Bad Business

by JC Harroway

  Steph laughs. “Your sense of humor is still intact. I guess that means you’re all right.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I assure her with false bravado.

  I make my way to the elevator and realize that while I refused to do the exposé, the next person likely won’t. Dammit. I hurry downstairs, step outside and hail a cab. But instead of going to my small apartment in Brooklyn, I give the driver directions to James’s mansion on Sixty-Fourth. I have no idea if he’s home, but he’s well into his nineties, so I doubt he’ll be out for long.

  When we arrive, I pay the fare and step out, lifting my eyes to take in the looming building before me. I haven’t been here since I was a teen. The first time I ever saw James’s mansion was when I was five. I’d had the chicken pox, and the after-school day care teacher had sent me home. Dad had put me in the back seat, and I’d sat quietly as he’d driven James to wherever he needed to go. We’d picked up one of his grandsons from swimming lessons—apparently, he’d already had the pox, so it was safe to sit him in back with me. For all I know, it could have been Will beside me that day. I was quiet and shy, and other than answer a few questions James directed my way, I stayed silent.

  Until I vomited all over the back seat.

  I take a deep breath and step up to the front door of the mansion. Unease presses down on my shoulders as I jab the bell. I haven’t seen James in years, and part of me worries he might think I was behind the last exposé. I wasn’t, of course. I’d had no idea Avery Roberts was working on an article that would ruin a man’s life.

  Behind me, people rush by, always in a hurry. One of these days I’d like to go somewhere with a slower pace. Maybe write that book. But with the meager funds in my pocket, the farthest I could trek is to Starbucks, two streets over. When I got there, I’d have to order a water, no straw. I snort at that thought and pray that the tooth fairy comes through. But I’m quick to pull myself together when the door creaks open.

  I expect to be greeted by a servant. Instead, James Carson himself is standing in the foyer, his hazy blue eyes moving over my face. I wait for recognition to hit, and I can tell the second awareness creeps in by the way his eyes widen.

  “Mr. Carson,” I begin, and place my hand over my uneasy stomach. “I don’t mean to bother you—”

  “Bother me. Of course you’re not bothering me, child. Come in, Khloe. Come in, and please call me James.”

  “It’s been a while. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”

  “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  I can’t say the same for him. Over the last decade, his winter-white hair has thinned, and the lines bracketing his milky eyes and pale lips have deepened. He’s a little shorter, his body much frailer than it was when I last saw him.

  “Come along,” he says. Gnarled fingers tighten around a cane, and his gait is slow as he guides me down the hall.

  “Maybe I changed a little,” I say for lack of anything better. “It’s been quite a few years.”

  “Ten, to be exact,” he answers. While his body is deteriorating, it doesn’t appear that his mind is following suit. I shadow him into his den and admire his extensive library as the vanilla smell of old books fills my senses. James turns and offers me a warm, grandfatherly smile, and my heart squeezes. He was like the grandfather I never had and always wanted. It was only Dad and me growing up. We lost Mom to cancer when I was just a child. I only have a few fleeting memories of her.

  He winks at me. “Have you decided to take the job at the Grub?”

  “The only thing I know about food is how to eat it, and even then, I make a mess of it. Believe me, I’m not cut out to cover restaurants and do reviews. I’d be a detriment, not an asset, to your company. But thank you for the offer.”

  “I always loved your honesty.” He taps his cane on the wooden floor. “Max did a great job raising you.”

  Warmth fills me at the mention of my father. “You were always so good to us. My dad talked fondly about you.”

  “He used to tell me your dream was to write for the New Yorker.”

  “Still is,” I say.

  A beat of silence takes up space between us as we both get lost in our thoughts. A moment later, James breaks the quiet. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he asks, his voice gravelly as he smooths his hands over an imaginary tie and nods at the ebony leather chair.

