by Jake Weber
“Wait! At this office?” I asked, standing up.
Ian turned to me as he twisted the knob. “No.” he frowned, looking at me as if I had just asked for advice on how to tie my shoes. “At my estate, my secretary will provide the address via email. Write it down quickly though, the email will delete itself after a short time, for obvious reasons.”
“Okay...” I said, a bit dazed.
“Great.” Ian said with a smile. “See you tomorrow.” and he disappeared, leaving me standing alone in his office. It was all so surreal. I had done it. I had actually done it. I was in.
“Wait.” the interviewer said, holding his hand up. “So Mr. Payne threatened you?”
I considered this. “Yes. Kind of. Indirectly I suppose.” I said.
The interviewer shook his head. “You never told me that. I didn't think it was in Mr. Payne's character to do such a thing.”
I smirked, shaking my head. “There's probably a lot you don't know about Ia-, Mr. Payne's character.” I said.
The interviewer looked at me warily. “Can you elaborate?”
I hesitated. “I'd rather not.” It was the truth, it made me feel too uncomfortable.
My interviewer paused his tape recorder. “Mr. Potters, you realize what Mr. Payne did to you was criminal, correct?”
I nodded. He was trying to squeeze it out of me, but you can't get blood out of a turnip, as they say. I noticed he pressed play again on the recorder. “Of course. But it was more complicated than that. The whole thing was.” I said.
The interviewer shook his head, eyes full of pity. “So it was after this event that you decided to bring Mr. Payne's action to public attention?” he asked.
“No.” I said. The interviewer looked at me in surprise. I ignored him, but couldn't help but feel as if I was wearing a scarlet letter. “You would be quite surprised at what you are willing to tolerate when you love some one.” Love, the word had just slipped out of my mouth. I hadn't meant to say that. Was it still true? Was I still in love with Ian? I discarded the thought. It didn't matter, not anymore. “Besides.” I continued. “Mr. Payne was dealing with a lot of stress around the workplace, and he turned to me for an outlet, though admittedly not the most constructive one. What people don't seem to realize though, is that Ian Payne is just a human, like everyone else, he has red blood pumping through him, and needs air to breathe, just like the rest of us. He gets disappointed, feels inadequate. He's really no different from anyone else. Yet no one seems to understand that.” 'Not even Ian.' I thought.
The interviewer nodded. “What did you mean by that?” he asked.
“By what?” I said, trying to hold back the memories of Ian's warm embrace. I was on the verge of a breakdown. Why was I putting myself through this?
“You said Mr. Payne was dealing with issues at work. What kind of issues?” the interviewer asked.
Of course that is what he would be interested in, the well being of the company, not our relationship. It was a wonder that love could live at all in such a world. “Oh yes, several problems had begun to arise within the company during Ian's absences, which had become more and more frequent.”
“Absences? What kind of absences?” the interviewer asked.
My heart fluttered. “Well, down the line, Ian's focus on work had started to slip.” I explained. My stomach wrenched at the thought. It was the sweeter part of Ian I was thinking of now. He had let go of all his responsibilities, just to spend more time with me. Had I been the selfish one? Was it me that was in the wrong. No, what Ian did was unforgivable, I told myself. I had to remember that.
“I see.” the interviewer said. “Is that a frequent behavior for Mr. Payne? To play hooky from work? To have all of his underlings do the work for him.”
“No.” I said. “Ian loves his work. He has a hard time even accepting that he can't do it all by himself. In the beginning, I would scarcely see Ian at all. The time he didn't spend in the lab, or at work, he was at the gym, or reading. He was just always improving something, whether it be a design, or himself. Ian hates being sedentary, he would always tell me that the universe is dynamic, that movement was the key to everything. That nothing in the universe stood still, it was all constantly contributing to the collective motion.” I was quoting Ian almost directly. He truly was a brilliant man, caring too, once you got past all those layers of armor. I felt privileged. I mean, how many people had he revealed that side of himself to? But there was as much bad as good, and too much pain. My love for him had burned too brightly, it would have been agony to stay in it. No one could live like that.
