Love Hate Relationship (a Colors novel)

by Jessica Prince

  “What? Let me see?” Harlow snatched the laptop from my hands and began reading the article I’d pulled up. Her face scrunched up, her top lip curling as her eyes moved back and forth. “Oh…oh…ohhhhh, that’s not good.”

  “What?” I asked anxiously. “What’s not good?”

  “Well, it looks like this guy’s kind of a douche.”

  “Fantastic,” I harrumphed, flopping back on the couch. “I get to work for an asshole. Just what I need.”

  “Jeez, Navie. There are pictures of this guy everywhere. Drunk in public, getting into a fight in public, having sex in public. Damn, doesn’t the dude do anything in the privacy of his own home?” Her head tilted to the side, her eyes squinting as she studied a picture intently. “Wow, he’s got some serious upper body strength.”

  I sat up and slapped the lid of the laptop shut so I wouldn’t be subjected to a visual of my boss having sex. Serious upper body strength or not, that was just something I didn’t need to see, even if he was fine as all get out.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” I admitted sullenly. “How the hell am I supposed to keep a job working for a man like that? I’ll be fired within a week!”

  “Stop,” Harlow demanded, propping one leg up on the couch so she could face me full-on. “None of that. You’re awesome, and you’re going to kick ass at this job.”

  “Harlow—”

  Her hand shot out and slapped over my mouth. “Nope, none of your negativity. You’re going to be fantastic, and Rowan Locklaine isn’t going to know how he survived without you.”

  I mumbled a question, her hand over my lips muffling each word.

  “Huh?”

  Shoving her hand from my mouth, I rolled my eyes and repeated the question. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

  “Impossible,” she said confidently. “There’s no way anyone in the world can’t like you. You’re so tiny and adorable,” she finished in a baby voice while pinching my cheeks.

  “Gah!” I laughed while batting her hands away. “Stop, asshole! That hurts.”

  She wouldn’t give up. Her cheek-pinching quickly turned into tickling until I was rolling around, trying my hardest to get away as I laughed hysterically.

  “Not until you admit you’re going to rock that shit!” she demanded, her fingers digging into my side, eliciting a high-pitched squeal from me.

  “Stooooooop!”

  “Say it!”

  “I-I’m gonna rock this s-shit!” I yelled through giggles.

  Harlow finally stopped her attack with an enthusiastic, “Yeah, you are! Now, let’s go shopping in my closet for something to wear on your first day. You’re going to have that douche-y, sexy-as-sin exhibitionist eating out of the palm of your hand before the day’s over.”

  Two more glasses of wine later, Harlow and I had managed to relocate every article of clothing from her closet onto her bed. It took a thousand and one failed attempts, but we finally managed to pull together a cute outfit that somehow fit me--a soft, swishy, pleated skirt the color of coral and a sheer aqua top with a matching lace camisole underneath. Matched with a pair of her tan peep-toed heels, it said sassy without coming across as unprofessional.

  By the time I fell into my bed, slightly buzzed, I felt much more confident. I was going to be the best damn personal assistant there ever was. And Rowan Locklaine wasn’t going to know what hit him.

  “Best assistant ever. Best assistant ever. Best assistant ever.” I repeated the mantra over and over, trying my best to psych myself up as I stared at the cream-colored, wooden door before me.

  Sucking in a fortifying breath, I gave myself one last mental high-five and lifted my hand to knock. Then I waited… and waited… and waited some more. Pulling my phone from my purse, I opened the text Lauren had sent that morning, double checking that I’d gotten the address right. Sure enough, I was in the right place. I’d woken up an hour early that morning just so I could Google the directions and plan which route to take from Murray Hill to Rowan’s opulent building on the Upper East Side. I had the right address, the right apartment number, and a quick glance at my watch showed I was even a little early. Lauren said to be there at 8:30AM. It was only 8:20. I made great time.

  I knocked again, a little louder that time, just in case he hadn’t heard the first one. I waited for a few seconds, my ear pressed to the cool, wooden surface, trying to hear any sounds of life on the other side, when a loud bang followed by a muffled curse caused me to jump back.