  I lower myself and sink into the soft cushion. It’s heavenly, and if I weren’t so anxious, my stomach roiling, I’d love to curl up and have a nap. Although I’m not sure why I’m so tired. I get enough sleep most nights, and it’s not like I could be pregnant—unless it was immaculate conception.

  “There is something I think you should know.”

  He walks up to his bar and picks up a brandy decanter. “Drink?”

  After the morning I’ve had, I sure could use one, or two, but I politely decline. I’m not sure I’d be able to keep it down. He pours a generous amount into a crystal snifter, swallows it in one smooth motion, and refills his glass.

  I wait as he slowly makes his way to the sofa across from my chair. I take stock of the room, my gaze going from the colossal desk in front of the window to the Polaroid camera on the side table. I note the stack of what looks like wedding photos beside it. I cringe, knowing they’re not happy photos of Will’s wedding, considering he never had one. While a part of me is mortified about the terrible invasion of privacy, I can’t help but think his fiancée had a right to know what was going on. I sure as hell would have wanted to know. But I’d have to have a fiancé before he could cheat on me. Aren’t I a real catch now? Jobless, penniless and soon to be homeless. I can’t understand why men aren’t lining up.

  “You still work for Starlight?” James asks, like he’s reading my mind.

  I fold my hands in my lap. “As of today, no.”

  He straightens. “You quit?”

  “Fired, actually. That’s why I’m here.”

  The lines around his eyes deepen as he squints at me. “What is it you want me to know, Khloe?”

  “First, I’d like you to know I had nothing to do with the exposé on Will. I had only just started at the magazine and had no idea they were doing a story on him.”

  “Never thought you were involved, child,” he says quickly, and my shoulders relax slightly.

  I lean forward and put my hands on my knees. “I was asked to do a follow-up today because I had connections.”

  He nods slowly and takes another swig. “And you were fired because you refused?”

  “That’s right.” Yeah, the man is still sharp. “But I wanted to warn you and Will. I might have said no, but the next reporter won’t.”

  “I appreciate you coming to tell me this.” He sets his glass down, and his curled fingers adjust the gray cardigan around his shoulders. His eyes shut, and at first I think he’s deep in thought, but he goes quiet for so long, I fear he’s fallen asleep.

  I’m about to rise and tiptoe to the door so I don’t disturb him when his lids open and his blue eyes pin me in place.

  “Do you have work lined up?” he asks.

  “No, it just happened, but I’m about to start pounding the pavement.”

  “I have a job for you.”

  I shake my head fast. “While I appreciate your kindness, I—”

  “As stubborn as your father.” His chuckle is deep and raspy. “But you see, Khloe, you’d be doing me a favor.”

  “What kind of favor?” I ask, settling back in my seat.

  “Will needs an assistant for his upcoming trip to Saint Thomas.”

  Oh God, a trip to Saint Thomas sounds heavenly right now. A Caribbean beach, sand, water... But I suppose if I’m in some boardroom taking notes for Will Carson, I’ll see none of the island. Still, getting out of New York for a while does sound nice.

  “It’s a temporary job
, until you find something in your field, of course.”

  I consider my meager savings. I’m adamant about making my own way in life, but a paying job until I can find something else, well, that would cover next week’s rent and put food in my belly—once it stops churning. Plus, James did say I’d be helping him out.

  “What would I have to do?” I ask.

  “You can write, can’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I must warn you. He’s not always an easy man to work for.”

  “I’ve dealt with worse, I’m sure.”

  James chuckles. “I’m sure you have. Will, however, is very regimented and has high expectations of those who work for him.”

  “I have high expectations of myself,” I assure him. After Steph telling me Will was pretty much an ogre, I’m not sure why I’m working so hard to sell myself. Oh, right... I like having a roof over my head.

  “He also has a strict dress code.”

  “A dress code? Really?” From what I know about software developers, they go to work in jeans and wear T-shirts with sayings like Cereal Killer or I Paused My Game to Be Here. Then again, people think all reporters are heartless sharks. I’m not heartless, and for all I know Will is a suit-and-tie kind of guy, like James used to be. But a dress code means I’d need to go shopping. I consider my budget and there is very little room for new clothes. Maybe I won’t be able to take this job after all.

