by Emelia Blair
The pretty looking receptionist hurries towards me, her blonde hair in a perfect bun. She’s heavily pregnant, I can tell, and I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” she says fiercely as she reaches me.
I straighten up a little.
She continues, “Was Mr. Starr mean to you? Listen, honey. He’s just a bit arrogant, not that he doesn’t have a reason not to be, but if he said something nasty, you just shrug it off and walk away, you hear me?”
She’s such a delightful thing, chatty and rose-cheeked, her brown eyes are lit up in concern and I can’t help but smile. “He gave me the job,” I whisper.
The woman freezes before she gives me a broad smile. “That’s fantastic. Congratulations! I’m Elise. You’ll be seeing a lot of me then.”
“I got a job,” I repeat, happily, the right emotion finally surging inside of me, and if I feel the hot tears on my cheeks, I pay them no heed.
“Oh, honey.” Elise laughs. “Why are you crying? Come on. Let’s sit down and have some water. God knows my back hurts.”
I sniff and point out, “You should use a lower back support when sitting. My roommate used to put a pillow behind her when sitting while she was pregnant. It really helped.”
Elise looks intrigued. “One of those flat cushions?”
I shake my head, using my hands to make out a curvy shape. “It’s one of those pregnancy ones, a whole back support. It’s really cheap. You can even get it online.”
“I’ll get one tomorrow.” She sits down next to me and shoves a glass of water in my hands. “Here. Drink this.”
I gulp down the whole glass and it just reminds me that I haven’t breakfast or lunch.
Elise smiles at me. “When do you start?”
I bite my lower lip, the happiness and relief making me lightheaded. “Three days. I’m just—”
“Elise!”
A loud voice makes us both look up and I see a tall man striding out of the other elevator.
He’s got one of those French beards and his blue eyes light up in interest when they land on me.
“Mr. Black!” Elise jumps up and her cheeks are tinged with red. “I was just—”
“Sit down.” The man reaches us and blinks at me. “Are you Caleb’s new PA?”
I nod. “Hello.”
He gives me a considering look and then extends his hand. “Lucas Black. I’m the company lawyer.”
“Kendall West.” I shake the offered hand, hesitantly.
“You’ll be seeing a lot of me, Miss West. You’ll have to get used to a first name basis.” Lucas grins.
It’s such a charming smile that I instantly like him.
His tone changes into a chastising one as he turns to Elise. “Didn’t I tell you to sit down?”
Elise looks disgruntled. “I have job, Mr. Black. I have to get back to it.”
Lucas gives me a mournful look. “She insists on calling me by last name. I’ve tried to change her mind so many times.”
Elise’s ears are red, and she doesn’t meet his eyes. “Yes, well—"
“I heard from Lana that you couldn’t keep your lunch down, so I brought you this apple pie from this fantastic bakery downtown.” He produces a small box from God knows where.
A flustered Elise accepts it. “You really shouldn’t, Mr…” A relenting glance at him, “Lucas.”
He grins triumphantly, and then checks his watch. “I’m late for a meeting. I look forward to working with you, Miss West!”
And just like that, he’s out the door.
“Well…” Elise stares at the box, an odd expression on her face.
I pretend not to notice and stand up. “Thank you for the water and being so kind.”
She smiles at me, distracted. “I’ll see you soon, then.”
I live in a two-room apartment with my friend, Tracy, and her five-year-old son, in Brentwood. It was not the best neighborhood to be living in. But the rent is cheap and, for now, it’s doable. Or at least, that’s what we’ve been saying for the past few years. Max is at school, and Tracy is at her morning shift at Al Caso, a small diner where she works as a cook.
I enter the small apartment and shrug off my blazer, rushing towards the fridge, my stomach growling now. A plate of meatloaf with a note next to it. I take out the plate and notice that the meat has been rationed.
Picking out one slice, although I know it won’t appease my hunger, I read the note.
‘Hope you get the job, babe! I brought some leftovers from work last night. See you in the evening! Xoxo’
I smile at the note and come across some day-old bread that I pop in the toaster.
Thumping from upstairs as the randy neighbors start up again, I wince. I won’t miss them when I’m in my new apartment.
And then it hits me.
I’m getting a new apartment.
I’m getting a proper salary.
Money, food, clothes.
The sensation in my chest is so foreign that I sway for a few minutes, grinning like a fool.
I don’t want to think about why Caleb Starr hired me to begin with, but he did and now me and—
I still.
I can’t leave Tracy and Max in this hellhole.
I swallow.
They’ll have to come with me.
I nod, decisively, ignoring the passing thought of whether that would be allowed.
Of course, they would come with me.
Life hadn’t always been this difficult for me. I had been happy once. For the first eight years of my life, I had been the apple of my father’s eyes, adored by my mother. Then, the accident happened that took them away.
And I was tossed into foster care, terrified and all alone.
I didn’t have good memories of that place. The children had been cruel, used to cruelty and doling it out in retaliation on those weaker than them.
It hadn’t been all that bad, though.
Some of those memories were good. A scant few.
I had made a friend and then I would be abandoned all over again.
