by Amy Star
Harry Carmichael was an intelligent man who had carried his business from its slow beginnings to its world-wide domination. No one could argue that. But at the same time, he was an idiot. Once a thought or an idea was in his head, it could very well take a nuclear bomb to get him to reconsider it. And in his head, Lorraine was simply his personal assistant, and a good one at that, so any word to the contrary had to be inaccurate. It was easy to excuse her behavior when he examined it through that lens, Cheyenne imagined.
There was a lot about Lorraine that Cheyenne could understand and even excuse. After all, falling in love with someone wasn’t a crime, and frequently people couldn’t even control it. That wasn’t what Cheyenne took issue with.
It had been blatant that Harry and Cheyenne had been an item when Lorraine strolled into Harry’s life. There had been magazine articles about them. (And there had been magazine articles about their split, and Cheyenne and Daphne had gleefully toasted as many of them as they could over the stove. It had been cathartic.) Even falling in love with him, she should have had the willpower to keep her feelings to herself. And when she couldn't even do that, it became very clear that her pursuit of Harry was vindictive. If it was so within her abilities to portray herself as someone she wasn’t, then it was well within her abilities to behave, and yet she decided the best course of action was to try to steal a taken man.
Cheyenne was less forgiving about that detail.
And yet she knew, for the duration of her stay at Harry’s house at least, life would be easier if she kept her head down and didn’t kick up a fuss. If she could annoy Lorraine incidentally or in smaller moments, she wouldn’t exactly cry about it, but if she tried to actively make a nuisance of herself then she would be doing herself no favors when she lacked the energy to truly fight back.
It wasn’t fair, really, when what seemed to be the best course of action was the one that necessitated she simply suck it up and keep trucking when she wasn’t even the one who had done anything wrong. Like some part of the world was laughing at her, seeing what else could be piled on before she simply started screaming.
As tempting as it was, she had no plans on giving anyone that satisfaction, and so she carried on as she had been for the past three months.
*
As was probably rather obvious, Cheyenne made no efforts to hide the fact that she did not like Lorraine. There was no way that Lorraine herself was unaware of Cheyenne’s thoughts and feelings towards her. And yet, she seemed to just have…no reaction. She continued to act as if she and Cheyenne were polite acquaintances. Cheyenne might have gone so far as to say that Lorraine acted as if they were friends, but there was always something dark in Lorraine’s eyes that even she couldn’t hide.
It would have been easy enough to simply say that she was being professional, and Cheyenne might have let an excuse like that slide, until things started getting bothersome. Or rather, more bothersome than they had already been.
Lorraine’s hands settled on Cheyenne’s shoulders from behind her chair, squeezing too sharply to be in any way comfortable. Cheyenne was sure there were going to be indents from Lorraine’s fingers whenever she let go.
Lorraine’s grip tightened further, and she offered with a saccharine sort of pleasantness, “Do you need anything before Mr. Carmichael and I leave? It wouldn’t be an inconvenience, I assure you.”
Cheyenne shook her head slowly, her gaze still fixed on her breakfast in front of her, acting as if Lorraine wasn’t even there to the best of her abilities.
Finally, Lorraine’s grip slackened, and her hands fell away from Cheyenne’s shoulders. “If you’re certain,” she sighed, before she swanned on her way, high heels clacking into the hall.
(In a very petty way, that made it even worse. Cheyenne had already given up on wearing heels for the time being, and she rather missed the extra height. On top of that, she was convinced that flats made her legs look shorter.)
Cheyenne glanced up enough to see Harry meet Lorraine in the hall, and their small talk seemed polite enough. Cheyenne wished, for a moment, that Lorraine would drop everything Harry handed to her.
*
The house was chilly in the evening sometimes. It was large, and it was old and even with all of his money, Harry couldn’t prevent drafts if he didn’t know they were there. Cheyenne made a mental note of them on occasion, though those moments were rare.
On one evening, though, as Cheyenne tried to get comfortable in one of the window seats, a persistent shiver ran up and down her spine. She could hear Harry’s car pulling into the driveway, though, so she supposed she would just tell him that there was probably a gap somewhere around the window.
Lorraine was the first one back into the house, and as soon as she spotted Cheyenne, she observed, “You look troubled. Is something wrong?” She sounded like she was trying too hard to sound ever so concerned.
Cheyenne shook her head quickly. “No—well, I mean, there’s just a bit of a draft over here. I was getting cold.”
Lorraine took a few steps closer, until she was close enough to take Cheyenne’s hands in her own. Her grip was too tight, until Cheyenne swore her knuckles were going to start grinding together, and it took only a few seconds before it became acutely uncomfortable. All the while, Lorraine’s passive smile stayed right where it always was.
“Oh, you’re right,” Lorraine sighed. “Your hands are cold. Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?” she asked, letting go of Cheyenne’s hands as Harry stepped through the front door.
“No. Thanks,” Cheyenne answered tersely, lifting her hands to crack her knuckles. “I’ll just go sit in the kitchen. The chairs in there are probably better for my back anyway.”
