“It’s okay,” Audrey said. “She’ll forgive me. We’re twins. We can’t stay mad at each other.”
Cade smiled, reaching out and ruffling Audrey’s hair. “Well, since you’re twins, I can’t give one a present and not the other, can I?”
And he leaned in and kissed her on her freckled cheek.
Audrey flushed bright red, her mouth gaping.
Cade pulled back, tousled her hair again, and grinned. “Happy birthday, Audrey.” When she continued to stand there, he added, “You should probably go home and check on Daph.”
Audrey nodded, then raced after Daphne. Her cheek throbbed in the perfect, perfect spot where he’d kissed her.
Sure enough, Audrey was grounded that day. Daphne had sobbed her story to their parents, who were appropriately horrified. Audrey was sent to bed early, without TV or computer while they let Daphne stay up late, feasting on birthday cake. Daphne was upset, and that was almost as bad as getting in trouble on its own.
As of that day, Audrey learned two things.
One, that she was never going to slip up and be the bad twin again.
And two, that she was absolutely, without a doubt, in love with Cade Archer.
***
Twelve years later
Audrey glanced in the bathroom mirror, smoothed a stray lock of hair into her tight bun, and then straightened her jacket for the eighth time that morning.
Time to approach the boss.
She left the bathroom, her nerves tingling with a mixture of dread and wariness. Not that her outward expression showed it. She was very good about remaining calm and in control in a stressful situation, and this was definitely a situation. Her low heels clicking on the marble floors of Hawkings Conglomerate’s headquarters, she swept the mail out of the delivery basket and returned to her desk. Once she’d sorted all the envelopes for Logan’s personal attention, she rubber-banded the rest and set them into her mailbox to attend to later.
Her hand paused over the tabloid on her desk. After a moment’s indecision, she folded the magazine in half lengthwise and tucked it under her arm. Then, with mail in hand, she headed to Logan Hawkings’s closed door and rapped twice.
“Enter,” he called.
She did, her stomach churning just a bit.
He didn’t look up as she approached, continuing to type on his laptop. As was their usual routine, Audrey moved to his outbox and picked up any outgoing memos or faxes that he needed her to handle. She slipped his personal mail into his inbox, picked up his faxes, and glanced over at him. But she couldn’t make her mouth form the request.
So she stalled. “Coffee, Mr. Hawkings?”
“Thank you.”
She moved to the Keurig machine in her adjoining office and brewed him a cup, waiting impatiently for the machine to finish. Once it was done, she sweetened it, added creamer, and stirred, all the while mentally cursing herself for not broaching the conversation yet. She returned to his office with the cup in hand and set it on his desk.
Again, he didn’t look up.
“Dry cleaning today, Mr. Hawkings?”
“No.” He picked up the mug and gave her a suspicious look. “Something wrong?”
And here she thought she’d hidden it so well. Audrey clutched the folded tabloid in her hand, hesitating in front of his desk. “I . . . need some time off work.”
Over his coffee mug, Logan frowned. “Time off?”
Just as she’d thought, it hadn’t gone over well. In the three and a half years since she’d been working for Logan Hawkings, she’d never missed a day of work. She was here before he was, left after he did, and took her vacation time concurrent with his so as not to disrupt his schedule.
She was the model employee. She kept things quiet and running as smoothly as possible for Mr. Hawkings. When he needed something handled, she took care of it.
And she never, never asked for time off until today.
Audrey swallowed. “I’m afraid so.”
“How much time off?”
“I . . . don’t know. It’s a personal matter.” And very quietly, she unfolded the tabloid and offered it to him.
Logan tossed it down on his desk, eyeing the picture on the cover. The headline was a bold yellow that screamed out of the grainy photo. POP PRINCESS CAUGHT IN A COKE-FUELED ORGY! PICTURES ON PAGE 17! And there was the unmistakable face of her twin, blade-thin, her hair matted and dyed a hideous shade of black, a dopey smile on her face as she snorted lines in a club bathroom and leaned on an equally dopey-looking pair of men. Audrey didn’t know who they were. She never knew who Daphne ran with anymore. Daphne’s manager handled all that . . . theoretically. She suspected Daphne’s manager took care of his own needs first, and Daphne’s second.
Logan glanced at the magazine, then back up at her. “Your sister?”
She nodded succinctly. “I understand that this is an inconvenience, but I’ve taken extra precautions to ensure that your schedule is not interrupted. I talked with Cathy in personnel, and she’s agreed to send a temp for me to train on daily duties.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’ll make sure she’s prepared before I leave. I’ll have my phone with me so you can contact me—or she can—if you need something. And I’ve made sure that your address book and calendar are up to date. The meeting next week—”
“It’s fine, Audrey. Take the time you need.” He folded the magazine and offered it back to her. “I take it you’re getting her some help?”
She took it from him, her fingers trembling with a rush of relief. “She refuses to go to rehab, but she’s agreed to go away for a time if I go with her. No parties, no drugs. I’m basically going to chaperone and try to get her to sober up.” She hesitated. “It might be a few weeks. It might be longer. If that’s a problem—”
“It’s fine.”
“If you need personal errands run—”
“I said it’s fine, Audrey.” Now he was getting annoyed with her. She could tell by the set of his eyebrows. “If I have personal errands, I’ll ask Brontë to step in and help. It’s not a big deal. Take the time that you need. Your family comes first.”
Words that she’d never thought she’d hear billionaire Logan Hawkings say. His fiancée must have mellowed him quite a bit. She nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Hawkings. I’ll make the arrangements with Cathy.”