Life hasn’t been good after being kicked out of the orphanage, either. I could never land a steady job, my grades not good enough, my experience too limited.
Sighing, I lick the crumbs off my fingers and go to wash the plate, humming a tune. But it’s starting to look up now.
I decide to take a nap on the couch, setting the alarm for five when I will have to go pick up Max from school. They have a small fair today and I sneaked him ten dollars from my savings so he could gorge on candies and junk food, play the small games with his friends.
He’s a good kid, bright, eager, and so loving.
A few minutes with him makes even the worst day seem cheerful.
As I drift off, I think of my new boss with his sharp amber eyes that seen to see right through you and jet-black hair. He seems oddly familiar, now that I think about it. Maybe I’ve seen his picture on a magazine or something.
He definitely looks like he belongs on one of those top ten bachelors’ lists.
Max rushes towards me, his cheeks flushed, chocolate stains all around his grinning mouth.
I try to hold my position, but I am bowled over by a thin boy with clothes that are too baggy, wild blue eyes and a shock of brown hair.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” he’s mumbling into my stomach.
I laugh, pushing him off. “Stop getting chocolate on my shirt.”
He beams up at me. “There was a clay competition and I made you an elephant.” He shrugs off his bag pack and holding it to him, he starts rifling through it, finally drawing out the ugliest possible clay creation in the world.
I absolutely love it.
“That’s not an elephant,” I tell him as I examine it.
He flashes me a quick grin. “Mom says it’s the thought that counts. I was making a pig but I couldn’t make the tail, so I made an elephant instead.”
We start walking as I delicately put the hardened pie
ce of clay into my purse. “Well, we know what’s going on my new desk at work now.”
Max stops and tugs at my arm to get attention. “Did you get the job?”
“Yes, I did!”
When we get home, Tracy’s enthusiasm is more overpowering than Max’s, the five-year-old understanding that this it’s good news but not to the extent that his mother does.
Tucking Max into bed, we sit together in the cramped living room.
Tracy lies on the ragged couch, a wet cloth on her face. “Why is it so cold outside?”
“It’s October,” I tell her, staring at the square handkerchief on her face. “Does that thing really work? You do that every night.” I place a cup of hot cocoa on the old coffee table and take mine to the side to huddle on the armchair I’d bought from one of the neighbors. I sank into it and dragged the comforter around me.
Tracy’s voice was muffled from under the cloth. “Janice swears by it and I haven’t gotten any wrinkles for over two months.”
“You’re twenty-seven. You’re good, wrinkle-wise,” I point out dryly, sipping at my drink.
“So says you.” Tracy straightens up and removes the handkerchief, leaning over to pick up the mug. “So, this job.”
My lips crack into a grin. “I have to go shopping for a wardrobe. The contract is supposed to be emailed to me, tonight. A new apartment, new clothes, I feel like I’ve walked into a strange dream.”
Tracy’s dark hair is bundled into a bun on the top of her head and her blue eyes watch me over the rim of her cup as she says, casually, “So, you’re leaving, then?”
I blink, uneasily. “You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”
My friend doesn’t meet my gaze. “Do you really think that’s wise? It’s a company apartment. What if they don’t like the idea of you sharing your apartment? I don’t think—?”
“They’ll have to. Or we won’t tell them.” Usually chirpy and overexcited, seeing this somber side of Tracy makes me tense. “It’s not like they’re going to be conducting routine checks—”
“Kendall,” Tracy cuts me off, her troubled gaze meeting mine. “This is not the time to be impulsive. This job could change your entire life. Don’t let me or Max hold you back.”
“Don’t say shit like that.” I stand up, agitated and start pacing, throwing the comforter on the floor. “We’ve been through hell together. I was there for you when you got knocked up. We raised Max together. We’ve built a home together.” I glare at her. “You’re my family. I’ll be damned if I’m leaving you or that kid behind! And all the money in the world won’t change my mind!”
Tracy rubs her hands over her face, before sighing. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”
“Tracy…” I sink onto the couch, next to her, my lower lip trembling. “You’ll come with me. Hell or high water, we stick together.”
She drags me into a hug, and I end up sprawled over her, as she laughs. “Fine, but if your boss kicks me out, you’re hooking me up with a new apartment, using that fancy-smanshy salary of yours.”
“I’ll hire you as my live-in chef,” I say, cheekily.
She pinches me in retaliation.
I settle back into my seat.
She asks, “So, this new wardrobe of yours.”
Giddiness courses through us at the prospect of shopping and we spend hours online just looking through formal attire.
A day later, as I’m standing in front of Lana Hill, signing the contract, I can see almost immediately that the woman doesn’t trust me or like me. Having grown up in an orphanage, my defenses rise up almost instinctively, so I become sullen and silent, as I wait for her to scan the document.
The machine behind her is scanning the contract and she sits back down, her pretty eyes cold, as she hands me an envelope. “I’ve been told to give you this. For your ‘shopping’.” She almost sneers the last word.
I flinch, drawing into myself, my voice exceedingly small as I reply, “Thank you.”
Maybe she sees the way I react, but something that could be guilt or annoyance, flashes behind her eyes, and she says, “Open it. It has instructions as well.”
