by Carlos Dash
It’s like if you were a kid and your mother told you that she was buying you the best tasting candy in the world. You would want that candy right away, wouldn’t you? Having to wait several days to get it would be like torture. You wouldn’t be able to think about anything else but the taste of that delicious candy melting in your mouth. The desire would consume you. The only way to retain your sanity would be to get it over with and taste that candy as soon as possible. Then the desire would be out of your system and you could return to doing whatever it is that normal little kids do: playing videogames, bumping into walls, picking your nose, etc.
“So you want me to say that I’m meeting you at the restaurant and then catch a cab to your place?”
I look up at Emily from over the top of my computer screen. “Exactly. And make sure you’re convincing when you tell your folks about the guy you met. You’ll have to say you met him today, otherwise they’ll want to know why you’re waiting until now to mention him.”
“Oh, I’ve got the backstory all worked out,” Emily says with confidence. “I’ll say he’s a private detective. Robert Chance. That’ll be his name. Twenty-seven years old. Blonde hair. Six feet tall. Dark, mysterious eyes. A bit of an English accent because he spent the first fifteen years of his life in the UK.”
I take all of this in with a sense of caution. You can’t say she isn’t thorough. She’s a little too thorough, actually.
“That’s quite the imagination you’ve got there. Robert Chance? Was Remington Danger already taken?”
Emily glares at me, but it’s more of a playful thing than an act to be worried about. “Don’t poke fun. You said yourself that it has to be convincing.”
“Sure, but the person you just described sounds like the main character of a bad television show. Even his name is ridiculous.”
Emily raises her head imperiously. “You’re not in any position to say someone else’s name is ridiculous. What kind of name is Dorian, anyway?”
See, this is what I like. The back and forth. I’ve never exchanged this kind of banter with another person before. It’s so refreshing and different from what I’m used to. And it’s playful. That’s the key. There’s no genuine animosity between us any longer.
“Whatever. Just don’t tell your parents that private detective story. They’ll get curious. They’ll want to know more about the guy. Being a private detective isn’t exactly a normal run-of-the-mill job.”
“Alright. I’ll dream up something else.” She sounds a bit disappointed, but not completely discouraged. I think she’s looking forward to creating another fictional man.
“Is that some fantasy of yours, dating a detective?”
“Hmm. Maybe. It is a pretty exciting job.”
Ah. Such a young girl. “Not at all. You’ve seen too many Bogart films. Most detectives for hire spend their time chasing after married men, seeing if the guy is cheating on his wife or not. Not much of a profession.”
Emily doesn’t seem to be insulted. To the contrary, she’s smirking like she knows a secret I don’t.
“What is it? You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”
“You’re jealous.”
Lady, if you don’t stop smiling like that I’m going to throw this stapler at you.
“Jealous? Don’t be absurd. Why would I be jealous of someone who doesn’t even exist?”
“Aw. How cute.” Emily smiles in a way that makes my blood pressure rise. “Don’t worry, Dorian. I like you too. But seeing as I can’t tell my parents about you, one of the made up men in my head will have to do for now.”
Chapter 44
Jealous? Jealous! Why would I be jealous? Even if her detective character were a real person, I have nothing to be jealous about. I make more money than any detective in the world, and life hasn’t exactly beaten me with the ugly stick. Yeah, I might not have an English accent, but I think my skills in the sack make up for that. Skills Emily personally knows about.
I’m not going to let her get away with messing around like that. Jealous? Give me a break. But if she wants to keep playing, I’ll just have to hold my own.
“Remember, sometime around noon I’ll want you to go and get my coffee for me.”
He shoots. He scores. Her mouth drops open a little. I’ve gotten to her.
“Are you serious? You still want me to do that? Is that really the first impression you want to give the girl you’re going to date?”
“First impression? It’s a little late for that. I think the first impression you had of me was me getting rid of that guy for you. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about him already.”
Emily purses her lips. It’s the lemon look. The look someone gets that makes them look like they’ve been sucking on a lemon. The only thing that can cause such a look to come about is the memory of something very unpleasant. “I haven’t forgotten. How could I?” She shudders as if she can still feel the guy breathing down on her. “If you hadn’t shown up I don’t know what I would have done. Those bartenders didn’t look like they were going to help. And the rest of the men in the bar… what spineless cowards.”
“Well, he was a big guy,” I say in a weak attempt at defending the other customers who were inside of the bar that night. At the same time, I’m trying to pump up what I did. The fact that the rest were too afraid to act only serves to make me look that much more heroic.
“That’s no excuse. They could have at least called the cops.”
I can’t argue against that. She has a good point. “As the saying goes, all it takes for evil to win is for good men to do nothing.”
Emily nods in agreement. “Good thing for me you were there to save the day.” She looks at me fondly. “I don’t know if it was luck or fate, but I’m thankful either way.”