  “What!” Rowan barked as he yanked the door open, looking absolutely edible in all his sleep-rumpled glory. I tried my hardest not to drool at the sight of his bare chest and all its chiseled perfection, but that proved to be a daunting task when all that warm skin was right there in my face.

  “Uh… um…,”I stuttered, my mind having jumped ship the second the door swung open.

  “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Rowan growled. At second glance, maybe he didn’t look all that yummy. That intense glower on his face knocked his handsomeness down a few points while spiking my anxiety at the same time.

  “It’s 8:20. Well, technically 8:23, since it took you a while to answer the door. But I can see now that was because you were sleeping,” I blurted, unable to stop the word vomit that nervously flowed from my mouth. “Lauren texted me to be here at 8:30. I’m a little early… sorry,” I added with a shrug that I hoped conveyed my apology.

  “Oh, Christ,” he mumbled, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just… just stop talking, for the love of God.”

  “Sorry,” I said again, making sure to whisper.

  “Baby,” a feminine voice called from behind the door. I couldn’t see who had spoken, but judging by Rowan’s dramatic eye roll and under-his-breath ‘fuck me’, I was willing to bet he’d forgotten all about his overnight guest.

  My eyes narrowed as I watched a red tipped, manicured hand snake over his bare shoulder and down his chest. “Baby, who’s here?”

  At those words, the door pulled open all the way, revealing a statuesque blonde wearing nothing but a men’s button-down shirt, with only a few buttons done up, revealing an uncomfortable amount of skin.

  “Well, this isn’t awkward or anything.” I laughed awkwardly.

  “Who are you?” the woman asked snidely.

  Jeez, the chick was so gorgeous she could have been a model… or maybe she was. Lord knew she had perfected the resting bitch face required in that industry. “Uh…” I mumbled, trying my best to formulate an educated response that didn’t involve a bunch of finger-twitching, hair-tossing, and ‘oh, no, you didn’t’s’.

  “Time to go, Stephanie,” Rowan answered in my place.

  “It’s Bethany,” she hissed furiously.

  “Yeah, sure,” he responded drolly. “Last night was fun. I’ll call you.”

  Oh, man, if she hadn’t been such a raging hemorrhoid, I might have felt a little bad at the epic brush-off she just received. Bethany stomped off into the apartment, her feet slapping against the hardwood floors as she went. Once she was out of sight, I heard the sound of something shattering, no doubt something expensive, and no doubt on purpose. My skin began to feel itchy from the discomfort of having to stand on the other side of the threshold, Rowan’s icy gaze boring into me while his one-night stand trashed his apartment.

  It wasn’t until Bethany came back into sight, yanking her shirt over her flat-as-a-board stomach and too-perfect-to-be-natural breasts that our odd, one-sided staring contest finally ended.

  “You’re an asshole,” she seethed as she hopped from foot to foot, sliding on her undoubtedly expensive heels.

  “So I’ve been told… many times,” Rowan replied drily.

  With a shove past both of us, Bethany stormed down the hall toward the elevators, leaving us there, standing in silence.

  “Sooo,” I drug out with another nervous laugh.

  Rowan let out a huff and reached over, snatching something from what I could only assume was a tab
le by the door… seeing as I was still standing outside of the apartment.

  “I need you to pick up my suit from Sal’s Cleaner’s,” he said, slapping a dry cleaning receipt into my hand. “Then I’ll need you to get me a venti Americano with two raw sugars and a splash of skim milk, not half and half, skim milk.” He spoke slowly, like I was a mentally challenged eight-year-old. “And a low-fat blueberry scone from The Bean on 85th and Park. Not the one on Lexington, that place is shit.”

  I stood in complete silence, my mouth hanging open as I tried to process what the hell was happening.

  “You got all that, or you need me to write it down for you?” he asked snidely.

  I snapped my mouth shut and narrowed my eyes into glaring slits, trying my damnedest to set him on fire with my eyeballs. No such luck. “I got it,” I answered between clenched teeth.

