"It's okay. I'm not hungry."
"Nope. I'm not going to let you start that way. You can bring back food if you want, but get something from the lunchroom and we'll go through the Hemley file this afternoon."
Left with little choice, Pam took the elevator down to the cafeteria and selected a salad. She normally didn't eat lunch, but Krista was insistent. Then, later, Krista helped Pam decipher Caroline's notes before she returned to her own desk to finish up while Pam transcribed.
Fascinated by the new world she'd entered, the deeper Pam got into the intricacies of the assignment, the more invested she became. These companies weren't only pieces of paper in a file; they were living, breathing entities, who had run into problems. So, Pam didn't just transcribe another person's notes, she delved into the reasons why the company had fallen on such hard times and lost herself in her work.
Though Pam had no idea how late it was when Krista stopped by to check on her, she recalled answering she was good, just concentrating. But, of course, Krista wasn't content to leave the conversation there.
"Well, don't get too caught up. It's five thirty and most everyone, except your boss, goes home at this hour. How much more would you say you have left to do?"
With a sigh, Pam flipped through the pages. "Only an hour or so. I'm fine. You go on ahead, and I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks again for your help."
"You do realize simply because he asks you to finish something by the next morning, he doesn't expect you to kill yourself?"
"I know, but I hate to leave things hanging. It drives me crazy, and not in a good way. I shouldn't be long at all. Don't worry."
Krista shook her head, but left her to finish working up Caroline's notes. Pam was deep in her review of the Hemley profile when Mr. Peterson's phone rang. After a second of scowling at the rude object for interrupting her, she glanced at the clock. Eight thirty? That can't be right. Another ring. Not recognizing the number, she picked up the receiver and answered, "Peterson Enterprises. This is Mr. Peterson's office. How may I help you?" Silence. "Hello?" Ominous silence.
Alarmed, Pam started to hang up the phone when a low, quiet voice asked, "What are you still doing there at this hour, Miss Weston?"
The growl sent a small chill up her spine. "I was finishing up the Hemley file, Mr. Peterson. Is there something I can do for you, sir?"
"Tell me what time it is."
"Eight thirty, sir."
"Well, the clocks aren't broken. Did you break for dinner, at least?"
"Pardon me, sir?"
"Dinner. The evening meal. You do know what dinner is, don't you, Miss Weston?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you consume any?"
"Um…. No, sir."
"That's unacceptable. Stop where you are, pack up, and go home."
"But, I—"
"That's an order, Miss Weston, not a request. Eat something nutritious. I want you to block out my calendar between nine and eleven tomorrow, during which time you and I will discuss my expectations regarding your responsibilities to me and the company. And, since the primary purpose of your job is to assist me, I expect you to do exactly as I say. So, the order I'm giving you is to leave the office. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes, sir. But…."
Silence, then a sigh. "Go on."
Though his words encouraged her to continue, his tone definitely did not. He sounded truly put out with her. Why would he care whether she was still at work or stopped for dinner?
"I haven't quite finished transcribing the notes on the Hemley file, yet, sir."
"How much time do you need?"
Good question. She'd already be done if all she did was type. "About another half-hour, sir."
"Fine. You may come in one half-hour early to finish it tomorrow, but I do not want you there a minute longer, tonight. Collect your things, Miss Weston. "
Feeling a little numb, Pam suspected further argument would only get her in trouble with her new boss, so she did as he commanded. Uncertain what he would say next, she replied, "I have my purse, sir."
"Good. Place the Hemley folder in your desk and lock it. Now, please."
Her hands shaking, she laid the dossier in her top drawer and locked it. The mechanism made a terrible ratcheting sound that echoed with all the delicacy of a prison lockdown in the unnatural silence of the office. Unnerved by the image, Pam started to tremble then scolded herself for her overactive imagination.
"Excellent. Is anyone else there?"
She glanced around. The place was deserted. "No, sir. At least I don't think so. Security is still here I suspect."
"How do you get home?"
"I take the bus, sir."
"One moment." He put her on hold, and Pam waited. Did she break another one of his unwritten rules? Was she going to be fired and escorted out of the building? That didn't seem likely since he said she could come in early tomorrow, but she'd never had an employer speak with her in such a cold, dominant tone. She was almost done, so why wouldn't he let her stay and finish her work? She heard a small click, then "Pam?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I called David in security and asked him to see you home in one of my cars. He's a good driver, and will see you safely delivered to your door."
"Miss Weston?" Looking up, Pam saw an elderly uniformed guard waiting for her at the end of the hall. "Mr. Peterson asked me to drive you back to your apartment, miss."
She nodded, her throat suddenly tight. The walls were closing in on her, trapping her in a corner with no way out. A man in uniform waited to escort her. He was there to place her back into solitary confinement. No. She would go mad if they placed her on suicide watch again. Her breath coming in rapid gasps, she rubbed the inside of her phone arm and remained in her chair, fingers locked around the receiver, unable to walk away.
CHAPTER TWO
"What's wrong, Pam?" Robert Peterson asked, his voice much gentler.
Pam shook her head, her breathing fast and shallow. "Nothing. I'm sorry, sir."
