‘Now I call her my former assistant. Or Natasha. I hope the first option won’t be under consideration for a while. So should I call you Natasha?’
‘You can call me whatever you want.’
‘Okay. Don’t you have some work you should be doing, Sira? :)’ I got it immediately—Sira, a combination of my fake name and the name of the fake person programmed into a smartphone. It fit perfectly, and oddly, I loved it.
‘Just as soon as you leave me alone.’
‘Testy today, aren’t you?’
‘Considering I’m not paid by the hour, it’s understandable, isn’t it?’ Then I quickly added a smiley face. Not winking, smiling—big difference.
‘I’d like you to send me a list of the various faces one can make as well as the meanings of the common acronyms used in this bizarre form of communication.’
‘Now?’
‘No. The doc first, the list ASAP.’
‘That was impressive.’
‘Get to work, Sira. :)’
I was so tempted to look at his picture again. All it would take was one little click to switch pages.
This is why I didn’t date, and why I would never date anyone that attractive, even if they were interested. This is also why I needed to stop drinking so much coffee.
And start drinking a lot more booze.
6
Andi
After I’d explained four or five times using simple, non-technical words, Hayden started recording memos on his smartphone and sending them directly to me to type up. Dictation was something I could do with my eyes closed—literally—but I stopped doing it for his stuff. Because every time I closed my eyes, I started paying attention to the smoothness of his voice, its depth, the way his tone changed when he was speaking directly to me¸ and forgot to type. Not at all good. I was fantasizing about someone I’d never meet and had less than zero chance with. And even if I did ever meet him in person, my luck was so amazing, he had to be either married or gay. Possibly both.
A message popped up. ‘What did you do today, Sira?’
‘I spent all day working on something for a very impatient jerk.’ And I enjoyed his constant interruptions. Despite the fact that it was totally inappropriate, he seemed so relaxed with me, I felt like it was okay to be relaxed back. All I had to do was make sure we never strayed to any risky topics, shared any personal information, or discussed politics, religion, or sex. That last one being the biggest no-no, of course.
‘And did you finish what the impatient jerk asked you to do?’
‘I did. He should probably check his inbox.’
‘He will, once he’s done being a jerk.’
‘I’m not sure that will ever happen.’
‘You’re probably right.’
I wondered if he was like this with everyone. I wasn’t—only my closest friends saw my sarcastic side. Or any other side, actually. ‘What did you do today?’
‘Sat around trying to figure out how to be a better jerk. But I got too impatient and moved on to other things.’
I laughed as I typed. ‘I have bills to pay, so send me something else to do.’
‘You’re very demanding.’
‘And impatient.’ I should be working, not chatting.
‘How long have you been doing this?’
Um… ‘I’ve been impatient all my life. I’ve been doing the virtual thing for about a year.’
‘Do you plan on continuing for long?’ Simple question, really. But for some reason, it bothered me, made me wonder if our chats might be headed toward more dangerous territory.
I typed, ‘You’re full of personal questions today, aren’t you?’
‘I needed a break. And what better way to amuse myself than to bother you? If it’s working too well, feel free to tell me to go away. Anytime.’
‘It doesn’t bother me.’ In fact, I’d probably call it whatever the polar opposite of ‘bother’ was. Is it ‘like?’ Yeah, I think it’s ‘like.’ Damn it. ‘I plan on doing it as long as I can. Jobs are scarce.’
‘But there’s not much room for advancement in this realm, is there?’
‘I don’t need advancement, just a paycheck.’
‘I’ve been told there’s more to life than just that.’
‘Not MY life.’ Work, rinse, repeat. With the occasional meal thrown in or meet-up with a friend I couldn’t get out of. ‘Yours?’
There was a pause before he answered. ‘It’s just something I’ve been told.’ That’s when it occurred to me—what had been missing from all the images of his face I couldn’t seem to get out of my mind and, in the interest of full-disclosure, had been scouring the net for. There wasn’t a single bad one of him—no eyes closed, no mid-word convoluted expression, no crotch-shots. Unfortunately.
He also wasn’t smiling in any of them, and there were no laugh lines near his eyes, not even a hint of them. Hayden Bennett didn’t smile, not even with a gorgeous blonde on his arm. But I knew he smiled when he messaged me. I knew it. You couldn’t joke and tease like that—even innocently—without smiling.
‘What do you do for fun?’ Holy hell was that inappropriate, but I had to know.
‘Tough question. I’m pretty boring.’
‘No way. You’re a shipping magnate. I bet you go yachting and drink champagne with your family every weekend.’
‘Never use the word ‘magnate’ around me again, please. Also, fun is actually discouraged in my family. We usually stay on dry land and argue. Occasionally, we argue over wine though. Does that count?’
I would bet my paycheck he was smiling as he wrote that. ‘Depends on the wine, I guess.’
‘Ha.’ And there was proof.
Proof that made me feel special, proud, like I’d done something miraculous by making him momentarily happy.
I guess that’s what made me type what I did next: ‘Do you ever wish you could start over? Go back to some point in your life and make a different choice?’ As soon as I’d pressed send, I wanted to take it back. He was my client, not my confidante. I had no right to ask him that.