“What changed?” the interviewer asked. “What made Ian suddenly lose interest in the very work that had skyrocketed him to super stardom?”
The answer was simple, but there was no way of saying it without sounding arrogant, without sounding self-centered. “Me.” I said, hardly believing my own statement. Perhaps I had just made the realization myself. So Ian did care, he had to have, at one point at least. If he cared though, how could he have done that to me? I was confusing myself. I should have just went home. I should have tucked tail and went back to Ohio. Just run the furniture store that by dad had harassed me about for years. That would have been defeat, but at least it would be comfortable. At least there would be no more pain.
“So, you're saying that Mr. Payne, fell in love with yo-, er, Ms. Potters?” the interviewer asked.
A ray of hope seeped into my soul. Just that someone else had entertained that idea, made it seem more realistic. Then I remembered that Ms. Potters wasn't real. “Yes.” I said flatly. “I believe he did.”
The interviewer began chuckling to himself.
“Is something funny?” I asked sharply.
He shook his head. “Yes. Cupid. He's the funniest comedian of them all. A billionaire falls in love with his assistant, who is really a journalist whose sole task is to slander his name. You just can't make that stuff up. Love is a bitter pill.” he said with another snort.
'With a sweet center.' I thought absently. Then I got up and began collecting my things.
“Where are you going?” the interviewer asked, flabbergasted. “We've only just begun.”
“I can't do this anymore.” I decided. “I just can't.”
The interviewer hit the stop button on the tape recorder. “So you're just going to let him get away with it then?” he whispered. “After all you've told me. What he did to you? You're just going to let him walk away, unscathed? Just become another notch in his belt?”
The interviewers words filled me with rage, one so acidic I could feel it eating away my insides. All I could picture was Ian's smug face, smirking in front of the camera, his life just continuing on smoothly, not a single wrinkle in his iron-pressed Armani suit. While my life would be in shambles, and I would live out the rest of it in solitude, in isolation. I sat back down. “You're right. I don't know what got into me.” I could feel the frost coating my heart once more, it was empowering. “I want him to suffer.” I said.
The interviewer grinned. “That a girl.” he said, and hit the play button on the tape recorder. “So tell me about your first day on the job. What was the biggest obstacle you faced in the adjustment?” he asked.
I laughed. “The hardest part of my day was getting to Mr. Payne's manor.”
“How do you mean?” the interviewer asked.
“Let me explain.” I said, a grin lingering on the corner of my mouth.
“Not this again.” I moaned, looking at the Starbucks napkin I had used to crudely scribble the address emailed to me. The one that supposedly led to Ian's estate. Unless Ian's estate was a run down, termite infested shed in the middle of a wheat field, someone had just pulled the prank of the century on me.
I pulled in closer with my Camry, wincing as each bump on the dirt road battered my already beaten down shocks. I was beginning to realize that nothing was ever as it seemed with Mr. Payne. Like his office being labeled as a storage closet. Was his home underground? I hal
f expected the grass to raise, revealing some military bunker, where a few well armed personnel would escort me to some sort of delousing room. 'Geniuses...' I thought, rolling my eyes.
That's when I heard a sharp rapping sound on my window. I jumped and turned my head. A man with gloved hands and a face hidden behind a helmet was standing outside my driver side door. I looked at him in horror. He responded by tapping a wrist watch under one of his gloves. Then I realized he had been waiting for me. I swung the car door open with purposeful force. I heard a sharp crack as it collided with the man's knee. “Oh, I'm so sorry.” I said as I got out of the car. The man clutched his knee and began hopping on one foot, his curses muffled by the helmet he wore. I smirked privately in satisfaction. “Can I help you?” I asked as the man finally put his foot back down.
“Are you Mr. Potters?” he whimpered, rubbing his knee.
“I am.” I affirmed. “And who are you?”
The man took off his helmet, revealing salt and pepper hair. He had gray eyes with laugh lines crowded around them, and a warm smile. Suddenly I felt guilty for the door stunt. “I'm Mr. Payne's driver, William Muntz, but you can call me Bill.” he said extending a gloved hand.