"Take a deep breath," he urged, his manner calm and reassuring. She took a breath. Though hardly deep, it was the best she could offer for the moment.
"Surely you can do better. Another one."
She tried to do as she was told, wondering why the CEO of Peterson Enterprises was wasting his time by giving her breathing lessons.
"Still not very satisfactory." Though the words were a rebuke, his tone was teasing as if he smiled while he spoke. "Breathe using your diaphragm. Place your hand just below your rib cage." She glanced down the hall. The guard hadn't moved any closer, nor did he seem at all surprised by the delay. She pressed a shaking hand to her abdomen and waited.
"Breathe in a way that pushes out your hand. Yes, that's it. Now another," he ordered once she'd managed to obey. "Good. Calmer?"
"Yes, sir. How did you know?"
"I have my ways, but, in this case, I heard you hyperventilating. I'm not angry with you, Pam. I'm simply being firm so you will follow my instructions without argument. Is David still waiting for you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Do you own a cell phone?"
"No, sir."
"Very well, we'll see to that tomorrow, too. There's a telephone in my car. Write down this number." He rattled off ten numbers, including the area code. "Once you get settled, call me. You're safe, Pam, and you're not in any trouble. All right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good girl. Hang up and dial me back once you’re in the car. Can you do that?"
It didn't seem like an awful lot to ask, and yet she hesitated to rise from her chair, which was perfectly ridiculous. The guard was simply seeing her home, not escorting her into solitary confinement or locking her behind bars. She was being looked after, not punished, but she wasn't used to anyone caring for her, either. Her fingers skimmed along a ridge on her inner arm as she stared at her top drawer. Maybe she could slip the file into her purse and continue working on it at home.
"Pam?"
"Yes?"
"Hold on." Pam saw David talk on his phone for a minute before he nodded and walked toward her. Shit. Everything inside urged her to flee, but she gripped the receiver and sat perfectly still while the uniformed guard held out his mobile to her. A soft whimpering sound echoed through the open room. Was someone hurt or in pain?
"Take David’s cell, Pam," Mr. Peterson insisted, his tone quiet, but firm.
She watched the other man for a moment, but his expression remained friendly and encouraging. Finally doing what her boss requested, she put the mobile device to her other ear.
"Can you hear me?"
"Yes, sir," she answered, her voice trembling and uncertain. He spoke in stereo now, causing Pam to wonder if he could hear her heart pounding in her chest from either of the phones in her hands.
"Good. I'm with you. Next, I want you to hang up the office phone."
Closing her eyes, she obeyed as she gasped for air. With her lungs constricting until she found it difficult to breathe, Pam severed the line. A part of her realized she behaved like a panicked pansy, but she still clutched the cell, grateful for the lifeline he'd tossed her nonetheless.
"All right. Did you collect everything you need to take home with you?"
"No, sir."
"What else do you require?"
"I'd like to take the Hemley file with me, sir, so I can work on it at home."
"Absolutely not. You are done for the day. If I find out you disobeyed me in this, you will discover firsthand what it means to earn my displeasure, and you don't want to do that this early in our association, I assure you."
His tone had regained some of its earlier harshness. A scared, pain-filled whimpering started to echo through the area again, which Pam belatedly realized came from her throat. She was losing it. Big time. "Yes, sir."
"Good girl," he murmured, his manner gentle and reassuring again. "You're doing fine. Now, get up and follow David. Once you rise from your chair, he'll lead you to my car while I continue talking with you."
Pam rose, clutching the guard's cell phone to her ear and her purse to her side.
"Perfect."
How could he tell what she did? She glanced around uneasily for a camera.
"What is it?" he asked, as if speaking to a frightened child. Unfortunately, his assessment wasn't far-off.
"How did you know I was doing what you asked? Can you see me?"
He chuckled. "No. You're not on closed-circuit television. I discerned a change in your breathing and deduced what you were doing. Where are you now?"
"We're at the elevators."
"Okay, I may lose you temporarily. Sometimes the equipment in the elevator interferes with cell phone reception, but I don't want you taking the stairs."
"Why not?"
"Because you're on the fiftieth floor, Miss Weston. Assuming no one else is working late, the elevators should go straight down, but tell David I want him to make it an express."
"Mr. Peterson requests you make the elevator an express, David."
"No problem, Miss Weston."
"Good." A soft ding sounded, and the doors whooshed open, but Pam didn't move.
"Go on inside. If you lose me, it will only be for a moment. The phone will not disconnect."
"Are you sure?" she asked, wincing at the tiny, childlike sound of her own voice. She would surely be fired after this.
"I'm positive. I've had a few calls go silent on me in the elevator, but they picked right up once I stepped out. So, go on."
Realizing she was wasting a CEO's valuable time, but not willing to question why he was even bothering with such a basket case, Pam closed her eyes, took a step inside the moving box, and grasped the rail with her free hand. She'd worked herself into a full-blown panic mode, and for absolutely no reason. The world wasn't coming to an end. No one was out to hurt or confine her. Not here. Eyes shut, Pam remained silent until another ding signaled they’d reached their destination and she quickly left the metal conveyance.