Then his reply popped up.
‘Every single day. You?’
I chewed on my nail for a second, then answered honestly. Because he had. ‘Every single day.’ After a deep breath, I added, ‘But if I did, I might have missed out on an opportunity to work for a boring, impatient jerk. So things could be a lot worse.’
‘A jerk who wouldn’t be able to get anything done without you. Maybe we should both consider ourselves lucky.’
I did. But right now what I couldn’t consider myself was professional or sane. As much as I liked him, it wasn’t worth screwing up the job. I needed his money, not him. I should be thinking about all the people I’d hurt, not myself.
I typed, ‘Speaking of getting things done… Remember when you mentioned I could tell you to go away anytime I wanted? Well, now is anytime.’
‘What? I couldn’t hear you.’
‘You mean, you chose not to listen,’ I wrote.
‘Still can’t hear you. It’s very loud in here.’
Damn it. I wish I didn’t enjoy this so much. He was my client, and clients were always off the menu. Unfortunately, he was also funny and smart and basically every woman’s wet dream. Definitely this woman’s wet dream, like, every night this week. Good thing he was totally out of my league, and we’d never meet face-to-face. Because if we did, we’d probably have nothing to say to each other. So we’d have to fill up the awkward silence with something that didn’t take any words.
“You wish,” I mumbled. Yes, unfortunately, I really, really did.
‘Have a good day, Mr. Bennett.’ Then I closed down my computer and went for a long walk...to the donut shop.
Whether the inventor of donuts knew it or not, she—had to be a woman who invented donuts—had created the world’s most perfect coping food. Sugar, fat, bread, and sprinkles. With a hole in the middle so you could pretend you weren’t finishing off a big ball of calories all by yours
elf.
It got a little trickier to play that game after two of them, though. After three, I felt so ill, when the image of him and the blonde popped into my mind, the woman’s face had been replaced by a cinnamon roll.
7
Hayden
I dictated a short memo on my phone, sent it to Sira, then texted, ‘Please type this up and have it ready when I get to my office. Need to send it out ASAP.’
‘You’re still home? Don’t you have a meeting this morning?’
“Oh, damn it.” I looked at the time—8:38. I had twenty-two minutes to get downtown for Bart’s pointless monthly meeting with the heads of each department. Each of us would share what we were working on, and then Bart would spend the next ten minutes berating us for not doing it right. Regardless of the facts.
Everyone else was probably already there, waiting for the fun to begin. I shoved files into my briefcase, grabbed my jacket and phone, and ran. I took a cab instead of my car—not having to park would get me there faster.
Thankfully, when I arrived, Bart and a few heads of departments were still talking to each other in the hallway outside the boardroom. My father-in-law raised an eyebrow when he saw me rush past. I said a brief hello before setting down my things at one end of the table. Bart still proudly held the official head of the table, even though his role within the company had diminished to that of king—he waved at people from afar and gave an occasional angry speech when someone screwed up, but when it came to actual decisions, everyone knew he yielded no power.
When I set down my phone, I saw another text from Sira.
‘Are we there yet?’ And another. ‘You’re wearing pants, right?’
I chuckled, then texted back, ‘Wish you’d reminded me of that earlier.’
‘Oops. You’re supposed to imagine other people naked, not be naked. I pray you’re kidding but, just in case, I’ll write up a sincere-sounding apology letter. Or maybe a forged note from your mom would be better?’
‘You’ve obviously never met my mother.’ I imagined Renee’s excuse as to why I’d been late—making up excuses and lies were all she knew how to do. But she’d never lifted a pen or a finger to defend me.
‘No, but I know she never bothered to teach you how to type.’
‘True, but I know which fork to use, which is obviously so much more important.’ Actually, most of my education had come from my father’s fists, followed by my mother teaching Carson and me the importance of keeping secrets.
“Hayden?”
I didn’t need to see Bart’s face to know how annoyed he was. When I looked up from my phone, everyone was seated and staring, waiting for me to finish.
Something useful my father had taught me—not on purpose, mind you—was that apologies were bullshit, so I rarely bothered with them. In fact, I decided to do the opposite this time. I pointed at my phone and said, “This is regarding Inspex.”
Bart grunted but didn’t dare say anything. He understood our positions within the company—he was free to continue acting as if he were in charge, but we all knew my Inspex deal would catapult Conure into a powerhouse position and keep everyone fat and happy past retirement.
‘My mother did teach me how to dress though, so I am fully clothed. Don’t worry.’
‘Thank goodness. I’ll just rip up this application to the mental institution then?’
I couldn’t smile, but I wanted to. ‘Might as well keep it handy.’
The murmurs grew as the group got restless, so it was time to say goodbye. Although…
“I’m going to record the meeting and have my assistant type up the minutes.” I looked at the secretary who’d been assigned the task. “You do a wonderful job, but she’s still fairly new. This will give her a chance to see us all in action.” I winked. The real reason was that I had no interest in listening to Bart rattle on about things he knew nothing about. I’d let Sira decide if anyone had actually said anything interesting or not.
