The Assistant: A gripping psychological thriller with a nerve-shredding ending

by Cathryn Grant

  His posture remained unyielding.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” she said.

  “No.” He glanced at his watch.

  “Do you have somewhere to go?”

  “I don’t want to belabor the fact that I’m leaving and that I can’t offer you a job right now. I think it’s best for you to plan your career here, or at another company, if that’s your choice, but don’t rely on me. No promises.”

  “You already said that.”

  “And I mean it.”

  “So you feel nothing at the thought that you might never see me again?”

  “Don’t dramatize it.”

  “It’s true, though. If you leave—”

  “When I leave.”

  “If you can’t hire me as your admin, or a project coordinator…which we talked about, remember?”

  He nodded.

  “If you can’t do that, or you forget about it, we’ll never see each other again.”

  “It’s a small industry. You never know who you’re going to run across. We have a lot of years left, especially you.”

  It seemed as though he was deliberately changing direction, diverting her from what he feared she might say about the past. She had no doubt he knew what she was talking about. If he thought he could intimidate her, shame her into pretending it never happened, he didn’t know her at all. “I think you’re trying to change the subject.”

  “I wasn’t aware there was a subject, except you wanting me to offer you another job, and I’ve been straight with you.”

  “I’m not talking about the future. I’m talking about our past. What we’ve had.”

  The lights hummed so faintly she could only hear it when her breathing paused after she exhaled. “At the show in New Orleans,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “You remember.”

  “Remember what?”

  “We danced.”

  “Vaguely. It was a company party.”

  “But I’m not just talking about dancing. I’m talking about when you walked me to my room. When you came inside. When you kissed me. And we almost didn’t stop.”

  He wheeled the chair away from his desk. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m reminding you of what we have between us,” she said.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Don’t try to create something ugly.”

  “It’s not ugly at all. It was beautiful. And exciting.”

  He stood. “Is that how the rumor started? You fabricated it yourself?”

  “Of course not. But it did happen. I know you remember.” He’d had a lot to drink that night, but he wasn’t passed out. His memory of that night might be blurred, he might not want to examine the memory, but she knew it was there. She could feel it.

  “Nothing like that ever happened.”

  “Yes, it did. I know you’re attracted to me. And I’m not saying I want to get something going. I love Matt. But you and I have had a lot of fun thinking about what almost happened that night, knowing those feelings are there. It’s exciting. I know you feel it too.”

  “This is my career.” He gestured at the office, the awards on the shelves behind him, the leather-bound notebook and that outrageously expensive pen, a pen she’d seen him use only once. “This is what makes me excited. If you think I’ve been inappropriate, I’m incredibly sorry for any misunderstanding. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all. Sit down so we can finish talking.”

  He looked shocked. She’d never told him what to do before. It felt good, another layer of uncertainty between them. Not knowing what was going to happen made her body feel alive.

  “We should both get home, Vanessa.”

  “But you aren’t going home. You don’t have a home except on the weekends. This is your life. Avalon, this office.” She looked at him, widening her eyes, unblinking. “Me.”

  “I don’t know what you remember or what you think this is, but I’m your manager, you’re my admin, and that’s the end of it. I really need to get going. And so do you.”

  She settled back in the chair. “Are you going to grab me and pull me out the door? Carry me down the stairs?”

  “Stop it.” He went to the coat rack and grabbed his jacket. Without turning, he shoved his arms into the sleeves. He finally turned toward her and opened his desk drawer. He pulled out his keys and sunglasses and closed the drawer. “Let’s go.”

  She tried to breathe. Was he leaving Avalon because of her? Was this not about his career at all? It was possible she’d pushed too far. But she was certain he remembered. In fact, it was his overreaction that proved he did. Otherwise, he’d laugh it off. He was unnerved, scared, maybe. She smiled. She stood and tossed her hair over her shoulders. There was time to continue this conversation later. He wasn’t gone yet.

  24

  Laura

  LAURA WALKED WITH long, rapid strides, passing Brent’s office and one of the smaller conference rooms. She turned the corner and darted past Vanessa’s cube. She tapped one knuckle on Hank’s door. Before Vanessa could speak, Laura pressed down on the handle and opened the door. Strangely, Vanessa didn’t say a word or make a move to object. Maybe she wasn’t even there. Laura didn’t turn to look. It didn’t matter whether Vanessa had anything to say. Nothing mattered but getting in front of Hank. She closed the door quickly.

  Hank’s fingers tapped on the keyboard. He glanced up at her but continued typing. “I’m busy. If you want an appointment, arrange time on my calendar through Vanessa. You know that.”

  “Vanessa can never seem to find an opening. I’ll only take a minute.” She pulled a chair out from the table and turned it to face his desk. She sat down and crossed her legs. She smiled, striking a perfect balance of confident, charming, and casual. “I never had my second interview,” she said.

