by Katy Evans
He spots me waiting at the coffee machine. The whole office is watching as he stalks toward me with a bunch of papers in his arms. His colleagues struggle to keep up, and I discard my coffee, suddenly fearful of his glare. Did I do something wrong?
“Good morning, Mr. Walker—”
“Ah, but it’s not really a good morning, is it, India,” he growls.
He shoves the papers into my arms and I almost topple over in surprise. “I need you to sort out this paperwork mess and I don’t want to hear another word from you until it’s done.” When he stalks away without so much as a smile, I notice I’ve been holding my breath.
And this is why, despite his beauty, despite his money, despite his drive, I can’t stand the man.
Two
William
Ever recognized a mistake the second you made it? I do all of the time. Most recently, several seconds ago, when I was rude to my assistant. The second I shoved the pile of paperwork into her hands, I knew I was being harsh. When I walked away without acknowledging my mistake, I knew I was unforgiveable.
But who cares, right? This is me now. I stalk away with my head held high, and no one is shocked or disappointed. This is what the people working for me expect. I cut through the BS and it’s served me well for years. It’s become the norm. I’ve made my bed and now I lie in it.
It’s just the way things are.
I head to my office and shut the door before anyone can follow me inside. I need to be alone, but it’s hard when this entire building is made of glass. My father suggested the design when I was busy building Walker Industries from the ground up. I didn’t care about aesthetics at the time, so I went along with it. My father claimed it would promote a healthy work environment. He said that my employees would see me as accessible if they could view me at work in my office. Instead it makes me feel like I’m in a giant fishbowl, being judged left, right and center.
I sit down at my desk with an inaudible sigh, hoping I don’t seem as stressed as I am. When I glance to my left, India has retreated to her office to deal with the paperwork I’ve given her. She glances my way and gives me a fake smile before sitting down and angling her chair away from me.
India is the only one who is clear about how much she dislikes me. I don’t know if she intends to show her disgust, but it’s written all over her face whenever we interact. It’s kind of a relief, in some ways. No one else has the guts to do anything but accept my behavior with grim determination. India might not say anything, but I know exactly what she’s thinking.
William Walker is a total bastard.
I sit at my desk for a long time without doing anything. I can’t think straight. Not after the news I received this morning. My little brother, Kit, the screwup of the family, welcomed a child into the world a few months ago, which was hard enough to accept. As if it wasn’t enough that he’s got the perfect wife. Now the new feature he’s released at Cupid’s Arrow, my father’s company and now the world’s leading dating app, has earned Kit billionaire status. Which makes us equals in terms of our careers, despite how many more years I’ve put into Walker Industries than he has at Cupid’s Arrow.
I can’t figure out why I care. Maybe it’s because I was always the successful one. Maybe it’s because I’ve always taken some kind of pleasure in being compared to Kit. His mistakes only ever made me look better. Now all that’s changed. Now we’re on equal footing and I can’t quite figure out how to handle that.
I’m selfish. How can I not find it in me to be proud of my brother, who has finally picked himself up out of the gutter and made something of himself? And then it clicks. He’s managed to do everything I’ve done. He’s done it quicker than I ever did. And he’s come out the other end with everything I’ve ever wanted. Power. Status. Money.
Even his wife he met through working together at Cupid’s Arrow. Now he has everything, including the perfect family.
Family.
It’s the thing I’ve always craved above all else. My father and I have never been particularly close. He’s British, as is Kit. Kit and I are brothers from different mothers. Mine is American and cultured. Kit’s is British and a total mess. My father transplanted here when he met my mother, but he met Kit’s mother on a fling when he was visiting family in Britain. Two divorces later, my father stayed in the US to raise Kit and me. My father and I...we spend a lot of time together, but it’s a kind of business arrangement when I think about it. We talk about the company, we talk about money and shares and expenditures, and then we shake hands and go our separate ways.
He was always closer with Kit. Maybe because Kit is more like him in many ways—easygoing, not taking himself so seriously. Kit didn’t spend his entire twenties trying to do everything right. He didn’t try at anything at all—work, love or sobriety. None of it interested him. While I was busy climbing the career ladder, I almost missed the moment where that changed and he found his wife, Alex. Now he’s got everything and I’m still single, wondering when I might get the same chance to change.
I have no trouble attracting women, but things never last. They think I’m arrogant, rude and difficult. And they might not be wrong. All of this time spent fighting tooth and nail to build Walker Industries into what it is today has turned my heart to stone. At least that’s what people think.
I don’t blame them, of course. I understand their reasoning. I know that when all I can talk about is the company I’m practically married to, my good looks and money can’t save me.
My temper doesn’t help.
I let the stress pile up and up until I crack and take it out on someone, like I did with India earlier. But I’m not a bad person. At least I hope I’m not. I’ve just lost the way a little and forgotten how to be good. I need a woman who will help me find the right path again.
