Mr. Director Sir

Dalton Bennett
One look at her and I’m gone. Bee steals my heart right out of my chest. The next thing I know, I’m hit with the knowledge “Bee” lied about her name and she’s really my new assistant. The same one who single handedly brought my production to a halt.

Amy Marks
He grabs me in the hallway and the sparks fly between us. Dalton swears he doesn’t care about my mistakes and relief flows through me. The next thing I know, he’s calling me a liar and turning all growly. He doesn’t even let me explain my nickname. Amy gets tired of trying to prove herself to the big jerk just as Dalton realizes she's fixed all her mistakes. Now, Dalton must find a way to win his girl.

Ever since I graduated with my degree in Finance, I’ve been looking for a job, but the job market isn’t snapping me up. My aunt told me Dalton Bennett, the Hollywood director, needs an assistant, fast. While he was away on a last-minute trip to help his younger brother, his long-time assistant eloped and moved to Europe, leaving him in the middle of a production nightmare.
Dalton has struggled through for a few months while trying to fill the position, but things are slowly falling apart. My aunt begs me to help him out, but I have huge reservations. Aunt Betty insists I’m the perfect choice for the job until he can find a permanent replacement. I’m not so sure. He’s out of town, checking out a location for the movie, and I’m supposed to get settled in and do a few mundane tasks until he comes back next week.
As the huge wrought iron gates come into view, my stomach drops into my toes, and I feel breakfast coming up my throat. That extra donut was a bad idea. My little tin can on wheels pulls up to the speaker, and a gritty voice barks, “This is private property.”
“Hi, I’m Amy Marks. I’m Mr. Bennett’s new assistant.” God, I hope my aunt arranged this with Mr. Bennett.
I’m biting on the only fingernail I have left when the same voice comes through again. “Pull your car to the left of the garage and park in the spot marked number four.” Breathing a sigh of relief, I watch the huge gates swing open, then I drive up the long drive. Never have I seen a more beautiful house.
The house itself is smaller than I’d expected, but the Spanish architecture with the huge marble statue in front are breathtaking.
I pull my car into the spot marked number four and grab my things. A stern looking older man steps out of the door and starts speaking to me in Spanish. As I attempt to use the small amount of Spanish I remember from Mrs. Simon’s tenth grade Spanish class to understand him, the trepidation from earlier hits me again. This is such a bad idea.
Finally, his eyes narrow, and he shakes his head. “Fluent in Spanish and French was a lie.”
My mouth drops open, and I wonder who could have told him such a thing. As he turns, muttering under his breath about women who’ll do anything to get close to Dalton, my hackles rise and my mouth runs away. “Wait one minute, you jerk. I don’t know who told you I’m fluent in foreign languages, but it wasn’t me. And I’m not trying to get close to anyone. I’m doing the big jerk a favor. If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave right now and someone else can be his lackey.” And that is the beginning of a wonderful friendship.
Manuel helps me bring my belongings in from the car and shows me around the gorgeous house. It’s spread out like a maze and is much larger than it appears from the outside. “Mr. Bennett doesn’t live like most Hollywood celebrities. He likes his privacy,” Manuel informs me over breakfast my first morning at the house. “Dalton doesn’t regularly take security around with him unless he’s worried about a specific threat, but you have to be careful that no one follows you onto the property. There is security present here at all times.” Manuel and I spend the day together, going over all I need to know about my new job.