  He lifted his hands away from the keyboard. “Things have changed.”

  “What things?”

  He folded his arms and leaned back. He tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling. After several seconds, he brought his head forward slightly and bent his neck to the left then to the right. Cartilage in his neck cracked. He lowered his chin and looked at her. “I’m writing the email now, but I guess there’s no harm in telling you, if you can manage to keep it to yourself for thirty minutes.”

  “Of course.”

  “Your track record says differently.”

  “When I’m asked to keep a confidence, I do.”

  He nodded. “Hmm. At any rate, I’ve accepted a position at QualData.”

  Laura gasped. She hoped he hadn’t heard. “Is it a promotion?”

  “Yes. Senior Vice President of Corporate Strategy.”

  “Congratulations.” She smiled and all of the confidence and charm she’d managed to inject into her expression a moment earlier slid like something heavy and wet off the sides of her cheeks, leaving behind the sensation that she’d endured several shots of Novocain.

  “Thank you.”

  “When is your last day?”

  “Next Friday.”

  “Don’t you have to wrap things up? Get your staff up to speed? What about—”

  “The beauty of well-developed staff is they’ll keep the ball moving down the field while my successor is identified.”

  “Any idea who they might consider?”

  He shrugged.

  “I assume you’ll make the offer to the Operations Director before you resign.”

  “No. It’s more appropriate for the new guy, or gal, to do that.”

  “The position’s been open for months. It needs to be filled.”

  “There’s no rush. We don’t want to simply plug in a warm body.”

  “I know that, but I think it’s important to have it locked down.”

  “Do you?”

  “Let me be blunt,” she said.

  “Always.”

  She grimaced. “I think we can ag
ree I’m the perfect fit. It would be better for the company if it’s taken care of before you resign. It could be months before a new VP is in place, and more delays while that person decides how to structure the group.”

  “It’s not appropriate for me to hire someone when I’m on my way out the door. The offer wouldn’t be approved anyway.”

  “Since when are you worried about what’s appropriate?”

  He leaned his forearms on the desk. “You’ll have to interview with my successor. That’s the way it is. Are there any other complaints you wanted to bring to my attention, or are we finished?”

  “I’m not complaining.” It was difficult to breathe. Her hands were hard knots of bone and twitching nerves, tiny flesh-made bombs ready to detonate in her lap. “I’d be disappointed if that’s your final call, of course. I hope I can change your opinion.”

  “It’s not an opinion.”

  She managed to untwist her fingers. She leaned forward, stabbing her elbows into her thighs. There must be a way to surprise him, get him thinking in a different direction. In all of her fretting about the promotion, the battle to schedule interviews, she’d never once considered the possibility he might leave the company.

  This was Vanessa’s fault! He could talk all he wanted about process and change, but if Vanessa hadn’t blocked Laura from seeing him, told him she was a gossip, things would not have reached this state.

  Her gaze landed on the Japanese sword that hung on the wall behind his desk, as if he’d always believed he might need to fight his way up the ladder at Avalon. Laughter tickled her throat. She took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Bursting out in a gut-boiling laugh would make her look like a mad woman, although her thought was rational. No one ever knew how close they might be to committing murder. All it took was the right set of circumstances, the right emotional storm. And in the end, killing someone gave you a strange sense of control over the world.

  She sat up straight again. “I put a lot of effort into developing my career here.”

  “I know.”

  “I assumed the position would be mine.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “Then why are you doing this? I think I’ve proven I’m qualified. I deserve the job. I don’t think there’s anything inappropriate at all in offering it to me, in letting the guys above you know that you left things in capable hands. Then the new VP can start with a fully staffed team.”

  “If I wasn’t leaving, I wouldn’t have offered you the job, Laura.”

  “What?”

  “You need further development before you’re ready for the next level.”

  “I don’t need anything of the kind.”

  “It’s statements like that which prove you do. You’re too impressed with yourself. Your people-management skills are—”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You do good work on paper, but you need more polish, more leadership skills. That’s critical for a director role.” He paused. “I’m doing you a favor here. Do you want some input to help you in the future or not? If you’re going to rise to the next level, you need to accept some coaching.”

  “I think I do all those things. And I have shown leadership, I drove that project…”

  He held up his hand. “Don’t be defensive. You let your emotions prevent you from taking charge of situations and getting things done, even when the circumstances are unpleasant.”

  “Unpleasant? Give me one example.”

  He put his hands on the desk, palms down. “It’s a general impression.”

  “That’s completely unfair and not true.” She could hardly think, watching his face. He refused to give any hint that he had some respect, much less admiration, for her. She’d given this man dedication and passion and high-quality work for years. She had an MBA and a solid career filled with positive performance reviews, yet he treated her like a delusional recent college grad filled with self-importance. He was treating her like his admin, for God’s sake.

