by Ava Harrison
It can never happen.
The door opens, and a very different Bridget walks in. When she first walked into my office today, the spark was there. But after I berated her, it’s as if I ignited a fire inside her. She’s determined not to let me get to her. I can see it, and damn if it isn’t the sexiest thing.
“Mr. Lancaster. Here are the papers you asked for,” she spits out.
She hates me, and fuck if it doesn’t sting.
The first day of being Grant’s assistant hasn’t gone well at all.
I saw a small glimpse of kindness in him the night I went to the lounge, and I kept hoping it would return, but it hasn’t. Today has been awful and slow. All he seems to do is bark orders at me, and for the most part, he’s sent me all over the hotel so he didn’t have to be near me. At noon, with my stomach growling, I walk into his office.
“What time should I be eating lunch?”
He lifts his head, then looks over at his computer. I assume he’s dismissed me, and I’m not sure what to do when he looks back at me.
“Did you bring something to eat?”
“Uh, no.”
“Well, then, make your way to the restaurant and give them your work card. The food is free for those who work here. Why don’t you know this?” he grumbles, still not looking up from his computer.
“I do know this, but I don’t have a work card. They never gave me one.”
A loud groan emanates from him, then he finally looks up at me. “Head over to HR and get one but be back here by one.”
“Got it.” I walk out.
I’m glad to get out of his office. But mostly I have no idea how I’m ever going to work with him. It’s only been half a day, and already it’s been like torture.
I make my way to HR and knock on Paige’s door. “Hey, good to see you. I hope you’re having a wonderful day.” She smiles tentatively. “You’ve really saved our skin here.”
“About that. Any chance there’s anywhere else you can place me?”
“Is there an issue with Mr. Lancaster?” Paige’s voice sounds surprised, but the pinched expression on her face speaks volumes. She knows damn well that working for that man is intolerable. I won’t tell her the truth for so many obvious reasons, but I really need to try to get relocated.
“No, nothing’s wrong. I just don’t think I’m suited for that position, and I really don’t want to let anyone down,” I lie.
“I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully. If Mr. Lancaster himself has yet to complain, you must be doing something right.” Paige’s face is hopeful. “There really isn’t any other place I can put you that is more needed. Mr. Lancaster is in dire need of an assistant. Mrs. Lancaster placed you herself.”
My stomach sours at the mention of Mrs. Lancaster.
“She did?” How ironic that of all the candidates she’d choose me. It’s absolutely insane.
“Yes. And whatever she says goes. She’s amazing. You’ll never meet anyone like her. She’s a genius.”
A sick feeling weaves its way through me. Hearing that Mr. Lancaster’s wife is perfect brings back old feelings I don’t want. The idea of him comparing me to her makes bile rise in my mouth. Is that why he stopped us? Did he kiss me because he was drunk and then realized I wasn’t as perfect as his wife? I feel ill, but I don’t want Paige noticing, so I give a tight smile and nod before changing the topic. “Can I get my work card? It’s time for lunch.”
“Of course. I can’t believe I forgot. Let me print one out for you. It has a special barcode so you can’t get them reprinted outside. Yours will be unique to everyone else’s. They scan it at the staff restaurant to make sure you only use it once a day. It has a price limit, but it’s quite high, so I doubt you’ll ever reach it.”
Perks. At least working for this asshole has some perks. “You don’t know how much I like to eat,” I force out.
Paige laughs, and my sour mood starts to lighten. “A woman after my own heart.” She presses some buttons and stands. “Okay, here we go. If you’re looking for suggestions, the pulled pork toasted sandwich is a winner.”
“Thank you. I’ll give it a try.” I smile while walking backward out the door, finally feeling more like myself. “See you around.”
I make my way downstairs to the restaurant that’s designated for the staff and place my bag down on an unoccupied table. The place is busy. It’s a cafeteria-style restaurant, so I head to the counter and order the pulled pork sandwich and a cappuccino. Once it’s placed on my tray, I head back over to my table and sit down to watch the crowd around me. I’ve always been a bit of a people watcher. I love to concoct my own stories of what’s going on in other people’s lives. Also, not knowing anyone who works here, it’s a great way to pass the time. As I go to take a bite of my sandwich, a familiar figure smiles and walks up to me. It’s good to see Jared, and I relax into my seat at the idea of not being alone.
“Mind if I join you?”
I smile. “Of course not.”
He places his own tray down and smiles. “So, first day. What did you order?” He glances over at my food.
“The pulled pork sandwich. Paige said it’s amazing.”
“Paige is right.” He winks, and I peek at his tray.
I laugh. “We ordered the same thing.”
“We clearly have good taste.”
I take a bite and grin. “Whoa. This is amazing.”
“This place has one of the best chefs in the city. His name is Porter Brown, but everyone calls him Portobello. They like to fuck with him.”
I giggle. “Nice, I won’t forget that one.”
“So, how’s the first day going?”
“It’s . . . going.” I wish it was flying. Or better yet—over.
He tilts his head. “Where did you end up?”
“I actually ended up in corporate. I’m with Mr. Lancaster.”