I took it. “Nice to meet you Bill. Let me guess, you're here to take me to Ian's real estate, aren't you?”
Bill grinned, shaking his head. “No. I'm here to take you to the dock, so they can take you to the island, so that you don't miss your helicopter. Now get in, we don't have much time. Wouldn't want you late for your first day.” he said, pointing to a black and green Porsche that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
“What, where did that car come from?” I asked, feeling dizzy.
Bill grinned. “It was always there. Watch closely.” he said, pressing the lock button on his wireless key. My heart skipped a beat as the car suddenly vanished.
I gasped. “How?”
“Camouflage. The entire outside of the car is covered in a thin layer of liquid crystal display, like a television. When the camo is active, it displays the current surroundings, making it invisible to the untrained eye. But if you look closer, you'll know better.” Bill explained.
I squinted hard. It allowed me to make out the blurred outline of the car. “That's... interesting.” I said, trying not to sound too amazed.
Bill laughed. “You ain't seen nothin yet.” He spoke with a southern drawl that reminded me of home. I liked Bill.
“Wait.” I said as we were cruising down an abandoned country road. We were doing over a hundred miles an hour, but it felt as if we were barely breaking forty. “What did you mean be late? I'm not scheduled to be at Mr. Payne's estate until 10am. It's only 8:00.” I pointed out.
Bill gave me a piteous look. “Oh Alice, you're wandering down the wrong rabbit hole. I sure hope he's paying you proper.” he said.
I scoffed. How bad could it really be? I mean, it wasn't like Ian was a government agent, or some kind of hitman. He was just an entrepreneur at best. A business man, and I was familiar with that kind of man. They were simple really. The business man was loyal to one thing and one thing only, the almighty dollar. “So where exactly are we going?” I asked. “How far is Ian's house from here?”
Bill shrugged. “Wish I knew. I've never actually seen it before.”
“What? How long have you worked for Mr. Payne, as his driver I mean?” I asked.
Bill crossed his face in contemplation. “Oh, about 14 years now, give or take.” he said with a smile. “I've been with Mr. Payne since the beginning. Since his first internship under his father.”
I looked at him in shock. “And you've never seen his house?” It was unbelievable.
Bill shrugged. “No. Never really cared to either. You'll find that Mr. Payne prefers the type of folks that don't ask too many questions. You just do as your told, and keep your eyes front and center, and you'll be fine. Just don't go poking that pretty little nose where it don't belong, not if you like your career. Mr. Payne's been known to ruin a future or two.”
I looked at Bill, there wasn't a hint of humor in his tired, gray eyes. “What do you mean?” I asked.
Bill sighed. “Well. I feel like someone ought to at least warn you. Before you go stumbling head first into something you know nothing about. You see, there's a reason this position was open. Ian hates taking on new employees. But he just can't seem to hold on to any of his personal assistants.”
“Why?” I asked, trying to maintain casual, but I could feel my blood pressure rising.
Bill shrugged. “Well he's had a lot of trouble with snoops. The last girl he hired for the position, only one month in he caught her emailing a schematic to one of his competitors. Turns out she was working for Global United the whole time. Ian was terribly upset when he found out. He had really taken a liking to Mrs. Brown.” Bill said.
“How did she get caught?” I asked.
Bill shrugged. “You can ask her herself. Once she's done serving her ten year sentence.”
A jolt of panic surged through me. “She got ten years in a state prison?” I asked, horrified.
“No.” Bill said. “Both her and her family got deported, she's serving time in a foreign prison.”
My heart was now firmly lodged in my throat. “She wasn't an American citizen?” I asked.
“Oh she was born in the states. But Mr. Payne did a very thorough investigation. If you go back far enough, everyone's got a smudge somewhere, something you can exploit. Turns out one of Mrs. Brown's ancestors were once questioned for terrorist activity, bringing Mrs. Brown's own patriotism into question. Before the dust was settled, her and her family were on a plane to the Middle East.” Bill said gravely.