  “Don’t get worked up,” he said.

  She knew her exterior was as smooth as his. There was no way he could sense the rage pouring through her. He was assuming she was upset, pegging her as female and therefore automatically less capable, lacking self-control. Hysterical.

  “I’m giving you my impressions as a senior manager with more experience and more insight into what the business requires,” he said.

  “I’ve done lots of things that were unpleasant.”

  “Such as?”

  “You might not be aware of all of them. They weren’t necessarily at Avalon. I removed someone who was a threat.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Take it at face value.” She couldn’t say more than that, but it was a perfect example. There was no way he’d find out. As long as she used business terminology to describe it. The situation was almost funny, because that’s exactly what she’d done. An unpleasant task to take care of a problem.

  “You terminated an employee who was a threat to the company?”

  “I terminated a man who was not behaving appropriately, yes.”

  “At Avalon?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Being a manager isn’t about terminating people.”

  “Being an effective manager…” she paused to let him absorb the dig, “…being an effective manager means getting employees to perform. That’s one of the biggest problems here, at all large companies, really. It’s the eighty-twenty rule. If companies are able to shift that, if they can staff the organization so that even fifty percent of the employees are doing eighty percent of the work, think about how productivity would increase. It’s actually a very important part of being a manager.”

  “That’s a good insight.” He cupped his chin in his hand, his fingers extended so they touched his temple. He drew his hand down his face. If he had a beard, he’d be stroking it.

  There was an open door, she could feel it. He hadn’t ended the conversation. She straightened her shoulders and unbuttoned her jacket. She put one hand on the table, touching her phone, anchoring herself for the next step—a high-wire artist sliding her foot along a cable, curling her toes, feeling her way out into the middle of space, confident she couldn’t possibly fall sixty feet onto hard-packed earth. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, when it comes to taking care of problems, of threats, if you will.”

  “Why are you using that term? It sounds like hyperbole.”

  “When I see a serious threat, I don’t hesitate to do what needs to be done. To take care of business.” Never in a million years would he guess she was talking about killing a man. There was no way his mind would leap to such an outrageous possibility. She was safe. And it was fun, a little dangerous, to brag about what she’d done, to describe the situation without giving any information. It was remarkable what she’d managed to accomplish.

  Hank laughed, although he didn’t sound amused. His tone was nervous, if she was reading it right.

  “You sound like you’re with the mafia,” he said.

  She smiled. “That’s a good way to put it.”

  “I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

  “Well, I’m taking it as one.”

  He stroked his chin again. “Anyway, this is all just so much theory. The fact is, the position will remain open until the new VP comes on board.” He leaned forward, typed a few strokes on the keyboard, and clicked the mouse. He pushed back his chair and stood.

  “I thought you were coaching me.” It was a frantic, last-minute toss, but she couldn’t let him dismiss her. If there really was a solid reason he hadn’t offered the job, she supposed she needed to know what that was. She was sure anything he said would be incorrect, but she needed to know what he was thinking in order to plan her next move.

  “That’s right,” he said.

  It wasn’t clear what he was referring to. She folded her hands but he didn’t speak. The room was colder than earlier. She shivered, wishing she could control the involunta
ry response that raced through her body, but it was impossible. “What else?” she said, twisting her legs toward the table, hoping her movement covered the shivering.

  “You have questionable judgment.”

  “Such as?”

  “Repeating gossip.”

  She didn’t have to ask what that referred to.

  “Look…” He turned and lifted his coat off the rack. “I need to get going.”

  “Without giving me a chance to defend myself?”

  “This isn’t a debate. You have questionable judgment. You said you wanted coaching, you got it. Think before you speak and don’t get involved in petty rumors and politics. Learn to show more leadership.”

  “Everything in the workplace is political.”

  “Only if you make it that way.” He walked around his desk. “Let’s go.”

  “We all make mistakes.”

  “Some mistakes are more egregious than others.”

  “You’re angry because it involved you.”

  “You took advantage of a woman in an inferior position.”

  He stood only a few feet away now. She should stand up, not allow him to look down at her like this, but if she stood, the conversation would be over. He’d win.

  He walked past her and opened the door.

  She stood and picked up her phone. She wanted to take his sword and slide it through his throat, stop those condescending words from spilling up out of his gut. Or maybe Vanessa was the one that was more deserving of the business end of that fancy sword. It would be so easy. More than she ever would have guessed. She smiled, then shifted her expression before he noticed. It was wickedly fun, thinking about removing people who stood in her way.

  “I didn’t take advantage of her,” she said. “I was concerned she was taking advantage of you. An atmosphere charged with sex is not good for the business and you know it.”

  “Then you should have focused your gossip on me. I can take it. You went for the weaker player.”

  “I didn’t start the rumor.” It was a flat-out lie, but he’d never figure that out.