Lorraine offered her a beatific smile. “That sounds like a very good idea to me,” she replied, and she stepped aside to let Cheyenne pass. “Enjoy your evening,” she added as Cheyenne skulked past her.
She hardly even acknowledged Harry as she passed him, and as she got to the kitchen, she could hear his bemused voice asking Lorraine, “Any idea what’s wrong with her?”
“Oh, it’s nothing much, Mr. Carmichael,” Lorraine assured him. “There’s a draft in the window. I suppose she found it bothersome.”
Cheyenne rolled her eyes and dropped down into a dining chair.
*
One instance, Cheyenne could look past. She would still be annoyed about it, but things happened sometimes. Even two instances wasn’t quite enough to get worked up over, and despite her annoyance, she knew that.
Three instances, though? That was a pattern.
A familiar pair of slim hands landed on her shoulders, fingers tense before they squeezed at the back of Cheyenne’s neck too tightly to be in any way relaxing. And really, Cheyenne got the point by then. Lorraine was strong. Stronger than she looked, certainly, considering she looked like a fairytale elf who had hopped off the page of a picture book. And Cheyenne was well aware that was what she was trying to convey to Cheyenne, in such a way that Harry would never see anything odd about it.
“Can I help you?” Cheyenne snapped before she could help herself.
Lorraine retracted her hands in a hurry, and when Cheyenne turned to face her, Lorraine already had her hands linked politely together behind her back.
“You looked tense,” she offered simply, trying her best to seem confused about Cheyenne’s irritation, and she almost would have been believable, if not for the annoyance that she only barely managed to conceal. “Have I offended? If so, I apologize.”
“Pretty sure only a trained chiropractor should be touching my back and shoulders at this point,” Cheyenne offered flatly, before she turned and skulked away, because if she didn’t get out of there then there was going to be a shouting match which she was just not in the mood for, and it felt like there would only be about a fifty percent chance that Harry would actually take her side when he came to see what it was about.
(And Daphne would of course come to see why there was shouting, and
she would take Cheyenne’s side, which meant Harry would likely take Lorraine’s regardless, because it seemed as if Cheyenne and Daphne were being mean to her. Cheyenne could see the entire situation playing out in her mind already.)
So really, it was just better if she removed herself from the situation before anything could escalate beyond annoyance, even if ‘annoyed’ seemed to be her baseline state of existence at that point.
*
When Daphne’s door slammed open from the hallway and Cheyenne stormed in like an angry thunderhead preparing to let loose a downpour, poor Daphne nearly leaped out of her skin, tumbling down from the bed and landing on her backside on the rug. Her book tumbled out of her hands, landing page down on the floor.
“Where’s the fire?” she asked, her voice half a level higher than it typically was.
“Sorry,” Cheyenne sighed, dragging a hand down her face. She plopped herself down on the edge of the bed.
It took Daphne approximately half a second to squirm back up onto the bed like some sort of eel as she demanded, “Who do I need to kill?”
“Take a guess,” Cheyenne deadpanned in return.
“Well, yeah, I sort of figured,” Daphne acknowledged. “I was just hoping it was someone else for a change because Lorraine could literally eat me, from what Harry said. So, I think I would lose that fight.”
Cheyenne nodded once in acknowledgment and fell over backwards on the bed. Daphne peered down at her, eyebrows rising towards her hairline as she wondered, “So, what’s going on this time?”
Cheyenne heaved an explosive sigh. “She won’t. Stop. Touching me,” she replied, enunciating carefully. “Every time she sees me. And she’s not even doing it casually like she just wants to convince Harry we’re getting along. I mean, that’s part of it, but she’s also trying to show off that she’s strong, and I’m not a problem as far as she’s concerned.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s harassment,” Daphne pointed out, leaning down until she was holding her weight up on one elbow. “Maybe even battery.” She paused for a second, and then snorted as a thought occurred to her. “Hey, hey. If you got a restraining order against her, do you think Harry would fire her or kick you out? I mean, either way your problem would be fixed. If he wanted you to stay here, he would have to fire her. If he didn’t want to fire her, then he would be breaking the restraining order by trying to badger you into staying.”
Cheyenne huffed out a quiet laugh and swatted one hand at Daphne. “That’s not helpful,” she pointed out. “I mean, does it sound totally horrible if I say that I’m just not capable of taking it to the cops right now? I mean, for one thing, I’m a pregnant woman. No one is going to take me seriously if I say ‘oh, she keeps touching me and I don’t want her to.’ I’ll just look like I’m hysterical and like hormones are driving me crazy. And for another, I just do not have it in me to put up with the mess and the fallout right now.”
“It doesn’t sound horrible,” Daphne replied, tipping her head thoughtfully to one side. “But are you sure you don’t want to deal with it? I mean, otherwise she’s just going to keep it up.”