“It was luck,” I say with a note of finality. “There’s no such thing as fate.” Emily opens her mouth to argue, but I’m in no mood for a philosophical conversation about such things. I cut her off and steer the discussion elsewhere. “So what else do you think you can do around here? I can’t just go out and buy filing cabinets in order to keep you from getting bored.”
Emily thinks long and hard about that one. “I could deliver something for you. Like a document you have for one of your coworkers. That’s a start.”
I sigh heavily and scratch the crown of my head. “There was a neat little invention created a while back. It was called email. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”
The girl scowls. “Damn computers. They’re making actual people seem obsolete and useless.”
I decide not to bring up the fact that if it isn’t for computers, modern society would much worse off.
Some things are better left unsaid, and I’m enjoying being on her good side again.
No need to piss her off.
Chapter 45
The girl and I exchange a little more chitchat before the clock over my door indicates that it’s now noon.
I point at it, and Emily reluctantly allows her gaze to fall upon the thing. The reaction of her body is nearly instant. Her shoulders slump downwards and she bows her head a little.
“Relax. You don’t have to wander around looking for coffee. Go to lunch. There are some cafes and restaurants nearby. You have a whole hour, so there’s no rush. I could use the silence.”
Emily frowns. “No one likes a smartass. I’ll go, but why don’t you come with me? I’m sure there are other people taking their lunch break now. Some of your PR buddies. Introduce me.”
I tap a finger against the surface of my desk in impatience. “I don’t have any friends in this building. If you bump into anyone who works here while you’re out, you’re on your own.”
I pretend to be focused on my computer, acting like I’m reading something. Emily doesn’t seem to be buying it. I can feel her eyes on me.
“You aren’t friends with a single person here?”
“Now you sound like your father. Just go and get something to eat. Don’t worry about me. I’ve
skipped lunch every single day since I’ve been here.” I look up to see an expression of concern on her face. I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted that she’s already behaving protectively towards me. “Emily, I’ll be fine. Seriously. I’ve made it this long without collapsing from lack of food or lack of friendship. It’s not the end of the world. Let it go.” I pause there to measure up my next sentence, wanting it to be something that will offer her some small bit of comfort. “I have big dinners. Carb-loading. It’s good for building muscles.”
Emily looks unsure of her next move, but eventually she gives in and leaves my office. She seems to feel sorry for me, which causes me to want to punch the wall. First her father, now her.
What is it with this family and trying to solve everyone else’s problems?
I’m a firm believer in the philosophy of everyone minding their own business. Live and let live. The last thing in the world I want is someone taking pity on me.
Emily returns in less than an hour, choosing not to take advantage of the entirety of her lunch break. She’s beaming about something, so the first thing out of my mouth is a question about her experience.
“You look like you won the lottery while you were out. I guess you met some of the other people here on your way.”
“Yeah. A group of them. They showed me this cafe about two blocks from here. The moment we walked in through the door, this incredible smell hit us. A mix of coffee and chocolate. I think I’ll be going back there a lot.”
I find that news to be interesting. A group of five. Do they know she’s the boss’s daughter? Or are they just pleasant people who aren’t trying to be corporate ass-kissers?
“Were any of them actual PR reps?”
“No. They’re all either assistants or interns. From what they tell me, guys like you only associate with each other.” She leans against a wall and glances at me. “Which is still better than not associating with anyone at all.” She tilts her head very slightly to the side to emphasize that she’s talking about me.
“Uh-huh,” I say dismissively. “And these people you were with, they treated you well?”
“Very well. They were all really friendly.”
“I bet they were,” I mumble.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. I was just talking to myself for a moment.”
Emily looks at me with suspicion before quickly moving on. “And they eat at that same cafe on most of their lunch breaks, so I think I’ll be seeing a lot of them. We agreed to all take our lunch at around noon.”
In as upbeat of a voice as I can muster, I say, “Well that’s all fine and dandy, but what about that coffee you were supposed to get?”
The look on her face is priceless. “Oh shit!” She looks behind her at the door and makes a move for it. “I’ll go get it now. If I run I can get back before my break ends. Good thing I came back early, huh?”
“Stop.”
She freezes to the spot but looks very impatient. “I don’t have any time to waste. What is it?”
“Forget about the coffee. You can get it tomorrow. And if you forget it again tomorrow, you can get it the day after that. It’s not that important. Honestly, don’t worry about it.”
She looks thankful for the fact that I’m not being hard on her. “I just totally spaced out. I was having such a good time with everyone that I… never mind. It won’t happen again.”
“Doesn’t matter if it does,” I say, trailing off and doing my best to make her realize that I don’t care that much about the whole thing.
Her eyes widen and she comes towards me. “But I did get you this. Thank God I remembered, otherwise I would have ended up taking it home with me in my pocket.” She reaches into her pocket. When she’s just a few inches away, she pulls out an object wrapped tightly in white paper. “I got this sandwich for you. And don’t tell me again about how you skip lunch. That’s really unhealthy for your body.”