"Very good," he praised, and though his words lightened her step, she still chided herself for her lack of control. Who would want a Nervous Nellie like her for an assistant?
"Stop it," he ordered at once in a sharp voice.
Pam came to an immediate halt. "Stop what?"
"You're fretting yourself into another panic. Calm down. We'll discuss everything tomorrow, and I have no intention of firing you, so quit worrying."
She wanted to ask him how he'd deduced that as well, but figured he could sense her unease even over the phone. She'd had no idea anyone could be as attuned to another person as he seemed to be. Despite having only worked with him for a day, she felt like he'd known her for years.
* * *
David pressed the button on the keys to unlock the car, and Pam started to walk again.
"Good girl," Peterson said softly, and she smiled, though her hands shook.
"I'm such a baby," she confessed uneasily as David opened the rear door for her.
"No, you're not, and I don't want you talking that way, either. Putting yourself down is a punishable offense."
"What?" she asked, nearly tripping as she slipped onto the soft, black leather seat of the dark blue Mercedes.
"My rules will be another thing we’ll speak about tomorrow. In the meantime, tell me how you liked working with Krista Rensler."
The change in subject surprised her. "Don't I need to tell David where I live, sir?"
"No. He’s got your address. All you need to do is talk to me, and I want to know your feelings about Krista."
Frowning, Pam admitted, "I like her. She's honest, forthright, and helpful."
"Yes, she is. I admire those qualities about her, too."
"How does David know where to go, sir?"
An uncomfortable silence greeted her for a moment, followed by a soft sigh. "Your address is in your personnel file."
Oh. Of course it was. He's the boss, so he had access to all her information, including…." Her breath caught in a gasp.
"Yes, I was aware you'd been in prison before I employed you."
"Except I was hired by HR."
"With my approval."
A lump formed in her throat. "Do you have my medical records, too?"
Pam struggled through another moment of uncomfortable silence. "If I did, I would've had to obtain them illegally, so I'm going to answer no to your question."
That meant he had those, too. So he knew about her breakdown as well as the reason she'd been sentenced to five years in prison. Though she'd been released on parole after three, she still had eighteen months remaining on her sentence, and yet he'd employed her when few others would even consider interviewing her.
None of this made sense. "Did you know HR was sending me to work for you, sir?"
"Yes. Truth be known, I requested you."
Her breath caught in her throat. "Why?"
"Why not? You're a hard worker, and I had a long talk with the prison warden as well as your counselor and their staff psychologist, all of whom were quite protective of you. More than they would be for just anyone, which told me a lot."
"Did you know I'd still be in the office tonight, sir? Were you setting me up to fail, Mr. Peterson?"
"Not precisely. However, I was giving you an opportunity to do what comes naturally. I was advised you tended to overwork and lose track of time when left to your own devices, and Krista mentioned needing to insist you stop for lunch. From what I've seen of your work, you're bright and curious, so I figured you would delve into the Hemley file once you started. Since I ordered you to have Caroline's notes transcribed by morning, I predicted you would stay until you completed my request, after you sated your own curiosity. Was I wrong?"
"No, sir," she admitted. Unnerved by how easily he had read her, Pam sat back on the seat and considered everything he said before finally adding, "I don’t like leaving things unfinished."
"Neither do I, so I'm hoping we can help each other. If I’m going to ride herd on you
to ensure you take proper care of yourself, it would be hypocritical of me not to hold myself to the same standard. It's a win-win. I would have called earlier, but circumstances prevented it."
"So, you weren't angry with me for staying late?"
"I didn't say that. A part of me was angry, but more with myself than you. I let you continue with a harmful habit, much longer than I intended, only to yank you out and send you into a panic."
He truly did understand her. Perhaps a little too clearly. If she continued to work for him, she'd need to agree to his conditions, but she still didn't know what those were. "Krista said she'd told you off."
He laughed. "Yes, she did. I like Krista a lot, and I trust her judgment, but we didn’t make a good team."
"May I ask why not?"
"Because despite being highly qualified for the position and someone I considered a likely candidate, she had personal issues with my methods, which meant we couldn't work well together."
Realizing she encroached on a topic she had no business discussing, Pam backtracked. "But you think we'll work well together, sir?"
"Yes, I do. In fact, I am far more certain of it now than I was this morning."
"And why is that, sir?"
His pause was so long this time, she thought he would refuse to answer, but then he said, "Because you let me talk you down from a full-fledged panic over the phone. You listened to me, despite your fear, and did exactly as I directed. You struggled to do everything I wanted and expected, even to your own detriment."
"Except you didn't like that."
"I admire your dedication, Pam, but I'm going to break your habit of overworking by showing you how to get the same results without pushing yourself to exhaustion."
"You said you didn't have the time or patience to train me."
"I don't. Not in office procedures. But you'll find I excel in teaching my assistants how to manage their lives so they are healthier and happier."
She glanced out the window, surprised to find them pulling up to her apartment.
"We're here," she said absently.
"Good. Just stay on the phone with me until David walks you to your door."
"He doesn’t need to see me upstairs, sir. It's not that late."
Lessons in Love Page 2
