My heart thumps. He wants to discuss what happened last night. I shouldn’t have entered his room, but he was wobbly from the medication and I was afraid he’d hurt himself. And then . . . that kiss. I’d been so shocked I hadn’t reacted. I froze instead. But I wanted to. Everything in me loved what he was doing. Shivering from the memory, I rub my lip recalling how he’d licked me, nibbled me, tasted me. But that kiss will make things uncomfortable between us. So, even though it was not my fault, he’ll probably let me go.
If he does, what am I going to do? I need this job so I can pay off my mother’s medical bills. If I don’t, they’ll be hanging over my head for a long time. Oh, I won’t starve, and I’ll still have a roof over my head. The restaurant will take me back. But even with a roommate, my finances were darn limited. I won’t be able to afford a decent car or plan for the future. I’ll be too busy paying off expenses for the next ten years.
Brushing my tears away, I catch the hour. Darn it. I woke up late, and now I barely have enough time to brush my teeth and dress before dashing down the stairs. I make it to his office just as the grandfather clock in the foyer chimes the eight bells.
Handsome as ever, he’s seated behind the desk in a killer three-piece black suit, hands templed over a piece of paper. “Ms. Bennett. Good morning.” His mouth’s drawn in a tight, white line. Is he still in pain? Or is this the expression he wears when he fires someone?
“Good morning.” I sniff back my tears. Whatever he’s got to say, I’ll accept with grace and dignity, like my mother taught me.
“I want to apologize for last night.”
“Apologize?” I croak out. Those are the last words I expected to hear from his lips.
“Yes. I . . . crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed. So I offer my most sincere regrets.”
“I . . . apology accepted?” I don’t know what else to say.
He slides a paper over to me. Probably my notice of termination. I try to read it but the words swim on the paper. I blink away the tears to find a name and address on the sheet. An attorney going by the esquire after the man’s name. Am I supposed to report to him for my paycheck? “What . . . What is this?”
“My attorney. You’ll need it to file a sexual harassment suit against me.”
I whoosh out a breath. “File a suit? Against you? Why would I do that?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you, Ms. Bennett? I forced myself on you last night.”
My lips tremble. With amusement? With relief? Who knows? “No, you didn’t. You kissed me. That’s all. No biggie.” I hitch a shoulder.
“No . . . biggie?” He sounds outraged. “I violated the trust between employer and employee.”
“You’d just taken three pain pills. Your moral code took a vacation, that’s all.”
“How can you espouse such a view? You resisted me and I refused to release you.”
“I didn’t resist. I was surprised, that’s all.”
“My kiss was repugnant to you.”
Giddy from the realization he doesn’t intend to fire me, I laugh. “Actually, I kind of liked it.”
“Kind of?” His brow scrunches as if he’s trying to divine the meaning behind my words. He shakes his head. “Look, you don’t need to fear loss of wages. I’ll pay you. For two months’ time.”
“Two months’ pay for four days’ work?”
“I owe you.” He bites out.
“No. You don’t.” It would be payment for a stolen kiss and that would make me a whore.
“Take the offer.”
We could be here all morning debating his penance for what happened last night. It’s time to put a stop to this. He’s apologized. I’ve accepted. We need to get on with things. “No. Is there anything else, Mr. MacKay? I do believe it’s time for breakfast.”
His expression lightens up. Gone is the white slash to his mouth. A dimple pops up on his cheek. “And nothing interferes with food.”
I crook a smile. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“Very well, Ms. Bennett. Lead the way.” He stands up and points to the door which I open and step through. Together we make our way to the dining room in total amity with each other. Too bad our fellowship barely lasts a day.
Next evening, as soon as he arrives from work, he steps into my office.
“My assistant emailed you the passport application. Why haven’t you returned it to him?”
“Ummm. Sorry. With everything that’s going on, I forgot. I’ll get right on it.” I click my computer to look for the email Anton, the stuffed prig, sent me.
