by Emma Quinn
“Hm,” was all Peter managed to say in response. “And what did I happen to cook for us this evening?”
I reached down to the paper takeout bags resting on the car floor before me, lifting them up by the fancy twine handles that came attached. The bags had even been tied off with a pretty white bow –a testament to how expensive the restaurant I ordered from had been. It was a good thing I didn’t have to pay out of pocket, otherwise I would have been eating ramen for the next couple of days until I got my next paycheck. I handed everything to him, the scent of mouthwateringly delicious food wafting straight into my nose.
“All you have to do is dish up,” I stated. “You made her lobster tail with a side of wild rice, sautéed mushrooms, garlic butter mashed potatoes, and fresh sourdough bread rolls.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Peter set his phone down on his lap and raise an eyebrow at me. “I thought Amanda was a vegetarian.”
“Pescatarian,” I corrected quickly. “She apparently thinks it’s okay to eat anything that isn’t cute and cuddly.”
“Hm,” he grunted again. I couldn’t tell if it was a sound of approval or not, but I thought it best not to ask for clarification. “And what did I choose for us to drink?”
I reached down again and picked up another bag, this one significantly slimmer and taller, with a heavy bottle inside. I handed it to Peter as well, still focused on drafting the business email he asked for earlier. “A bottle of pinot grigio.”
“What’s the brand and year?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not sure. The guy at the liquor store recommended it. He said it would pair well with seafood.”
“Not a big wine fan?”
I shook my head and saved the draft. I was going to have to work on it later. My eyes were beginning to strain as I fought against the creeping waves of motion sickness. “I don’t drink,” I answered.
Peter glanced at me skeptically. The corner of his lips ticked up into an amused grin. “Ever?” he asked.
“Ever,” I confirmed.
“Is that a religious thing or…”
I closed the laptop and allowed it to rest on my lap. The underside was ridiculously warm from being overworked, but it was a nice comfort against the cold evening just outside the car.
“I don’t normally have enough in my budget to waste on liquor. Consider it a frugal thing.”
Peter chuckled, low and smooth. It was the closest I’d ever seen him to content.
“Don’t you live with your boyfriend? Can’t he pitch in for a night on the town once in a while?”
For some reason, all the heat in my body pooled in my cheeks.
“I, uh… I don’t have a boyfriend. I mean, I do live with a boy who’s a friend. But that’s… You know what, let’s not talk about me.”
I cleared my throat and promptly turned away to look out the window. I couldn’t figure out why Peter bringing up David bothered me so much. Maybe I thought Peter would be judgmental. A young man and woman living together? Talk about scandalous, right? Although, considering the town car’s current route to a rented apartment in the more luxurious part of town to meet one of Peter’s many lovers, I knew I shouldn’t be so concerned with his opinion.
We finally arrived at our destination, some towering apartment complex made almost entirely of glass and pretty lights. I could only dream of living in a place like this one day. I felt poorer just looking at the front doors where a doorman stood, all spiffy in his bright red uniform jacket. Before Peter got out of the vehicle, I handed him the keys to the apartment I’d rented under a shell corporation, as per his instructions.
“I’ve arranged for Miss Van Leeuwen to arrive in half an hour,” I explained. “You have the number of the town car service should you need a ride later on.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me to behave myself?” he asked.
There was something playful in his words. Was he teasing me? No, that couldn’t possibly be it.
“Even if I did, I don’t think you’d listen, Mr. Alance.”
Peter chuckled again. Talk about a rare sighting. “Have yourself a good evening,” he said to me. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”
I nodded just as he closed the door, slipping into a cool, charismatic grin as the doorman to the building greeted him. I watched through the window in amazement. I never got to see Peter smile unless it was outside the office. But even still, I could tell there was something forced about it. The smile never reached his eyes, like he was wearing a stiff mask to hide whatever it was rich, powerful men like him had to hide. Maybe it was the fact that he was so obviously lonely.
Why else would he try and seek comfort and belonging in the arms of so many strangers?
“Miss?” called the driver from the front seat, glancing at me through the reflection of the rearview mirror. “Where to?”
I peeled my eyes away from Peter as he slipped into the apartment building behind two massive front doors. “You can drop me off at home,” I said eventually, a sudden wave of exhaustion washing over me.
5
Peter
M
y days worked like clockwork. My weeks were equally as predictable. I liked predictability. It provided structure, balance. I knew exactly who I was going to meet with that day, and I knew exactly whose legs I’d be between that night. Some people would argue that my level of organization and control was bordering levels of insanity, but it worked for me. When all was said and done, that was all that mattered. I was the top dog, the one sitting at the highest peak. Clearly whatever I was doing to have garnered the level of success I had was working. Naysayers be damned.
But I couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong. Lately, meetings left me bored out of my mind. I was normally always so excited to start up new projects, to meet with new clients and potential partners. It was what I lived for; what Alance Tech lived for. But every new meeting, every hand I shook left me feeling weirdly dull. I was greeted with nothing but fake smiles and flowery words, all in an attempt to seek my approval and potential financial support. I understood that it was all in the name of business. People rarely got anywhere without kissing a little bit of ass –specifically kissing mine. But the thrill of new deals being struck was gone, dissipating, fizzling out.
