay the damn cost.

But Kara… she’s never frightened. Never shies away from my gaze. When I risk another glance at her now, she’s watching me, a knowing glint of humor in her dark eyes.

She stood so close to me yesterday. I felt the heat emanating from her body.

Okay, I need to ration out these glances. If I loosen the grip on my control, I’ll do nothing but stare at Kara, the rest of the world be damned. Storms could rage outside those windows and meteors could burn through the skies, and I’d still be sitting here, chin propped on one fist as I catalog every detail of my assistant.

She’s in a pale pink cardigan today, buttoned over a white blouse. A gray pencil skirt is hidden beneath the desk, and the pale colors of her blouse and cardigan are striking against her smooth, brown skin.

Kara brought me a lemon poppy seed muffin this morning. So buttery and sweet, with a tang of citrus. Delicious.

Her cheeks darkened when she saw me lick the crumbs off my fingertips.

“Give me your projections,” I tell the room, but I’m still looking at Kara. I play these idiotic games with myself when meetings get dull: setting limits on the amount of times I can look at her, but then privately decreeing it only counts as one glance so long as I don’t look away.

I bet she knows what’s coming down the pike for this company. Kara may be an assistant, but she’s also the sharpest mind at this table.