“Anyone have a problem with that?”
When no one spoke up, I opened the recording app and set my phone face up in front of me.
“Let’s begin, then, shall we? Who has the agenda?”
When a new text popped up, I slammed my hand down to cover my phone, so no one could read it. As I typed, ‘In meeting. Can’t talk,’ my eyes wandered up to what she’d written.
‘What are you a 42-Long? I’m shopping for straitjackets.’
I smiled before I could stop myself. Then said to Bart, “Good news about Inspex,” in explanation.
His lips tightened, but he didn’t say anything, knowing I wouldn’t share more.
An hour later, after a meeting that provided no information other than why I should start buying aspirin in bulk, I went back to my office.
About thirty minutes later, Sira emailed me a very short list of relevant points, along with a note that said, ‘Your boss sure likes to yell a lot, doesn’t he? He’s very good at sounding important.’ Yes, he was.
A few hours later, I took a break to stare at the chat icon on my computer screen. How could a tiny picture symbolize so much confusion? I didn’t have anything new to give her to work on, so I had no reason to click on that icon. Except to chat. Did grown men ‘chat?’ Not with their assistants. Not just because he found her interesting and amusing and wanted to get to know her better. Grown men didn’t do that.
Before I could make a fool of myself, I shut the damn thing down and shoved tonight’s work into my briefcase, knowing I could just as easily make a fool of myself from my phone. Mobile stupidity. Great.
“In fact…”
The head of marketing stopped me in the hall on my way out. “You should try having lunch before three o’clock sometime, Hayden. It’s all the rage these days.”
“Is taking a three-hour lunch the rage too, Tim? Because you do it really well. Maybe you can give me some tips.” I was only partially joking, and he knew it. No judgment—how people did their jobs wasn’t my concern, and each of us had different goals. From the outside, it probably seemed like I cared about this. And peripherally, that was true. But, unlike Tim and everyone like him, money wasn’t my goal.
I had more than enough in cash, stock options, and outside investments and, when Bart retired, I’d take control of the company he and my father had built. So money had never been my goal—proving my worth to my father had. Before he’d died, and every moment since.
I’d married my boss’s daughter, the man who’d been my father’s best friend until he died. This wasn’t a job for me. It was a life. And damn, wasn’t that pathetic. My career was something that filled the time, my wife and I felt nothing for each other, and I detested her father with every cell in my body. Almost as much as I’d hated my own.
“Are you going for lunch?” Tim asked as he followed me into reception. “Because I could join you. I thought you might want to throw some ideas around for that project you’ve been working on.”
That was never going to happen. I’d never ‘thrown ideas around’ with anyone, and if I ever decided to, it wouldn’t be with Tim. “No lunch, I’m afraid. I’m taking off early to go computer shopping.”
“Seriously?”
“Is it that strange for someone to buy a new computer?”
“No, it’s that strange that Hayden Bennett is taking off early. What are you looking for?”
A way out, but unfortunately, I didn’t think that could be bought. “Something small enough to use for travel. Just enough for email and a few other things.” I didn’t mention the chat feature because that would expose too much of something I wanted to keep private, particularly from Tim.
“I have some time. Want me to tag along?”
I was instantly on edge. Tim and I shared the occasional conversation but were not what anyone would call ‘friends.’ He was too cocky and too self-serving to waste time on.
I shook off my paranoia before it started to show. “I’m fine. Thanks, though.” Then I headed for the elevator.
; “Hey!” Tim called. “How’s that virtual assistant thing working out?” Tim’s secretary was one I’d given work to before I started working with Sira, and he’d been the one to recommend I try using a virtual assistant to begin with. So his question wasn’t unreasonable. In fact, a few people had already spoken with me about it.
“It’s fine. Some quirks and things to get used to, but otherwise, it’s fine.”
“Rosie is starting to bitch. Any chance your assistant could help mine out? What’s her name again? Emily or something?”
“Sira. I mean Sara.”
His brow tightened. “I thought you’d gotten the owner of the agency, seeing how important you are and all.”
I could recognize a backhanded compliment when I heard one, especially since Tim didn’t know how to make any other kind.
“Nope. But Sara’s more than competent. Unfortunately, she’s still pretty busy catching up with everything Natasha left, so I don’t think she’d have time to help you out, as well. You might try being a bit nicer to Rosie. Then she won’t have anything to bitch about.”
“She’ll always have something to bitch about,” he grumbled.
I’d never been an easy man to work for, but that was due to the amount of work, not the way I treated people. Tim hadn’t learned the bees and honey lesson yet, and probably never would.
As soon as the elevator door closed, I leaned against the far wall and closed my eyes. What was I doing? And why did I suddenly feel the need to keep secrets about a stupid computer?
Because it wasn’t about the computer. It was about Sira. Our conversations weren’t overly personal, but for some reason, I didn’t want to share her. My laugh was bitter. I wanted a monogamous working relationship with an assistant I’d never seen and had barely spoken to. That made so much sense. Maybe I should just accept my inner-Neanderthal, toss the computer onto my shoulder, and bring it back to my cave.
Virtually Impossible (Once and Forever #2) Page 5