And that wasn’t the only problem. Lately, the women I’d been seeing just didn’t leave me as fulfilled as they used to. I could normally see past their braindead, doe-eyed schticks and enjoy myself, but I’d been craving so much more. I couldn’t remember the last time I held an actual, stimulating conversation with any of them. I couldn’t remember the last time I genuinely felt the urge to impress. I’d show up, we’d share a meal, we’d have sex, I’d forget their name and Rachel would have to remind me. Rinse and repeat.
I wondered if Mother had a point. Maybe settling down wasn’t such a bad idea after all. It would definitely be a whole lot easier remembering one woman’s name and interests instead of twenty. The only problem was I didn’t know where to start. I had a company to run. Dating a woman seemed like more hassle than it was really worth. Maybe I’d just end up one of those stupidly wealthy CEOs who never married and would eventually give all of my money to my dogs after I passed away –even if I had to deal with Mother’s constant nagging about never getting to spoil her grandchildren.
From where I was at my desk, I could see Rachel busily walking about outside with various documents and folders tucked up against her chest. I really lucked out when I hired her. She definitely had a good head on her shoulders. I used to think that her quietness was thanks to a lack of intelligence, but now I understood that it was the result of an abundance of it. Rachel knew when to hold back when she wasn’t needed, and she similarly knew when to step up and take initiative. She made great use of her time and always had things ready for me before I even had to ask.
I found myself staring at her through the glass doors of my office. She had her own desk just outside. Her work area was incredibly
neat and tidy. Save for the little succulent plant that sat next to her desktop monitor, there wasn’t much else in terms of decorations. I’d gone through my fair share of employees to know what that meant. Rachel didn’t plan on staying here. There was a lack of permanence about her. She didn’t have any family pictures hanging up in her work area, and she didn’t keep any trinkets or awards of any kind. If Rachel wanted to quit today, all she’d have to do was pick up her little plant and walk right out the door. There was nothing to hold her here.
Which was a damn shame, really.
I’d never say it aloud, but Rachel was probably the best personal assistant I’d ever had. She always had my coffee and breakfast ready by the time I walked into the office. All of my emails had been pre-screened and organized by level of importance. Rachel had even revamped my work calendar and color-coded important events so I knew who I was meeting and in which conference room it would be held. Not once did she ask for my permission to do these things. She took initiative, looked for ways to make things easier. A part of me wondered what a hard worker like her was doing as someone’s personal assistant. She could have been running her own business if she wanted.
I rose from my chair and wandered on over to the doors, looking out into the shared office space just outside. A couple of employees smiled at me, forgetting whatever tasks they were working on. The only person who didn’t look up to acknowledge me was Rachel. She was concentrating on something at her computer, her long, slender fingers typing away frantically. Her hazel eyes were glued on the screen, a white light reflecting of her irises.
I had to admit that she looked kind of pretty at this angle. I hadn’t noticed before, but the splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose was actually adorable. Her ears were pierced, sporting elegant little ladybug earrings. Rachel’s lips were surprisingly plump, made shiny and soft from the strawberry Chapstick I always saw her applying. Her lashes were long and curly, fluttering about as she blinked. Whatever she was working on must have been seriously interesting, because she hadn’t noticed me staring for a good couple of minutes. It wasn’t like her to be so distracted.
This piqued my curiosity.
I left my office and quietly made my way over, approaching from behind to catch a glimpse of whatever was on her screen. I wondered if she was doing something she shouldn’t have, like online shopping or watching YouTube. I’d caught my last personal assistant, Stacy, doing that a number of times.
To my surprise, it was neither. She had a Photoshop application open on her screen as she diligently worked away on some sort of poster design. It was colorful and eye-catching, boasting an incredibly unique company logo design. I remember reading something on Rachel’s resume that she’d gone to school for graphic design, but it had never come up in conversation before. Either way, it didn’t appear to be work-related.
I cleared my throat. “What are you working on?”
Rachel gasped, jumping in her seat slightly. With a swift flick of her wrist, she minimized the screen. “N-nothing,” she stammered. It was kind of cute how red her ears turned.
I really wanted to tease her. “I need the Exon merger documents,” I said as tersely as I could. “Do you think you can do that for me? Or are you too busy working on personal projects?”
I expected her to fumble through an apology. I expected her to struggle for an explanation. But instead, Rachel simply swallowed and took a deep breath before saying, “I already sent you the documents. They should be flagged in your inbox.”
I blinked. Apart from myself and a few fellow business colleagues of mine, I’d never seen such grace under pressure. “What about those papers from legal? I asked for them an hour ago.”
“They’re already on your desk,” she said without skipping a beat.
“And what about lunch arrangements? Did you get me into Le Croix?”
Rachel nodded. “You’ve got your usual seat by the window already reserved. Your driver will pick you up at one.”
I had to hand it to her, she was good. I sighed and felt myself grinning. “Okay, okay. You win.”