“It’s a temporary situation,” Cheyenne pointed out. “Once the babies pop out, I’m out the door, and I can just tell Harry that he has no reason to let his personal assistant trail after him whenever he visits the kids. He’s clueless, not malevolent; I don’t think he’d argue that point.”
“Fair,” Daphne conceded. “But are you sure it’s temporary?’ she wondered. “Considering you two…well, you know.”
Cheyenne rolled her eyes. “Whatever we are right now, it’s not exactly a formal arrangement. I don’t think we’ve made it back to the ‘shacking up together’ point, and if things hold their course, we’re not going to, because I will turn into a basket case. Maybe we’ll date, but honestly, that feels like I’m trying to predict the future at this point.”
“Just letting things play out, I take it,” Daphne mused.
“Just letting things play out,” Cheyenne confirmed. “And hoping that I don’t go crazy before all of this is over with.”
Daphne patted her on the shoulder consolingly as she said, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’ve basically been crazy since I met you. I figured you had noticed.”
With a snort of laughter, Cheyenne swatted her with the nearest pillow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cheyenne’s fuse got shorter as time passed. She was aware of it. Even Harry was aware of it, though he seemed reluctant to ask about what the problem was in case she decided to bite his head off over it.
She supposed, from some angles, it could seem like she was just being dramatic, or as if she was trying to preserve the situation by not reporting it. But really, when a man who purported to care about her wouldn’t take her seriously on the matter, it simply seemed too unlikely that she would be able to get strangers to take her seriously. And if she tried to report the situation and nothing happened, she was fairly sure she would give up on doing anything about it later on when it got more serious.
She supposed eventually something would have to give, but in the meantime, she simply did what she could to rely on Daphne to help keep her from snapping completely. Daphne, bless her soul, didn’t seem to mind particularly much, and she was always good for a reminder that Cheyenne wasn’t unreasonable for hating the situation she was stuck in.
*
As it turned out, eventually something really did have to give, and Harry walked into the entryway as Lorraine strolled up to the bottom of the stairs as Cheyenne came down them. Her words were innocuous enough, as they ever were, and she sounded helpful enough to those who didn’t really know to listen, but her grip on Cheyenne’s shoulder was too firm, and there was a threat thinly veiled beneath that polite offer.
Cheyenne smacked Lorraine’s other hand away from her stomach before Lorraine’s fingers could even settle against the fabric of her shirt, snapping, “For fuck’s sake, keep your hands to yourself for ten minutes,” as she did. “God, you’re worse than a toddler. At least they get all grabby because they don’t know what anything is.”
“Everything alright in here?” Harry asked slowly, looking between the two of them as he asked.
Lorraine cleared her throat and linked her hands together behind her back. “Perfectly well,” she answered pleasantly, but she didn’t get a chance to tack on further assurances.
“‘Perfectly well’ my ass,” Cheyenne scoffed. “Keep your hands off of me. If you’re feeling that tactile, I’m sure I can find some craft glue and some borax, and we can make you some ooze to keep you busy.”
“Chey—”
Cheyenne clicked her tongue sharply before Harry could actually say anything, and she stepped down the last stair, turned, and stormed out of the entryway and into the kitchen. Neither Harry nor Lorraine followed her, but she could hear them murmuring between themselves before the front door opened and they left for the day.
With a sigh, Cheyenne slumped against the counter, only straightening up when she heard Daphne slinking into the room.
“I heard shouting,” Daphne stated. “Everything alright?”
“Harry finally managed to walk in on his assistant being weird,” Cheyenne answered with faux cheer, twirling one finger in the air as if to silently convey ‘yippee!’ “He just barely managed to cotton on that something might be a little bit off.”
Gasping in surprise that was about eighty percent feigned, Daphne covered her mouth with one hand. “You think so?” she asked, adopting the overly excited tone of a college coed. “Is it, like, the apocalypse? Did the Mayans just get it a few years off?”
Cheyenne snorted and rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly. “Maybe,” she returned dryly. “Either way, I’m going to talk to him about it tonight. Maybe since he actually saw a sliver of it, he’ll listen when I say that something needs to happen.”
To say that Daphne looked skeptical did not quite do justice to the look on her face, but she slowly agreed, �
��Whatever you say, Chey,” regardless.
That was about Cheyenne’s level of optimism too, if she was being perfectly honest with herself.
*
Cheyenne waited for about five minutes once Harry got back from work—just long enough for Lorraine to walk back out to the car to fetch something—before she cornered him in his office, pulling the door shut as she did.
“You need to tell her to back the fuck off,” Cheyenne stated simply, arms folded over her chest as she scowled at him. “Be nice, be blunt, I don’t care, but you need to say something to her, because I have approximately no patience left for her handsy bullshit.”
“Chey, I really don’t think she means anything by it,” Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “It hardly seems like something to get so worked up over.”
Cheyenne reached into her pocket and pulled out her wallet, purely so she could throw it at Harry’s chest. He blinked down at it as it bounced off and landed on the floor with a quiet ‘thwap.’
