She worked on the menus for the offsite and spent two hours entering Hank’s receipts and currency conversions from his trip to Asia in early December. He hadn’t given her the receipts until a few days ago. She marveled that he could pay off thousands of dollars on his corporate card and wait a month or longer for the reimbursement.
Yet, she was the one supplying candy for his organization. She hadn’t resented it, at first. She’d thought it was a nice touch, something she could do to make her area friendly and welcoming. It was difficult to remember when the pinpricks of irritation began. The irritation turned slowly to anger, and now, she sometimes felt a rage that was beyond any sense of proportion.
Occasionally a horrific image flashed through her mind, uninvited—one of her co-workers choking on a hard candy, gasping for air, lips turning blue, eyes bulging. Maybe that’s why she’d switched to the chocolate kisses: she was terrified of her thoughts.
At 11:25, she clicked the save button on the expense report.
An ant scurried across the corner of the mouse pad. She squashed it and used a hand wipe to clean her fingers. She wanted to be ready the minute Janelle stood and walked out of Hank’s office. She clicked to the Facebook tab to see if anything new was going on—new and also interesting. There was nothing.
Hank’s door opened and Janelle stepped into the hallway. She glanced at Vanessa and smiled, but her eyes didn’t linger on the counter. She was one of the few that were never tempted by the candy. Vanessa liked that about her. In fact, in general, Janelle seemed to recognize her as a human being, worthy of respect simply because she existed, rather than dismissing her based on her subordinate position.
Vanessa picked up her phone and a notepad and the printout of Hank’s calendar. She went into his office and closed the door. She sat down and put her things on the table.
He glanced up. “Why are we meeting early?”
“I’m leaving at four. I need to restock the candy on my desk. And I’ll pick up the hats for the offsite.”
He nodded. She stood and put the calendar printout on his desk.
“Any changes since last night?”
“Not really. If you’re done looking at the résumés, I should start setting up your phone interviews.”
“Right. I’ll email you the list of who I want to talk to.” He leaned back and looked directly into her eyes. “How are things going with you?”
“I’m okay.” She lifted her chin and shook her hair away from her face. “We haven’t talked much lately.”
“What did you want to talk about?”
She smiled. He stared at her, but the usual glint of encouragement was missing from his eyes. She leaned forward slightly. “You apologized for keeping me late the other day. You’ve never done that before. Is it because of what I told you?”
“I shouldn’t be keeping you after hours, that’s all.”
“Oh.” She glanced at the door. He was behaving as if they’d never flirted, never pushed the boundaries of the boss and admin relationship. He was acting as if he hardly knew her. Nothing had changed between them except the rumor. It must have upset him more than he wanted to admit. “Well, it’s not a problem, to stay late once in a while.”
He nodded.
She straightened her back and re-crossed her legs. She rested her forearm on the table beside her. “Are you worried about what they’re saying?”
“We don’t need to discuss it. If you ignore what she says, it’ll die out.”
“I don’t like her trashing your reputation.”
“And yours?”
“You have more to lose.”
“I suppose.” His eyes were dark, made more so by his thick, nearly black lashes. His mouth seemed more prominent, maybe because she was so conscious of her own. He crossed his arms and leaned back again. He pressed his lips into a hard line. “What exactly did she say?”
Finally. Something inside her burned to see him reveal a hint of emotion, a small suggestion of doubt or uncertainty, mixed with excitement over considering the possibility. The yearning made the temperature of her skin rise slightly, the prelude to blushing.
She wanted to talk about this, about what Laura had said, get a deeper glimpse into his desires. Not to act on them, but just the excitement of doing something not quite proper, having a secret between them. A bond that was more than admin and boss, more than what the others had. It might be perverted, but she couldn’t stop wanting it.
Those thoughts carried her through her choice of clothes, putting on makeup, fixing her hair, and shaving her legs every single day. Matt would be so hurt if he knew her thoughts. Or maybe not. Who knew what things he kept to himself? Everyone did, didn’t they? “She said we had a thing.”
“How do you know she was talking about sex?”
She laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
He uncrossed his arms and tugged at the skin under his chin. She hated that gesture. Other men did it too. She wasn’t sure if it was the itch of shaved-off hair growing in or something else. Matt did it. She’d seen her father do it, and on him, it was more disturbing because the skin had minimal elasticity and it seemed to sag lower when he stopped tugging.
She turned and looked out the window at the bay. More rain was still needed. During summer and fall the water pulled away from the shore, exposing decayed fish bones and dead sand crabs that stank as the temperature grew warm. Usually, by January the water level was more normal, a shimmering expanse of blue, but there hadn’t been much rain in November and December. Now the water was grayish-green, muddy at the edges. She looked back. He’d stopped tugging on his skin.
“What else did she say?”
Her pulse ticked faster. He did want to talk about it. Wanted to enjoy the rush of pleasure from stepping onto forbidden territory as much as she did. “Janelle made a joke about us doing it on the office floor.”
He stared at her, his expression unchanged.