“I… I win?” she asked.
“What are you working on?”
“I swear, it’s really nothing.”
I sat on the edge of her desk and said, “Show me.”
With a bit of hesitation, Rachel pulled the window back up so I could get a good look. She’d been working on some sort of event poster. By the looks of it, there was some sort of live band playing at a café nearby.
“What’s this for?” I inquired, genuinely curious.
“My roommate, David… he hired me to make event posters. The café he works at hired some indie band to play live music on Sundays.”
“To drum up business?”
Rachel shrugged her shoulder. I watched as locks of her long black hair shifted and streamed over her delicate collar bones. Up this close, her skin looked impossibly soft and smooth. “Supposedly,” she mumbled.
“It looks good,” I said.
Rachel turned in her seat and stared at me in amazement, almost as if I’d pulled off some fantastic magic trick. “S-seriously?”
I nodded. “Yes?”
“Oh, um. Thanks. That means a lot. I just didn’t expect to get a compliment from you.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she hurried. “Nothing at all.”
“I can give compliments,” I argued. “I give compliments all the time.”
“Really?” she challenged. There was something playful in her tone.
I crossed my arms as a tubby man in an ill-fitted suit passed by. “Hey, Victor. Good job on yesterday’s presentation.” I turned back to Rachel. “See?”
The man stopped dead in his tracks and gawked at me, mouth hanging open as his brow began to sweat profusely. “I-I’m not Victor, b-but thank you, Mr. Alance.”
Rachel stifled a giggle behind her hand. She turned to the tubby man and asked, “Bernard, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, Ray. What’s up?”
Ray. I had no idea Rachel had a nickname. The more I replayed the sound in my head, the more I thought it suited her.
“In your opinion, does Mr. Alance give compliments ‘all the time?’”
Tubby Bernard looked to me, then to Rachel, then back to me, and then down at his shoes. He shakily grabbed a crumpled-up paper napkin from his blazer’s pocket and dabbed at his forehead. “Uh, um, y-yes. Of course, he does. Mr. Alance always recognizes good work when he s-sees it.”
I grinned and looked to Rachel, beaming with pride. “See?”
Rachel didn’t look convinced.
“A-anyways,” Bernard continued, “thanks for designing those newsletters for me, Ray. We’ve already got fifty new subscribers thanks to you.”
Rachel smiled. It was wide and bright and brilliant and by far the most breathtaking thing I’d ever seen, which was quite frankly surprising considering how plain I found her. I frowned, realizing instantly that she never once looked at me that way. Maybe it was because I was her boss and she didn’t want to come across as overly friendly. That had to be it. But then why couldn’t I explain this dull pain twisting at my chest?
“Bernard and his wife have a weekly restaurant review newsletter,” she explained aloud, clearly talking to me even though she wasn’t holding my gaze. “They’re actually pretty good. I’d recommend giving it a read, Mr. Alance.”
“Maybe I will,” I said.
Bernard looked over the moon. “I-if that’s the case, I’ll send you an email link so you can check out our website.”
I nodded. “Sure, sounds good.”
The tubby man scurried away in his excitement, smiling wildly like he just won the lottery.
“So, I’m guessing graphic design is a bit of a passion for you, huh?” I asked.
Rachel nodded, saving the event poster she’d been working on before closing the application altogether. She turned in her chair. “It is,�
� she answered quietly.
I fell back to teasing. It was just easier for me to get the words out that way. “Can I ask how much you charged Bernard and your boyfriend for your work?”
Rachel pressed her lips into a thin line. “One, David’s not my boyfriend. Two, I didn’t charge anything.”
“Tell me, for someone who doesn’t have it in her budget for a few drinks now and then, why are you working for free?”
She simply shrugged her shoulders as she rose from her chair. “It’s not always about the money, Mr. Alance.”
I almost laughed. “Well, that’s where you and I differ, I guess.”
“I guess so.”
I stood up straight and sighed. “Try not to use your work hours for personal projects. It sets a bad example for everybody else.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “It won’t happen again. I just like using the computers here.”
“What’s wrong with yours at home?”
“I don’t have a computer at home. I used to go to the library to get projects done, but I haven’t been able to find the time lately.”
A sudden realization hit me harder than a speeding freight train. I was so used to seeing the world as something I could buy. If I wanted a new car, I’d get a new car. If I wanted the latest laptop computer, I’d get the latest laptop computer. I’d never known what it was like to see a dwindling balance in my bank account. I sometimes forgot that people like Rachel couldn’t always afford to have what they wanted –and sometimes what they needed. If what Rachel was saying was true, my weird work hours were affecting her free time. She couldn’t go to the library to work because of me. She had no choice but to sneak in a few minutes everyday on her work computer to pursue her own passions.
Guilt sat in the pit of my stomach and stayed there.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, deep in thought. I couldn’t make exceptions. Great companies like Alance Tech weren’t made on weak foundations. If I let this slide, who knew what was next? People followed by example. If I wasn’t allowed to slack off, nobody else was allowed to, either. Rachel’s little pout wasn’t going to work on me –even if it was super effective.