“Ms. Bennett.”
Darn. We’re back to Ms. Bennett again.
“If you don’t obtain your passport in time, I’ll need to postpone my trip.”
Oh, God. How could I have forgotten about this? “I’m sorry. Truly.” I find the passport application and start to read the instructions. “Ummm.”
“What?”
Pained by what I’m about to say, I glance up at him. “I need my birth certificate, but it’s in storage. I’ll need to drive there tomorrow to get it.” And that’s at least a two-hour trip there and back which means some of the dinner arrangements will need to be postponed.
He waves a hand. “You can get them online.”
“Not mine. I wasn’t born in the United States.”
“You’re not an American citizen?” His voice rises.
“I am. My parents traveled to the Cayman Islands for a last fling before I was born. I came two months early. They filed a document right away to provide me with U.S. citizenship, but those documents are not available online.”
“They’re calling for snow tomorrow.”
Figures. If it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any. But I don’t have anyone to blame but myself. I should have taken care of this right away. “Shouldn’t be a problem, not with the Honda CR-V.” I offer hopefully.
“It will take time away from your other tasks.”
“I’m sorry.” How many times do I have to say those words?
He blows out a harsh breath. “Fine. Complete the application, get your birth certificate. And get your picture taken.”
Wait. What? “I have to do that too?”
“Yes, Ms. Bennett. You do.” He turns and marches out of the office.
I print out the application, complete as much as I can. I’m so immersed in the process, I lose track of the time. What seems like only minutes later, my office phone rings.
“Ms. Bennett.” It’s him. Of course it’s him. “You do know dinner’s served promptly at seven.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“It’s 7:15.”
“Sorry.” I wince. “I’ll be right there.”
We conduct dinner in silence. I’m not about to say anything in case he feels like biting my head off some more.
Next day, I breakfast alone.
“Mr. MacKay left for the office, Miss,” Moseley says. “He had an early appointment.”
Thank God and the little fishes. “May I ask you a question?”
He nods.
“Has he always been this”—pissed off—“difficult?”
“When dealing with Mr. MacKay, it helps to obey him to the letter. That way he will have nothing to complain about.”
He’s right. Sterling MacKay thrives on order and perfection. But the thing is I want to know what made him the way he is. As secretive as he is about his life, I can only learn so much from his files. And Moseley won’t reveal anything personal about his boss. So I’ll need to go about it another way.
The next day once I take care of the passport details and messenger them to Anton, I dig up the phone number of his previous assistant, Jeannette, to get the skinny on Sterling MacKay. Maybe it’s because she knows how difficult he can be, or maybe she feels sorry for me, but Jeannette’s more than willing to spill the beans. She tells me the same tale as Moseley. Yes, Mr. MacKay was just as demanding with her. But after his accident, he got worse.
“I didn’t blame him, not really,” she says. “Not after everything he’d been through. First the car crash, and then his fiancee up and leaves him.”
“She what?” Why hadn’t I read anything about this? Sterling and Meredith had been quite an item. That much I’d learned from the scandal rags. But nothing had been reported about their breakup or the fact she walked out on him. How can that be? A gossip columnist would have sniffed out that juicy story in a flash. Unless he got paid not to talk about it.
“Please don’t say I told you,” Jeannette says. “He was very decent to me. Gave me a generous bonus even though I worked for him for only six months. I’m only sharing this because . . . if you understand what he’s gone through I think it will help you deal with him.”
She’s right about that. “I won’t tell him. I promise.”
“After the accident, the doctors induced a coma to help him heal. He woke up to discover his fiancee had hightailed it to the Riviera. A month later she returned his ring, claiming she couldn’t stand to see him in his condition.”
“The bitch.” How could she do that to him?
“Exactly. Somehow they managed to keep the breakup hush hush. No idea how. She’s in L.A. now living the high life. A party girl through and through.”