For a moment it felt as though my heart had stopped beating as my mind tried to analyze what it had just heard. I had seriously miscalculated the gravity of my situation. Suddenly, I felt a bit nauseous. “What's the longest time Mr. Payne has ever kept a personal assistant?” I asked.
Bill suddenly slowed the car to a stop outside of some seedy looking dock, where several ragged men were hoisting crates on to platforms connected to a crane. Bill considered the question. “Well, the girl before Mrs. Brown lasted for nearly three months, before Mr. Payne caught her trying to steal blood work from one of his labs.”
“Great...” I said. “Glad I'm about to be a part of such a rich history.”
Bill shrugged. “It's a good job, if you're honest. Trouble is, no one ever is these days. Best of luck to you Ms. Potters. If it makes any difference to you, ya certainly have my blessing.” he said as he pressed a button on the console. My door then opened, allowing the acrid smog from the boat dock to flood into the vehicle. I got out, clutching my purse, it was drizzling outside. I looked at Bill one last time, feeling like a lost child.
“Will I see you again?” I asked.
“Only if you're still employed by the morning.” he said gruffly, then closed the door and drove off into the morning mist.
Before I had time to protest, a few of the deckhands were already pushing me on board of a ferry. “Hey! Watch it!” I shouted as one of the sailor's hands lingered far too long on my backside. The rotten toothed man only winked at me with a smirk, and disappeared back on to the dock. 'Heathens' I thought as the ferry suddenly lurched forward, causing me to nearly lose my footing. Foggy water washed over the deck of the ferry, leaving behind a perilous, slippery surface, making me deeply regret my decision to wear high heels.
I carefully made my way towards the captain’s room. The boat rocked ominously with each step, gusts of cold wind cut through my cotton dress, chilling me to the core. When I finally reached the cabin, I slipped in and shut out the roar of wind and water. Inside, a solitary man was peering outside a fog shrouded window.
“Hello.” I said, approaching him tentatively. The man was very gruff, with a full beard and a well weathered face. Even his eyes seemed old, as if they had seen too much, too quickly.
He grunted and nodded to me, which I assumed was his interpret
ation of a formal greeting.
I pressed my face against the frosted glass, wiping away the mist to get a clearer view of our trajectory. Bill had said the boat would take her to an island, but I knew for a fact there weren't any islands around here. This whole experience was beginning to remind me of every horror movie I'd ever seen. “Where are we going?” I finally asked.
The mute of a captain only raised his arm, pointing a gnarled finger towards a shadow on the horizon. Just then I heard the sound of helicopter blades roar past us, making a b-line for the island. My heart began pounding rapidly in my chest. It wasn't just an island, it was an airport. How had she never known about it before? How could you hide an entire airport? It was truly amazing what money could buy.
Suddenly, the ferry came to a stop. “Finally.” I moaned. I couldn't wait to set foot back on solid ground. Heels were hardly sea faring shoes. The captain however, grabbed my arm as I turned to leave. I looked at him in outrage, but then I saw a black cloth hanging from his other hand, and understood.
“You're kidding, right? A blindfold. Am I about to go hit a pinata?” I snarled, my patience was non-existent.
The captain only blinked, and nodded towards the blind fold once more. I could tell this was going to be one of those mornings. “Okay hand it over Greybeard.” I growled.
The next mile or so was the most excruciating. I was being led off the dock, that much I knew. I could also hear the roar of airplanes getting steadily louder. Otherwise, I was being lead, completely blind, by people I had never met, to a destination that was apparently in the middle of a rain forest.
I cursed as the point of my heel sunk into a muddy patch of earth, then I heard the snap. “Aurgh!” I shouted, crying internal tears. “Those were Christian Louboutin! Christian Louboutin!” I insisted. I could feel my “escorts” rough hands push me along, they seemed unconcerned that I had just broken my favorite pair of shoes, ones that had been given to me as a gift by my ex after I won my Pulitzer. They had emotional value! Not because of my ex obviously, it was because they were 2,000 dollar shoes, and who couldn't get emotional about that? “You people are monsters!” I said as I felt the ground beneath me change. It was solid now at least, though just a tad too late.