“No shit.” He chuckles. “I’ve never even met him. Word around town is he’s impossible to work for. He’s been through three assistants this month alone. Apparently, he’s very private. Never shows up to anything. Likes to sit in his penthouse office looking down his nose at us commoners.” He shakes his head.
“Yeah . . . he’s a peach,” I groan. “Can’t say the rumors aren’t true.”
“Wow, that sucks. It’ll be excellent experience, though.”
I reach for my mug and take a sip of my cappuccino, which is delicious, and shake my head. “If I can tolerate him long enough. He’s not the friendliest guy in the world.”
Jared laughs. “Yeah, I’ve heard stories. In business, he’s a shark, and in his personal life . . . well, talking about his personal life will get you fired.”
“Are people scared of him?”
“Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean you have to be.”
“Oh, I’m not scared of him. I just don’t particularly like him.”
Jared laughs. “Stick it out, and you’ll have your pick of jobs.”
“I’ll do my best.”
We spend the rest of lunch talking about all other aspects of The L. Jared seems to genuinely like his job, which is something.
After lunch, I return to the office in a better mood. Jared is a good guy, and I enjoyed his company. I’m feeling light and happy for a change until the moment I see Grant again. My bad mood returns instantly. He looks up at me, his gaze steely, then he looks down at his watch. I wasn’t even gone an hour. I place my hand on my hip and wait for him to say something.
“Good lunch?” The sarcastic bite isn’t lost on me. He acts as if going to lunch is something I shouldn’t be doing.
“Yeah, it was delicious. Did you eat?” My retort is heavy on my tongue.
“I’m too busy.”
“I would’ve brought you something. I can go now.” I desperately want to get away from here and his temper.
“No, we have work to do,” he says. “I can’t have you sitting there all day. I’m going to set you up in the office across the hall with your own computer.
I’ll have a list of work for you to get through.”
I’m relieved. I’ve been scared I’d somehow end up in his office, right in front of him. That would have been horrific.
The goddamn weekend is finally here. I barely made it through the week with having Bridget as my assistant. Lucky for me, I gave her so much work she barely had time to breathe, let alone seek me out. You’d think after the hell I’ve been through, I’d be excited to be home, but right now thinking about seeing Chelsea I dread it even more than I dread seeing Bridget at work. But I’m home, so I should probably walk in instead of dragging my feet. There’s no way around it. Seeing Chelsea is a necessary evil. Isabella is in there, and she needs her father as much as I need her.
“Baby, you’re making me hot,” Chelsea’s voice croons into her phone. “Say it again.”
I peak around the corner to see Chelsea laid back on the couch picking at her nails. If her head were turned toward me, I’d probably see her rolling her eyes at whoever is on the other line. Chelsea hates phone sex or any sort of foreplay at all. She’s just a big fucking tease, and my guess is she’s got the poor sucker on the other line eating out of the palm of her hand. I know too well how easily one can be taken by Chelsea’s games. Poor bastard. I’m just glad she’s not my problem anymore.
She’s your biggest problem.
I cringe at the truth in those words.
Striding toward my whore of a wife, I stop dead in my tracks when I see our daughter playing at her feet, listening to every fucking horrible word her mother utters. My blood heats in anger.
“You want me, come get me,” Chelsea says, scrunching her nose in disgust at her own words. She looks up at me, unfazed at being caught in the act. “Baby, I’ve got to run,” she says while looking me straight in the eye.
The fucking nerve of this woman.
“I’m sorry. You go take care of that and think of me.” She grins at me as though I give a shit about her games. I don’t. I couldn’t care less about whatever guy she’s fucking behind my back now. It’s the fact that she’s doing it in front of our daughter that has me livid.
“Hello, darling. How was your day?”
“Daddy,” Isabella says. “You’re here.” I look down at her on the floor and plaster on my fakest smile. No need to show her how angry I am.
“Hi, baby girl. Play with your dolls. Mommy and I are going to have a talk.”
“Okay,” she says, going back to her toys.
“Get up, Chelsea. Don’t make me move you myself,” I say as quietly as I can, not wanting to scare our child.
She rolls her eyes but stands to follow me.
When we’re out of earshot of Isabella, I lay into her. “Are you fucking kidding me? You have the nerve to do that in my house?” I roar.
“Did that bother you?” Her lips tip up in a cat-like smile.
“I couldn’t care less about you. It’s not like it’s the first time. How many times has it been, Chelsea?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know. If you don’t care, then stop asking questions.”
“Oh, I don’t. This marriage has been over for a long time.”
“Yes, it has,” she snips. “This is a marriage of convenience, and that’s all. I’d be happy to leave.”
“Please. Do us both a favor and get the hell out.”
“I could,” she draws, “but you and I both know what that means for you. So, Grant, what will it be?” She trails her perfectly sculpted nails down my chest. I know what she’s implying. The threat of her taking Isabella from me hangs heavy in the air.
“Stay for all I care then. But don’t pretend you want Isabella. You continue to prove that all she is to you is a pawn. You don’t love her. You only love yourself.”
“Have it your way. But don’t tell me who I can and can’t fuck,” she spits, turning to storm out of the room.
What the hell did I get myself into when I married her? My pride has done nothing but fuck me over royally. When will I ever learn?