A letter falls from it, along with a black card with my name engraved on it.
With quivering hands, I pick up the card and study it, curiously. Then, I look at the letter.
“I’m not privy details on that,” Lana tells me, stiffly. “But you’re to sign for it. You may use it as you see fit, but I will warn you. At the end of every month, I will know exactly what you’ve spent money on. And if you even think of squandering away any of it, it will come from your salary.” Her tone is harsh.
I try to keep my face composed. I don’t know what I’ve done to warrant such a vivid dislike of me, but years of being taunted and abuse, have me biting my tongue to hide a whimper. “I understand,” I hear my voice saying while I’m curled up in a ball, somewhere deep inside, trying to struggle to stave off a panic attack.
She gives me a suspicious look.
I just lower my eyes.
‘Just don’t make eye contact with them,’ a child’s whisper in the night from the bed above mine. ‘They’ll get bored and leave you alone.’
By the time, I leave her office, my face is hot and my hands are trembling. I keep my eyes on the ground as I hurry along, desperate to get out. I bump into someone and mumble an apology, trying to keep the tears from falling.
I hate being like this!
A voice calling my name.
Fear churning inside my gut, I hasten my steps. I ignore the water fountain, the beautiful lobby I had admired on arrival. Now, it all seems like too much, like it would crush me till I’m nothing.
The sunlight on my face as I exit the building, doesn’t help me calm down any. I almost break into a run, the envelope in my hand feeling like a brick. I’m seconds away from a bad panic attack and I need to find some place to calm down.
“Miss West!”
I hear the voice, my mind in so many shambles that I can’t pin whose it is. Instead, I start running.
And then suddenly, a pair of firm hands are gripping my shoulders and I’m being turned around.
Caleb Starr is staring at me, his hands and those eyes, pinning me to the spot.
3
Caleb
Coming back from a meeting, the last thing I expect to see is a pale-faced Kendall, running out of the building as if the hounds of hell are after her.
It’s the look on her face that has me running after her, a look I recognize, having soothed it away so many times, in another lifetime.
She doesn’t heed my calls, moving so quickly through the crowds that I almost lose her.
I have no qualms about shoving people out of my way to get to her and when I finally do catch up to her, I grab her, forcing her to face me.
Her eyes are unfocused as they stare at me and I see the recognition slip in alongside shock at seeing me. However, I’ve seen the emptiness in her eyes, and I’ve seen that look before.
“Miss West.” I keep my tone calm, despite fury wrapping me in its chilling embrace. This is exactly what I had hoped to protect her from, creating a place for her in my world, where she will be provided the comfort and luxury, she deserves not to be tormented.
It takes a lot of willpower not to shake out the name of the person who put her in this state. Keeping my voice pleasant, I pretend that I’ve not been running after her for two blocks as I add, “Just the person I was hoping to see. Do you have a few minutes?”
Kendall looks bewildered by the way, I gently take her by the elbow, and guide her back towards the car I just abandoned.
Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to be in the frame of mind to refuse.
In a matter of minutes, I have her in my car.
Duke, my driver, looks over his shoulder from the driver’s seat, surprised to see me back.
“Duke.” Just touching Kendall has shown me how thin she is, and that doesn’t sit well with me. “Take us to Tuscany.”
&nb
sp; I see the question in my friend’s eyes but give an imperceptible shake of the head.
Not now.
“Sure thing, boss.”
I study Kendall for a few seconds before clearing my throat.
She looks dazed.
I keep talking, pretending I have no idea of what’s happening to her, and yet knowing that simply talking to her calmly will bring her out of her state. “I haven’t had lunch, a bad habit of mine; I keep forgetting to eat. Now that you’ll be here, I doubt that will be a problem.”
She’s prone to panic attacks ever since I met her and there were times when she would be so overwhelmed that she would ‘shut down’ in a matter of speaking.
“Tuscany is one of my regular places, so I hope you remember that.” I glance at the envelope she’s still holding on to. “I see you signed the contract. You’ll have to do your shopping today or tomorrow.”
Duke gives me a disbelieving look at how much I’m talking. I usually prefer to hold my silence.
When Kendall just blinks, I say smoothly, not seeing why I shouldn’t take advantage of this situation, “My schedule is clear for this afternoon. Why don’t I take you to some of the clothing stores? It’ll save you the time and effort and I can update you on what we do here.”
Was it inappropriate behavior as her boss?
Absolutely.
Did I give a rat’s ass?
Absolutely not.
My words do however, break Kendall from whatever trance she is in, and she shifts in her seat, as if suddenly realizing where she is.
“I…” She looks around and the shocks sink in.
Then I feel a hint of pride as she immediately takes control of the situation, as if she’s done it a hundred times.
“Clothing stores? I can go to myself. I don’t want to put you out—”
I wave off her protest. “Don’t worry about it. It will save me time from spending hours briefing you on the company. Besides, there are events that have very specific dress codes and I was planning to send Duke with you anyway, to help out.”
Slowly, Kendall has been gathering herself, enough that she blinks at the driver in the front seat who nods to her. “You were going to send your chauffeur to help me shop for clothes?” She is unable to hide the insult in her voice.
