Xander pushed into the mind of Ingrid to plant thoughts that would leave him free of her.
Ingrid, come here, he ordered his assistant silently.
Ingrid all but bolted out of the bar.
Ingrid made a sound of disgust but took the blonde's arm.
Under his spell, the blonde wasn't going to be phased by the display of magic, while Ingrid already knew he was the real thing.
Ingrid looked around, disoriented.
"There's always me," Ingrid said hopefully.
If Ingrid didn't know how to hide his money in offshore accounts, she would've been gone long ago.
Ingrid hired an interior decorator when he leased the condo a few months ago.
He almost fired Ingrid that day for the bright colors, until he saw the master bedroom.
Ingrid was clapping at the television, and his gaze flickered to the screen.
I've seen every episode a million times, Ingrid said with her normal dramatic flare.
Ingrid made a sound of derision.
Ingrid left and returned with her laptop and an iPad, sitting at the table with him.
Which reminds me, you've got a ten o'clock today with your producer to plan out shooting for the next season, Ingrid said.
Ingrid was hyper-organized.
"You know, people do ask questions if someone just randomly disappears," Ingrid pointed out.
Ingrid looked at him uncertainly.
Ingrid was wounded again.
A few minutes later, the cat meowed at his door, indicating its entertainment – Ingrid – was gone.
His cat was as emotionally needy as Ingrid on a good day.
XOXO Ingrid Jessi opened the iPad and turned it on.
She found herself counting how many exclamation points Ingrid used before she read through the rules.
He seemed guarded and genuinely unsettled, as if he wasn't expecting an assistant today, despite the note from Ingrid she found.
She was dressed much more normally than Ingrid in dark jeans and a simple, fitted blue t-shirt with bright coral nail polish.
She was definitely not like Ingrid or the women he preferred.
The trainee months ago made a horrible mistake by choosing to target Ingrid, and Xander didn't think twice about lopping off his head.
A quick peek into her mind informed him that April Madera – the personal assistant Ingrid hired – was storming off while the Natural Jessi remained.
Ingrid had the same reaction every morning.
Ingrid referenced documents she emailed the woman who was supposed to be here, documents Jessi had no access to.
How much did Ingrid say I was paying you?
I can't believe people leave those kinds of messages on your phone or that Ingrid has to deal with three hundred and sixty four horny women a year calling you to beg for a second night of sex.
"Ingrid, I'm Gerry," the hazel-eyed man said, holding out his hand.
Ingrid is on vacation, she said.
Not to mention, Ingrid wouldn't approve.
It was the one Ingrid left her, not her own.
Jessi arrived fifteen minutes early the next day, in case Xander or Ingrid called in a substitute after she quit.
Ingrid didn't tell you your job is to line up women for me?
"Ingrid did and put my name on it," Xander said.
His hands were full with groceries from the list Ingrid texted her.
Xander understood; it was the same reaction Ingrid gave him whenever he claimed he could cook.
I didn't bring anything Ingrid said I was supposed to when we go to appearances!
"Did you tell Ingrid you need a new assistant?" she asked.
It was still his, a place for him to escape Ingrid and the brightness of his condo.
Ingrid rose with a frown.
Ingrid breezed by her and slammed the front door.
A brilliant and pathetic relic of the close of the medieval period exists in the Love Letters addressed in 1498 by Ingrid Persdotter, a nun of Vadstena, to the young knight Axel Nilsson.
In a fine Alfred Hitchcock movie called Notorious, the troubled character played by Ingrid Bergman gets very drunk at a party and asks Cary Grant to come for a drive.