“Janelle said she didn’t believe it.” Immediately she wished she hadn’t said that. He wasn’t responding at all, and she didn’t want to give him a way out, end the enticing conversation before it got started.
“Did Laura have any specifics, or just trash talk and speculation?”
Were his thoughts racing around images and teasing words from the past, glasses of wine, and things that should not have been spoken? “No. After that she went on about how I have too much power over you.”
He laughed. “Too much power?”
She nodded. “I think it’s about the Ops Director position. She keeps asking to get on your calendar.”
“It would explain a few things. But why does she think you have power?” He laughed again.
Did the laugh imply he thought she had no power? Or did he recognize that she had quite a lot of power? His laugh sounded surprised, almost pleased, or perhaps she was imagining that. “Because I control your schedule. Because…” There was more to it than that. She’d lost her nerve. Looking him in the eye and saying—It’s obvious you like looking at me, was a huge risk. He might deny it. Even if his denial was a lie, she couldn’t bear it.
“That’s your job,” he said.
“I know. She wants to meet with you more. I think she thinks it will help her get a leg up on her competition.”
“Why do you think that?”
Vanessa didn’t know. And she didn’t know why she’d said it. Although it felt true. “Just a feeling.”
He tugged at the skin under his chin.
She didn’t look away, but shifted her gaze to the top of his head. His hair was so dark and soft, neatly trimmed every four weeks. “Anyway, I guess if you’re not worried about it…about how it could affect your position.”
“It’s just gossip,” he said. “People will get bored with it.”
Vanessa didn’t think they would. Laura wanted to create something bigger. She was not the type to let a subject die out, and she wanted to use it to keep Vanessa in her place, to worm her way in front of Hank.
/> “She didn’t mention any details?”
“No.”
“Then Janelle won’t get caught up in it. She’s too smart for that kind of bullshit.”
Vanessa nodded. She re-crossed her legs. She felt him watching her, no longer tugging at his skin. “Do you still want to interview her?”
“I should. I have to, but schedule her after the external candidates. And that guy from sales.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t tell her that.”
“Absolutely.”
“Are you okay? You’re not upset?”
She smiled. “Not really. It’s kind of—”
“It is.”
She uncrossed her legs and scooted her phone to the edge of the table. She pressed the display button: 11:52.
He glanced at his computer. “Will you run to the deli and pick us up some sandwiches? I need to get through the last of the résumés so I can send you the list today. I’ve taken too long on this. Too much going on.”
“I know. It’s been crazy. Do you want pastrami?”
“Yes. And chips.”
“Sour cream and onion?”
He nodded.
She stood and walked out, closing the door behind her. It wasn’t what she’d hoped. Still, she liked getting his lunch. Her role was crucial to his ability to do his job, and no matter what anyone else thought, she was valuable to the company. Besides, she liked doing anything she could for him.
AT THE DISCOUNT store, after she’d left for the day, she yanked a shopping cart away from the others that were compacted, nose-to-tail, by the door. The force was too much, and she stumbled backwards. Maybe she would purchase all Sweet Tarts this time. That should stop the greed, but instead, they’d stand there and complain and then she’d have to listen to their whining for something sweeter, tastier, smoother—for chocolate.
Besides, part of this was to please Hank, and he liked chocolate. She walked down the far aisle to the back of the store. She wheeled the cart past a row of eight-foot high shelves filled with candy. No matter how many times she walked down this aisle, she was overwhelmed by the quantity and variety.
The candy was never more than a few dollars a bag, but it added up. Hank’s staff scooped it out by the handful as if it were a fountain with a bottomless supply of water. Day after day, they grabbed and chewed and swallowed.
She paused halfway down the aisle, grabbed two bags of chocolate bars and five bags of chocolate kisses. She dropped them into the cart. That should last for a few weeks. If it didn’t, then she’d consider again whether she should take the dish home.
She yanked the cart around and headed toward the side of the store.
A few aisles over, she turned left toward cosmetics and personal care. She slowed her pace past the nail polish, sorted into sections according to the manufacturer.
Hundreds of shiny bottles full of a thousand shades of color, from the palest pearlized pink to a brown-red that looked like dried blood, to neon greens and blues, and purples mixed with glitter. Her purse bumped her right hip. She lengthened her stride ever so slightly, so that she appeared to be just glancing at the bottles.
She took a breath and another step forward. On the exhale, she gracefully moved her hand to the side, grabbed a bottle of antique rose, her fingers curving to also lift a bottle of cornflower blue off the shelf. In one smooth movement, she tucked her hand inside her open purse and dropped the bottles to the bottom. She lifted her shoulder so the contents of her purse shifted. She felt the gentle movement of her wallet and a small notepad as they closed over the bottles.
She didn’t glance back or look above her head, nothing to change her demeanor—no suggestion of worry, no startled gestures. There could be no indication that she’d done anything more than let her fingers linger for a fraction of a second on the polish labels before moving on toward the manicure tools.
Her heart beat thickly, filling her throat. The surge of blood into every organ of her body was almost as good as an orgasm. Every part of her felt warm and full, with a thrumming tension that made her want to flick out her hands for more goodies. But the two bottles of polish were enough for this aisle. For this trip.