“How did they end up together to begin with? Mr. MacKay doesn’t strike me as the party type.”
“He was trying to get back in with the Washington elite, and Meredith’s family was his ticket.”
“Why would he care about that?” He’s rich, gorgeous, smart. Doesn’t make any sense.
“Not that he ever shared his reasons, but I think he was trying to get back what he’d lost. Once upon a time, his parents were part of that exclusive club. But then his father lost all his money in a shady business deal. His family was shunned after that. Unable to cope with the disgrace, his father killed himself. His mother fell apart. She’s in a nursing home somewhere.”
“Oh, my God.” I never realized. I’ve been so busy with the dinner party arrangements and everything else, I hadn’t had time to research anything. I only knew about his engagement and the car crash.
“Mr. MacKay was only fifteen when his life fell apart.”
And knowing him, he’d probably coped with the disgrace by throwing himself into work, work and more work. “If his family lost all its money, how did he become a billionaire?” I’d assumed he inherited most of it.
“Loans, hard work, and a lot of business savvy.”
Which makes him even more worthy than I thought. He’s only thirty-five, and yet he’s managed to amass a fortune in twenty years’ time. But he still seeks acceptance into the exclusive Washington D.C. social club. With or without his bitch of a fiancee. “He’s holding a dinner party next week.”
“He probably invited some of the elite.”
I rattle off the names on the list.
“Yep. That’s them. Chances are he’ll be looking for a new fiancee as well. Hope he finds a better one that Meredith Duncan.”
After hanging up, I make a note to send her a thank you card for her help. She’s taken quite a chance revealing as much as she has. His family’s fall from grace made a man out of him, one forged from steel. But he needs a dose of kindness, of softness in his life. Maybe that’s why he hired me. Because he certainly didn’t hire me for my skills. I’ve done nothing but screw up since I started working for him. I vow to make the dinner party the best it can be. One his mother would have enjoyed.
The next few days go by in a blaze of activity. We fall into a comfortable pattern, Sterling MacKay and I. In the morning he emails or hands me my list of things to do for the day, and I attack them with a vengeance. By the following Wednesday, everything’s set for the dinner party. I’ve ordered the food, scheduled the catering staff, requested plenty of flagrant blooms. For some reason, he wanted flowers in every room. Must be something his mother did.
On Thursday, I go shopping for clothes at the stores he recommended. With everything that had been going on, I hadn’t had time to do it until now. Thankfully, the stores are all located in and around Tyson’s Corner. After I give the store clerks his name, I’m waited on hand and foot. By the time I’m finished, my feet ache. But I’m now the proud possessor of a kick-ass wardrobe, everything on his list plus a couple of items bought with the American Express card he had delivered to me for ‘incidentals’. Since I haven’t seen a dime of my salary, I put my personal items on the card but keep an accounting so I can reimburse him once I get paid.
On Friday, my first paycheck arrives. By messenger. The man sure loves to keep them busy. After FICA and taxes are taken out, it’s more than I’ve ever seen. After I deposit my money, I write a check to the facility that handled my mother’s care, a full half of the amount I just received. With any luck, by the end of the year, her medical bills will be paid. I write another check for the personal items I purchased and put it in Sterling MacKay’s bank account.
That night, we meet in his office to go over the dinner arrangements. But before we have a chance to do that, he asks, “Why is there a deposit from you in my checking account for $157.01?”
“I used the American Express card to pay for personal things.”
“Like what?”
My cheeks flush with heat. “Underwear.”
He fights back a smile. “Very well. Is everything in place for the dinner party tomorrow?”
“Yes. Everyone accepted your invitation. I wanted to cover the seating arrangement with you so I can make the place cards. Anton seems to think the numbers are off.” On his orders, the prig had called to make sure everything had been handled. It’d hurt, that phone call. It meant MacKay didn’t trust me to take care of things. But then, why should he? I’ve screwed up time and again. But I’ve handled everything on his list so I can take pride in my accomplishments.