  James finishes the brandy in his glass and sets it on the table. “An assistant is an extension of Will and is expected to act and dress a certain way. Is that a problem for you?”

  “I...uh...what does he expect his assistant to wear?”

  “No worries, your clothing will be supplied.”

  “Oh, okay.” A measure of relief washes through me.

  “You’ll find a new wardrobe in your closet when you reach your destination.” He glances the length of me, like he’s trying to determine my size. I debate whether I should outright tell him, but in the end, I don’t want to say the number out loud. Honest to God, from the little amount I eat, I should be thinner than I am. But no, my body likes to store every damn calorie I take in. While I’ve come to terms with it, that’s one of the many things my ex-fiancé, Liam, wanted to change about me. Apparently, I didn’t fit in with what was expected of his affluent family. Douchebags. Every last one of them.

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “You’ll have to sign a nondisclosure agreement. Anything you see or hear cannot be repeated.”

  Jeez, the more he talks about Will, the more intrigued I am about the secretive, regimented asshole who provides clothing to his assistants. The same man caught in bed with another woman during his bachelor party. The more I think about it, a man like him getting caught seems rather contradictory to his character. If I hadn’t seen the pictures with my own eyes, I might not have believed it. Will flat on his back, some random girl riding him like he was her own personal pony. It’s rather disgusting that Avery sneaked in and took the pictures.

  James sits back in his chair and lifts his head. He riffles through the Polaroids beside him, finds what he’s looking for and hands it to me.

  “That’s Will,” he says, but he doesn’t need to tell me. Nor does he need to tell me I’m looking at the hottest guy on the planet. One who can’t keep it in his pants, even when he has a beautiful fiancée.

  “Whose wedding?”

  “Will’s brother Alec and his beautiful bride, Megan. Married in Saint Moritz near my resort.” Under his breath he says, “Now there’s only one left.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  There’s a new spark in his eyes when he says, “You’re perfect for Will.”

  Perfect for Will?

  Something feels a little off in the way he phrased that. Then again, he is in his nineties, and perhaps he’s not as sharp as I thought. “You mean I’m the perfect assistant for Will, right?”

  “That’s right. Isn’t that what I said?” That spark is back in his eyes, and before I can answer he continues with, “You’ll do it then?”

  “I’d never say no to a favor for you, but can I ask how it is a favor for you?”

  “Will is a very private man. He hires a new assistant for every trip. He’s not so trustful, you see. Doesn’t let anyone get too close or hang around too long. There is no room for complacency in his world.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “Every assistant is vetted through my agency, and I’m their last stamp of approval. Unfortunately, no one quite fits what he needs.”

  “You think I do?”

  “I think you’re perfect. But there is one more thing, Khloe.” He leans toward me. “It’s very important.”

  I eye him carefully, not at all sure I like the sound of this. “Okay...”

  “I realize you don’t put articles out in your own name at Starlight, but please don’t mention you’re a journalist, or anything about the magazine.”

  I’m about to question him on that, but quickly realize why it’s important to keep that information private. Will, undoubtedly, has a deep hatred and distrust for reporters after the exposé done on him. “I don’t like to lie.”

  “It’s not a lie. It’s just not something he needs to know.”

  “Why hire me if he hates reporters? I’m sure there must be at least one temp at the agency who could give him what he needs.”

  “Not the way you can. Now you’d better get a move on—his plane leaves in a couple hours.”

  When I catch what looks like mischief in his cloudy eyes, unease trickles through me. While I’m certain James would never steer me wrong, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to go down the rabbit hole and not come out the same.

  Copyright © 2020 by Cathryn Fox

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  ISBN: 9781488062131

  Bad Business

  Copyright © 2020 by JC Harroway

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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