Her friends from high school had failed to learn some of these subtleties.
When they first started out, eager fifteen-year-olds, they entered stores and took what they wanted without purchasing a thing. Such a foolish move announced there was no real purpose for the visit, alerting security personnel to a possible theft. Her friends also erred in taking too much. It wasn’t good to focus on the value of the take over the rush of adrenaline. The thrill was the important part, the financial reward was secondary. It had to be that way, or you’d be caught.
Two of her friends had been caught during their last year of high school, both, luckily, before they were eighteen. The only punishment was probation, but still, it increased the threat ten-fold if they ever wanted to return. They’d given up their free passes by getting greedy and careless.
Vanessa had been successful. Since that first day, she’d never even been stopped by a clerk, or received a cold stare from a security guard. The discount stores she favored saw her frequently enough that they knew her as a loyal customer. She was not the person to approach requesting a search. They underestimated her ability to adopt the image of a loyal customer—kind and friendly to the clerks, while underneath she burned with a desire to damage those at the top, the ones raking in huge profits.
They thought she was typical, average. She was nothing of the sort.
The defining moment of her life was the first time she’d stolen something. She’d been too young to recognize it as a defining moment, but it truly was. It made her feel the whole world, the universe, had crystallized into a single spot of glittering light. A surge of energy had coursed through her, the knowledge of victory. A burning inside wiped out all other thoughts, replaced by a magnificent, silently shouting voice—I DID IT! I won! I beat them! I pulled it off. I can do ANYTHING.
It made her feel she was different from other people. What percentage of the population had taken so much risk, had stolen even a single item, simply walked down an aisle and slipped something small into a purse or pocket? It was exhilarating and terrifying. It was something that belonged only to her. No one could touch it.
Only a single checkout station was open. Three people stood in line ahead of her. She didn’t like that. She preferred a fast checkout.
Already the warm rush and the luxuriously slowed pumping of her blood had dissolved. She was anxious, aching for further release. But it was too late. Leaving the line now would draw unnecessary attention. Once you lost a secure grip on your behavior, there was no telling what could happen.
Besides, you didn’t want to damage the fragile balance between the thrill of doing something unobserved, while knowing you’d proven you were more clever than anyone you knew. None of her co-workers had the calm, deliberate strength to plan and execute something like this. Even though most of her thefts were small items, the consequences could be devastating.
The thought of Laura or Janelle, or any of them, being able to compete with her in this arena was enough to make her lips tremble so violently, she had to bite hard on her lower lip to keep from bursting out laughing.
Sometimes she fantasized about making a career out of this. She was that good. All it required was more planning, more high-ticket items, and some sort of process for turning the items she took into cash.
No one knew what she was doing, not even Matt. Certainly not her old girlfriends who rarely talked about their high school years. In their eyes, it had all been childish fun. In Vanessa’s mind, it not only proved she was smart, it proved she had power over undercover security, over clerks, and over sophisticated cameras. She was someone the store owners feared. She could do whatever she pleased. No one could touch her.
She paid for the candy, finally rid of the tight knot of rage over the unspoken pressure that she must keep her department supplied with
sweets. It was part of the job. All jobs had disagreeable aspects. You just had to accept that, and not allow it to eat away at you the way sugar silently ate away at tooth enamel, until one day you woke up in unbearable pain.
Outside the air was cold, the world frozen as the sun quickly descended. Not unlike her life, which, the minute the thrill faded, had its own frozen quality.
Nothing changed, despite her frantic search for excitement. She continued on the same rigid track—working for Hank, dismissed by her co-workers, a stagnant relationship with Matt, and petty theft.
How much nail polish and cosmetics and lingerie did she really need?
10
Laura
RAIN WAS THUNDERING on the skylight when Laura woke. It pelted the windows and sliding glass doors and washed across her balcony like waves on the shore. Going for a run was out of the question. Not that she got pleasure out of her runs any more, pursued by the monster as if her life had become a living nightmare.
She’d tried shifting her schedule fifteen or twenty minutes in either direction, but it seemed he’d found a place to lie in wait for her, stumbling onto the track within minutes of her arrival. Nothing would prevent him from grabbing her as she fought her way through the tangle of shrubs and trees in predawn darkness every day. Nothing prevented him from deciding to follow her home. She hadn’t spoken to him again, and he hadn’t made a move to follow her. Yet.
She felt him watching. When she inadvertently glanced at his face, she saw pleasure, an almost gleeful expression, as if her fear hydrated his body and gave him energy to push harder, running more miles every day.
She sat at the kitchen bar, looking across the living area. The water in the aquarium was nearly black at the edges and despite the artificial light spreading through the center of the tank, she couldn’t make out either of the fish. She took a bite of banana and chewed slowly. The banana had started to turn, and she didn’t know why she was eating it. If she were a more domestic person, Tim always said, she’d make bread instead of wasting so many bananas, tossing the spotted ones in the trash.
The Assistant: A gripping psychological thriller with a nerve-shredding ending Page 9