I glance at India, who is typing away on her computer, her face devoid of emotion. She’s a beautiful woman, with her tanned skin and a spray of freckles on her nose. Eyes the color of the coffee she drinks so often. Huge, wild curls that pass her dainty shoulders. It doesn’t even matter that she dresses in drab clothes, because she always looks good.
I realize I’m staring and turn my attention to my computer. I really shouldn’t be having any kind of thoughts about my assistant, but it’s better than thinking about Kit.
I wonder what it would be like to have a woman like India in my life. She’d keep me on my toes, that’s for sure. Even if she doesn’t show it at work, I can tell she’s got fire. She’s smart as hell, organized and hardworking. A good worker. She’s funny too. She always has the guys by the coffee machine in stitches with her cryptic comments.
But I wonder what she’d be like in a relationship. Pure fire in the bedroom, of course. Passionate in every respect, now that I think about it. I imagine she’s the type who would hold grudges over little things and drown in jealousy when another woman shows interest. But I could be wrong. After all, I’ve never taken much time to get to know her.
Am I seriously fantasizing about the assistant I’ve done nothing but boss around? I shake my head. She would never be interested in me after the way I’ve treated her. Do I want to ask her out to dinner? Sure. Will I ever? Of course not. I know that even if it was appropriate, she’d definitely say no. What kind of girl wants to go out with the guy who makes her life miserable?
I hear her phone ring through the glass wall and she sighs loudly, picking up and putting on her best cheerful voice. She seems to relax a little as the person on the other end starts talking. She even laughs a little, leaning back in her chair and listening with interest. I roll my eyes. I already know who must be on the phone.
Kit.
I have to wait several minutes while India chats on the phone. Then she glances my way and says that she’s going to put Kit through. She transfers the call and then turns away from me as quickly as she can.
The second I put the rece
iver to my ear, Kit starts talking.
“Hey, brother! Long time no speak. How’s it going? I hope you’re looking after that gem of an assistant of yours.”
I roll my eyes. Kit barely ever gives me an opportunity to speak. It’s usually how I end up doing something for him that I never agreed to. I sense now that if he’s calling me, it must be in aid of getting something from me.
“What do you want, Kit?”
“What? Am I not allowed to call my wonderful brother for a chat now and then? Do you really think so little of me that you believe I’m only calling because I need something from you?”
“Yes.”
Kit laughs. “All right, fair enough. I’ll get down to business. You know it’s Alex’s and my honeymoon next week?”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. He’s not waiting for an answer anyway.
“Well, we’ve been waiting for this for months. After Alex and I got married...well, we thought it was best to save the honeymoon until after the Cupid’s Arrow relaunch. Then Rosie came along, and we’ve wanted to have some time with her. So we’ve planned for this a lot. We had a babysitter set up. It took us months of interviews to find someone we were comfortable leaving her with. But she’s had a family emergency and can’t do it.”
I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “What do you want from me?”
“Look, you’re Rosie’s uncle. We’re...family, Will. And family sticks together. You know how distrustful Alex is about strangers around our Rosie. And we’ve both seen how much you’ve taken to her when you’ve come over. We were hoping you might step up and spend some time with her while we’re away. It’s two weeks, bro. We’d really appreciate it.”
“I’d have to take time away from the company. I can’t take a vacation whenever I want, Kit. I’m the chairman and CEO.”
“Work from home!”
“And juggle running an entire business with looking after a child? I don’t think so.”
Kit sighs. “Come on. You’re my only hope. Alex won’t have a stranger babysitting Rosie—she’ll cancel on me if you don’t agree.”
“What about Dad? Have you asked him?”
“Hell no. She’ll wear him down in a couple of hours, and Dad was awful at changing diapers with us. Come on! You’ve got youth going for you, William! And I know by the silly grin you get on your face when you see her that you really want to do this. William, we’re asking you. Are you seriously trying to wriggle out of this? I thought you’d jump at the chance to spend more time with Rosie.”
Part of me loves the idea. I can’t deny that Rosie is adorable. She gurgles with glee every time I’m around, and she’s one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever come across. But looking after her would also be a painful reminder of what I don’t have. Plus I meant what I said about the company. I’ve got my priorities straight, and Walker Industries will always remain at number one.
“Kit, I can’t do it. You’ll have to find someone else.”
“What’s that I heard? You’d love to take care of Rosie for the full two weeks?”
“Kit...”
“Oh, that’s great, William. You’re the best brother ever.”
“I swear—”
“I’ll drop her off at 7:00 a.m., next Monday. So glad you agreed to this. Much love. Bye, bro.”
“Kit, you little—”
The line goes dead. I groan in frustration, putting the phone down and resting my head on the table.
How the hell am I going to get out of this one?
Three
India
Something is seriously off with William today. I haven’t spoken to him all day, but I can just tell. I mean it’s not like I have a lot of spare time on my hands between confirming his appointments and handling all of his calls, paperwork and expenses. But every time I glance William’s way, he’s pacing, muttering to himself or scrunching pieces of paper in his palm.