  “Great. Well, hop to it, then.”

  With that, the door was rudely slammed shut in my face and I was left honing some newfound murderous tendencies.

  It was official.

  I hated my job.

  By the time the subway pulled into the station closest to my house, I was a sweaty, disgusting mess. My hair had fallen out of its artfully styled chignon. My feet had blisters the size of pancakes from traipsing all around the city in the sweltering summer heat. Harlow’s pretty blouse had a coffee stain across the right boob where I’d tripped and spilled Rowan’s coffee down the front of myself—meaning I had to go back and wait in the long ass line at The Bean a second time. And I was pretty sure a panhandler shoved his hand up my skirt on the subway ride home. The whipped, puss-y topping on the shit sundae that was my day were the million and one text messages I received from Rowan needing me to run yet another errand.

  None of those messages were of him asking. Oh, no, they were rude and demanding in nature, and I had to stop myself on multiple occasions from hurling my beloved iPhone into oncoming traffic.

  By the time I made it back to his apartment with all his requested items, the coffee had long since grown cold, mimicking his icy attitude.

  As I limped up the steps to mine and Harlow’s apartment, I kept thinking of all the reasons I wanted to quit, following closely with all the reasons I couldn’t, i.e. my rent and other such necessities.

  “Hello, pumpkin. How was your first day?” Harlow asked in an all too chipper voice once I came through the front door.

  “I hate my boss!” I yelled like a crazy person before collapsing to the floor and spreading out on the cool, laminate wood, basking in the feel of it against my overly heated skin.

  “What the hell? What happened?” Harlow asked as she took a seat on the floor next to me, brushing my sweat-slicked hair back from my face.

  “You mean other than working for a twat-waffle who's the love child of Satan and that 'Mommy Dearest' lady?”

  “You mean Joan Crawford?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Was he really that bad?”

  “Remember that asshole William Chandler from sophomore year?”

  Her face scrunched up as she tried to recall who I was talking about. “You mean that dickhead football player, who used to bark at all the girls he thought were ugly?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh, shit. That bad?”

  “Multiply that times a million and you’ll have Rowan Locklaine.”

  Harlow’s gaze grew sympathetic. “Aww, sweetie, I’m so sorry.”

  “And if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m pretty sure I lost my no-no hole virginity to a hobo on the subway.”

  I was being completely serious. So when Harlow let out an indelicate snort and collapsed in a heap of hysterical laughter next to me, I couldn’t find it in me to share with her in the humor of the situation.

  “I’m glad you find my pain so hilarious,” I deadpanned from my spread-eagle position on the floor of our entryway.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she sputtered, tears trailing down her face. “I know it’s not supposed to be funny, but you should see your face right now!”

  I was just about to respond with something brilliantly snarky when my cell phone rang from inside my purse. With a groan of pain, I twisted sideways and retrieved it before going back to my original position.

  “Shit,” I muttered as I looked at the screen.

  “Who is it? Is it him?”

  “No, it’s Lauren. Probably calling to tell me I’ve been fired.”

  Harlow whacked me on the shoulder, eliciting a pout from me. “Stop being so negative. Answer the phone and I’ll go pour you a glass of wine.”

  “In the big glass?” I asked hopefully, referring to the wineglass-shaped vase we found on clearance a year or so ago. It was what we considered our 'emergency glass'.

  “Yes, in the big glass, you big baby. Now, answer the damn phone already.”

  Steeling my resolve, I slid my finger across the screen and held the phone up to my ear, prepared for the worst.

  “Hello?”

  “Navie, hello! How are you?”

  “I’m, um…” I lifted my head enough to take in my prone position on the floor, only imagining how pathetic I looked. “I’m good?” I had no idea why I answered in the form of a question.

  “I’m glad,” Lauren answered. “I was just calling to see how your first day went.”

  “It was, uh… um… good?”

  Silence came through the line so long I was afraid the call dropped. That was, until I heard her heavy sigh whoosh through the receiver. “What did he do?”