The weekend crept by in a slow drawl. I couldn’t wait to get back to work. Normally I would have been at the hotel, especially since we’re opening to the public soon, but after Chelsea’s neglect, I took the weekend to be with Isabella. Now it’s Monday, and I’m back. I’d like to say I’ve been hard at work, but that would be a lie. Instead, I’ve sat here for hours thinking about nothing but her. When I walked in this morning all pissed about life, I took it out on Bridget, screaming, barking orders. The girl must think I’m a complete nutjob. Have I always been so horrible? Now I can’t help replay each moment since she started working for me. The way her nose crinkles in frustration whenever I challenge her. The way she breathes deeply trying to stave off the words I know she wants to say but doesn’t dare for the sake of her job. Fuck. She’s exquisite when she’s pissed, and I’m doing a bang-up job making her nothing but. I can’t help it. Being an asshole is the easiest way to keep her at arm’s length. If she gets too close, I’ll cave. The flowery smell of her hair, the mint on her breath, I’ll come undone.
Instead, I need to focus on the task at hand. I have a mound of paperwork to work through, and so far I’ve been staring at the same document for over an hour. Fuck. This distraction isn’t good for business. I can’t focus on legal docs, so I place it to the side and pick up the folder from my investigator.
I’ve hired someone to keep an eye on Chelsea and retrieve all her passcodes for me. I’m monitoring her company phone records, emails—anything to catch her in the act so I can build a case to throw her out on her ass. It seems like a good plan, but at the end of the day, I know it’s worthless. She has me by the balls. I’d do anything for our daughter, and she knows it.
All I’m really doing is keeping an eye on her involvement where my family is concerned. If I’m two steps ahead of her, she can’t really do too much damage, can she? I think that thought too soon. As I’m looking through the email logs, I stop short when I see an email to Karen, Bridget’s recruiter.
Hello, Chelsea,
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you. I haven’t spoken to Olivia Miller in some time, but she finally called today. From our conversation, it would appear she is not aware that Bridget has been placed with The L, and I can assure you the news of her working directly with Grant would not come as good news.
To follow up on our conversation regarding The Lancaster, they are currently seeking a new marketing director for their European market. I don’t know what they are looking to do, but they are looking for someone with a very impressive résumé. Whatever they have planned, it’s big.
I hope the tip helps. Looking forward to drinks soon.
Best,
Karen
I will myself to calm down. The worst thing that could happen is me snapping at the office. I’ve never put my hands on a woman, but I’d make an exception for her. She never fucking stops.
I’m sitting at a restaurant across the street from the hotel about to have lunch with Lynn. It’s the first time she’s come to visit me for lunch, and I’m excited to see a friendly face. An older woman walks over to our table. Her hair is white like a dove, and her face is etched with lines signifying years of hard work. She hands us our menus, and as she walks away, I start to fidget with the salt and pepper shakers. Lynn is my best friend, but right now I feel awkward. There’s so much to tell her, and I don’t know where to begin.
“So . . .” She points to the hotel. “That’s where you work?”
I nod.
“It’s beautiful from the outside.”
“It is, isn’t it? They sure know how to design a beautiful hotel.”
“What’s it look like from the inside?”
“Insane. It literally goes on forever.”
“I need to check it out once it opens.”
My brow rises in question.
“We all need a break every now and then. I like staycations.” She shrugs.
“Noted,” I reply before I start to fidget uncomfortabl
y. As I’m about to try to change the topic, the waitress comes over and we both order. I think maybe the distraction is enough to get me out of my confession, but just as I’m coming up with something to say, Lynn beats me to the punch.
“What’s up, Bridge? You seem off.”
“I have to tell you something, but you can’t tell Olivia.”
Lynn’s forehead scrunches. “I’m not sure I can make that promise,” she responds as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “You know I’m not good at keeping secrets.”
You used to be.
After Lynn lied to me for months about her affair with her teacher, I made her promise to tell me everything. Now she’s an open book. The only problem is that now if I tell her about my job, I run the risk she might tell Olivia.
“It’s really not a big deal. I, um, the hotel—” Anxiety knots in my shoulders and I lift my hand to massage the corded muscles.
“Just spit it out.”
I hate that I have to tell her this. I hate that I’ve put myself in this position, but I did. And Lynn and I have no secrets. Not anymore, not since high school, so I need to tell her. “It’s owned by Spencer’s brother.”
Her mouth drops open. “That’s The L?”
“Yep.”
“Shit.”
“I know. Can you not say anything? I’m not sure what’s going on. For all I know I’ll be out of a job in a week.” I grimace.
“Why? What’s up?”
“You remember the guy I kissed?”
“Dumpster Dude?”
“Lynn!” But hey, brownie points to her for finding a catchy pet name for him.
She smirks.
“Yes, the guy in the alley. Well, he’s, um . . . Grant Lancaster.”
“Wait. Stop. The guy you made out with is Grant Lancaster? As in Spencer’s brother?”
“Try to keep up, will you,” I chide.
Her mouth continues to hang open as she takes it all in.
“Oh my God, he’s your boss? You have the worst freaking luck.”