Something has wound him up, and for once it’s not me.
I spend the day keeping an eye on him through my peripheral vision. After all, when your boss is in a bad mood, it’s good to be alert. But when five o’clock rolls around, William is the first out the door. Which is also weird for him. But whatever. The workday has now ended. I’m not paid to care about what’s going on in his head.
I feel a weight lift from my chest as I leave the office. I guess most people feel relief to be going home at the end of a workday, but for me the feeling is incomparable. In the back of my head there’s an hourglass with sand running fast, marking the time to my next shift, but for a few minutes I can enjoy the fact that I’m out of that hellhole.
I guess part of the reason today hit me so hard was that William embarrassed me this morning. At least usually when he’s brusque with me, it’s in the privacy of his office. But today he patronized me in front of his entire team. And what did I do? I stood there and took it like an idiot.
Has it ever occurred to me to stand up for myself? Of course it has. I frequently dream about putting William in his place. I have visions of yelling at him in front of everyone. I fantasize about telling him where to shove his BS. I imagine the day when I slap his smug face for his rudeness and everyone cheers because, of course, he totally deserves it. The one and only thing stopping me is the inevitability that I will be fired.
And that, well, I’m not violent. I’m just creative. Blame the writer in me for these fantasies of revenge.
When I arrive home, the apartment is quiet. Montana won’t be home for a while, and I’m glad of it so I can de-stress with some writing time. I sit at the counter in the kitchen and open my laptop, hoping to get some quiet time to write. But before I can open my manuscript file, I notice that I have an email from an unfamiliar address. The subject line mentions a job.
I open the email in curiosity.
I can’t remember applying for a job recently—I gave up on finding something better a while back. But anything seems better than working for something like William. I read the contents carefully.
Dear India,
Deepest apologies for our late response. Several months ago, you applied for the staff writer opening with us. Unfortunately that position has already been filled. However our team has reviewed your résumé and we believe you would be a great fit for another role. Your writing is quite impressive, and we believe you would be an excellent contributor to the health-and-beauty pages on our website.
While the position is freelance and you’d be paid on a per-article basis, it could lead to great places. It would be a good way for you to get your foot in the door. You would also be working remotely, so you can work to a schedule that suits you. If you believe this could be something that would interest you, please let us know.
Sincerely,
Lauren Garvey
Freelance World
Oh, my god.
I reread the email, remembering when I applied a long time ago. I can’t believe that I’m not hallucinating, that this isn’t part of my novel. But this is real. This is an opportunity. I chew my thumb thoughtfully, my stomach skipping in excitement. What would I rather do? Take a job I might enjoy and get paid less or keep working for a jerk and have some spare pocket change?
Montana chooses the perfect moment to get home. She waltzes into the kitchen, holding a white box, no doubt containing leftover cupcakes from the bakery. She beams at me.
“Hey, girl. How was your day?”
I swivel on my stool, beaming for the first time in a long time. “The usual. But it might be about to get better.”
Montana opens the box and shoves them in my direction across the counter. “Spill. What’s happening?”
I take a chocolate-frosted cupcake and carefully peel off the wrapper. “I just got a job offer. From a media company. They want me to discuss writing for them. I could work from home and maybe give up my assistant job.”
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Montana’s eyes widen. “India, that’s amazing! Tell me you’re saying yes?”
“I’m tempted. But the money is probably less than I’m getting at Walker Industries...”
“Screw the money!” Montana says in a very un-Montana-like way. “Look, money isn’t everything. You’d still have enough to keep up with rent, right?”
“Right...”
“And you’d still have time to write your novel, right?”
“Right...”
“And you’d even get to work from home. Or anywhere. That would be good, right?”
“I mean, yeah...” I grudgingly admit, still feeling a kernel of doubt in my stomach at the thought of leaving William.
Because, honestly, what other woman will be crazy enough to put up with him like I do?
But why do I care?
“So, what are you waiting for? Email them back and take the job!”
I bite my lip, still reluctant. I think of his arrogant blue eyes, and my stomach twists even more at the thought of leaving the bastard. Which makes me even madder at him for enslaving me emotionally in ways I don’t even think he’s conscious of.
“I mean...should I be rushing into this so fast? I don’t even know what kind of work I’d be dealing with yet. And I don’t have much experience, really. What if I screw it up?” I ask Montana, truly confused.
She takes my hand. “I’m telling you now—you are not going to mess this up. I don’t care if you don’t have experience. I don’t care if you don’t think you can do this right now. You will figure it out as you go along. There’s nothing you can do to ruin this chance for yourself...except not taking it.”
She’s right of course. She always is. I nod vigorously, as though trying to convince my body to keep up with my brain. I’m doing it. I’m doing it.
Inhaling for courage, then exhaling, I type up my response. Montana squeals and claps as I hit Send, and then I watch as she sneaks to the fridge and removes a bottle of champagne. I grin.