  “No! No, it was… fine,” I spouted quickly. “He was fine. Everything was fine. Fine, fine, fine,” I added with a heaping of cheerfulness, hoping it didn’t sound as fake to her as it did to me.

  “Navie, please speak freely. I want nothing more than for you to feel comfortable enough with me to tell me the truth.”

  While her statement didn’t necessarily put me at ease, it did make me like her all that much more.

  “No offense, Lauren. You’re fantastic, but I really need to keep this job.”

  “Your job’s safe, sweetie, trust me.”

  “Pinky promise?” I asked then quickly face-palmed.

  “Swear,” she answered with a light laugh.

  “Okay, then. He’s horrible! I can’t believe you’ve worked with him as long as you have and haven’t already been imprisoned for murder. I was seriously contemplating it a time or a thousand today. I can’t stand the guy, and I’m pretty sure he hates me, which doesn’t make sense because I’m a friggin' ray of sunshine! But after the day I’ve had, I’m feeling rather violent. I’ve never felt that way before, and I was bullied in high school, so that’s really saying something!”

  After my long-winded rant, I sucked in some much needed oxygen, praying that my mini freak-out hadn’t just cost me my job, but seriously doubting I was still gainfully employed.

  “I’m fired, aren’t I?” I asked as I chewed anxiously on my thumbnail, waiting for Lauren to say something.

  And what she said was completely unexpected.

  “Do you know why I hired you for this position, Navie?”

  “Uh… because you secretly hate me, too, and are trying to punish me?”

  “No,” she laughed. “I hired you because I saw something in you during that first interview.”

  “What did you see?” I asked curiously.

  “A backbone,” she answered simply, shocking me into silence. “You’re tough, Navie. It’s not something you wear outwardly, but I could see it in your eyes the moment I met you. And seeing as you just admitted to being bullied, that strength makes sense now. I gave you this job because I had no doubt whatsoever that you could handle it.”

  “I think you’re giving me a little too much credit,” I responded humorlessly.

  “And I think you’re wrong. A weak person would have gone home and cried into a pint of ice cream. She wouldn’t have gone on a passionate tangent the way you just did. I think you don’t give yourself enough credit.”<
br />
  “Thank you,” I said softly, truly touched by her impassioned words.

  “Look, I know Rowan can be difficult at times—”

  “Understatement of the century,” I snorted.

  “But,” she continued, “he’s not all bad. I know it’s hard to see that now, but you’re right. I wouldn’t have been able to work with him going on ten years if he was a constant miserable prick. He’s got some demons in his past that make it hard for him to trust anyone. You can’t take it personally. His life made him hard.”

  I could understand that. Boy, could I understand that. The fact that Rowan and I shared messed-up childhoods resonated with me and made me a little more sympathetic toward the callous man.

  “I’m going to be honest with you, Navie. My gut is telling me you can handle this job. But if you really feel like it’s too much, we’ll find you another position at Enterprise.”

  “You’d really do that?”

  “Of course. I meant what I said about you being a valuable asset to the firm, but I’m not going to keep you in a position you hate. That wouldn’t do anyone any good. But I think you’re exactly what Rowan needs. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  Sitting up, I pulled a deep breath into my lungs and let it out. “I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m an incompetent moron.”

  “Then prove him wrong,” Lauren responded. “But better yet, prove me right.”

  “Okay,” I finally spoke after a few seconds. “I’ll do that.”

  “Fantastic!” Lauren shouted through the line. “Oh, and Navie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t take any of his shit. Show him that steel I saw in your eyes when we first met. Trust me when I say I won’t hold anything you say or do against you. You put that man in his place if need be. I know you have it in you.”

  Lauren’s words of encouragement did a lot to bolster my confidence as I made my way to Rowan’s apartment the next day.

  I hadn’t made the same mistake as the day before, making sure to dress comfortably in a pair of jeans, a loose t-shirt, and flats. It wasn’t the most professional ensemble, but I’d be damned if I was going to trek all over the damn city in heels and a skirt again.