“What do you mean the numbers are off?”
“You invited ten people, plus you that makes eleven. So that leaves an empty space at the table.”
“There’s no empty space. That’s where you will seat, Ms. Bennett.”
My stomach lurches. “Me?” I choke out.
“Yes. You. I would like you to play hostess.”
I gulp. “Hostess?” I’ve never held a dinner party in my life. Much less a fancy one. How can he entrust me with such a task?
“It’s not that hard. You can do it.” Smiling, he cocks his head to the side. Tension no longer rides his shoulders. He actually trusts me to handle this.
Very well. If that’s he wants, I’ll do my best. “What do you need me to do?”
“You only need to be yourself. During the dinner party, I will address you by your first name. I would appreciate it if you would the same with me. Mr. MacKay sounds odd in a social setting.”
“Yes, Mr. MacKay.”
He lifts a brow. “Let’s practice now, shall we? Caitlyn.” He points to me. No doubt what he wants me to do.
“Yes, S-Sterling.” His name emerges as a whisper, not the firm tone of a personal assistant. Can’t help it. That darn S at the front of his moniker lends itself to a soft pronunciation. Never mind it’s followed by a hard T.
“Good.” His gray glance lands on me, for once shining with approval.
What is he up to? Why does he want me to play hostess? Is this really part of the job? Or does he have another scheme in mind? I’m so far out to sea I don’t even know where the shore lies. One thing is certain, though. He’s my boss, and I’m his employee. I can never, ever cross that line.
Chapter 8
______________
Sterling
SATURDAY MORNING, I head for my obligatory monthly visit at the assisted living facility. As always, I’m warmly welcomed. No surprise. I not only pay the bills on time, but donate generously as well.
Bobby, my driver, settles down in the lobby to watch mindless TV while a staff member escorts me to the room where the woman who gave birth to me resides. “Thank you,” I say. That’s the staff membe
r’s cue to leave. I enter the room alone. Per my request, she waits for me, seated in her favorite chair. My vision might be impaired, but that much I can tell.
“Hello, Mother.”
As always, silence greets me. Don’t know why I always hope for something different. She has no clue who I am. She stares out the window, like she always used to do, waiting for my father to come home. Except he never will again.
“I brought your favorite chocolates.” A box of confectioner’s truffles, her favorites. Taking the number of steps I’ve memorized to her bed, I leave them there for her.
“That’s very sweet of you, dear.”
She doesn’t call out that endearment because I’m someone special to her. She calls everyone dear, much as she did before when she possessed all her faculties. And now? Her memories are not returning. Alzheimer’s has robbed them from her. Just as well. I wouldn’t want her to live with the pain my father’s death caused. Most of her adult life, she’d adored the tall, brash man who exuded charm and confidence. Until he’d lost it all in one disastrous scheme and put paid to his life. After that, she disappeared into a shell. The doctors diagnosed it as Alzheimer’s. But I know better. I call it grief.
Five minutes into my visit, Linda, my mother’s private nurse, drops by. “Here’s your cup of tea, Mr. MacKay.” She hands me the oolong tea my mother prefers.
I’ve never cared for it, but I accept the courtesy for what it is. “Thank you.” I’ve surrounded my mother with the best of care. Round-the-clock medical staff. A live-in companion who watches her 24/7 and makes sure my mother engages in the social activities she still enjoys—card games and such—and gets her exercise. Wish I could do more.
After she serves my mother her own cup and makes sure she’s comfortable, Linda departs. She knows I prefer to be alone with my mother. In silent companionship, we occupy the same space until it’s time for me to leave. After the allotted half hour, her companion returns. But before she guides me back to the lobby, there’s one thing I must do.
With Linda’s help, I find my way to my mother, embrace her and kiss her softly on the cheek. “See you next month, Mother.”
Up Close and Personal Page 5