I’m stunned. Not only at her matter-of-fact tone, but at how she has deliberately gone against my request not to worry about me. If anyone else had tried to pull something like that… let’s just say my anger would have gotten the better of me.
But with Emily, I accept the sandwich without a word and place it in front of me, looking down at it for a few seconds without blinking.
The resentment I should be feeling at her show of compassion is nowhere to be found. I’m just grateful. The same way that I’ve been grateful, despite myself, to Mr. Reed for inviting me to his family’s home.
A key difference between the two situations, however, is that Mr. Reed’s act isn’t purely for my benefit. He does care about me, but he’s also worried that my antisocial behavior will hurt the firm. What Emily did was completely selfless. She did it purely because she was worried I might get hungry.
It’s been a long time since anyone has been that concerned about me.
Chapter 46
Before I even know what I’m doing, I’ve taken several bites out of the sandwich. It’s delicious. A turkey melt, judging by the taste.
“You, uh, planning on getting me more of these during your trips to the cafe?”
“Only if you’re really nice to me,” Emily says, fixing the corner of one of her sleeves.
“Well, if you’re back there and you’re in a giving mood, tell them not to put in any olives next time.”
“Not a fan of olives. Got it.” She looks up and chuckles. “Look at you acting like a normal person and embracing lunch. Anything else? Maybe a cookie for desert?”
I want to smile, but force a scowl to remain upon my face. “No cookies. Just the sandwich. And maybe the coffee if you remember to get it. Remember, I take it black. The coffee, I mean, not the sandwich.”
“Yeah, I got that part.”
I take another bite of the sandwich. My stomach reacts with delight at the sudden departure from routine. “I’ll pay for it. Just ask me to give you my credit card whenever you’re going there.”
“It’s okay. I got it. I don’t need your card.”
“No, I insist. You’re my assistant after all. Not the other way around. Put your own stuff on it, too. Get whatever you want. Coffee. Tea. Donuts.”
“I’m not a fan of coffee. Don’t particularly care for tea either.”
“Then what do you drink? The blood of virgins?”
Emily rolls her eyes at me again. I like it when she does that. It isn’t the kind of eye roll a female gives when she’s completely annoyed by something. Her version for me has connotations of affection.
You know what they say, behind every great man there’s a great woman rolling her eyes.
“I drink water. Pretty much just that. Soda sometimes, but mostly water. It’s great for the skin.”
“Then get water. It doesn’t matter. Just put it on my card.” I stand up so that I can reach into one of my back pockets for my wallet. “As for today, how much did the sandwich cost? I’ll pay you back for it.”
Emily makes a sound that indicates disapproval. “I have my own money. Put that away.”
I look at her and think about arguing the issue. Then I realized how pointless that would be. This isn’t pity on her part. Just pride.
I can respect that.
“Okay. Have it your way.” I shrug and put my wallet back into place. After that, I sit back down and enjoy the rest of my lunch.
The next few hours go by smoothly, with the two of us talking about a wide variety of subjects, but never dwelling on any one thing for too long. I can’t recall ever enjoying speaking with someone this much.
“Sloppy handwriting,” Emily says, seeing me scribbling away a note to myself about one of my clients.
I don’t take any offense to her words. I know my handwriting isn’t anything to write home about (pun intended). “That’s what happens when you spend most of your time typing. Your handwriting goes to hell.”
“You should practice writing more often, if that’s the case.”
Unsolicited adv
ice. Always a pain in the ass.
“Practice writing. Good one.”
“I’m serious. Write some poetry every once in a while. It’ll improve your penmanship.”
“People like me don’t write poetry.”
“Why not? Where’s the rule that says suits like you have to be completely devoid of artistic passion and ability?”
“I believe it says that in the constitution. Could be in the bible too.”
Emily isn’t amused by my attempt at humor. “Very funny,” she says, not meaning a word. “Don’t dismiss it. You’re important here. You can’t have the penmanship of a seven year old. My dad writes by hand all the time.”
“He does? What exactly does he write about?”
For a moment I wonder if she’s going to tell me to mind my own business (something I should have said to her the moment she started lecturing me about my handwriting), but then she opens her mouth and doesn’t hold back the truth.
“He has a diary. Well, it’s more of a journal than a diary. He writes in it almost every day.”
Now that’s some interesting information. Obviously I’m never going to ask Jonathan Reed about it, but it’s a fun to think about him sitting on a couch and scribbling away in a journal as if he were a teenager. The mere mental image makes me want to laugh.
“Huh. He really didn’t strike me as the sort of man who would take part in something like that. Have you ever seen the inside of the journal?”
Emily shakes her head from side to side. “Dad won’t let anyone see the actual pages. Not even my mother.”
Did you see that? She referred to her father as “dad,” but her mother was just called by her official title. Mother. No “mom” label for her.
Not something I want to comment on right now, but it’s hard not to notice it.
