“Well, you may have already noticed, he is fast-paced and can be very serious. He is really kind though and generous.” Generous, that I know already. I try to dig deeper, Marsha is the kind of person I feel I can cut to the chase with. It feels great to take the lead in a conversation again. “So, what’s his deal?” Marsha has a puzzled look on her face.
“His deal? What do you mean?” She starts to look uncomfortable, maybe even skittish. I decide to approach the topic from another angle.
“Well, like you said, I find him to be very serious.”
“Yes, you’ll get used to it. He is really a nice guy.” She pauses to think. “If I tell you something, do you promise to keep it a secret? He asked me to do so, but I think it is something people should know.”
“Of course, your secret is safe with me.”
“Well, my husband died in a car accident just after I was hired.”
“Oh my god, I am so sorry.”
“Thank you. My son was just two years old at the time and it was really hard with the new job and the loss of income. Even with his life insurance, because of the medical costs of trying to keep him alive...” Her voice breaks. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I am still so touched by what Taylor did. He started a trust for my son to pay for his college education and his schooling until then, including preschool.”
“Wow, that is amazing.”
“I know. So while he may seem stern, he really has a kind soul.”
The revelation makes me feel a lot less anxious, knowing the kind of person he really is.
Our food arrives at the table and I try to change the somber mood.
“So how did you get a job at the prestigious Holden Industries?” I wonder if her recruitment was as unconventional as mine.
“My father is friends with someone in accounting. He connected me and I was hired. What about you?”
“Taylor and I get coffee at the same coffee shop and we got to talking.” I don’t want to give any more details away about how I was hired. “What about your clothes?” Marsha responds with a quizzical look.
“What about them?”
“Did you get new clothes when you started the job?”
“Ummm, well, yes, when I found out, I went shopping.” She has no idea what I am talking about. Should I tell her? Shit, the NDA!
“Did you know Emily?” Marsha pauses for a fraction of a second, starts to choke on a the food she is eating and has to down a glass of water to quiet the incessant coughing. It takes maybe a minute or two before she can talk again.
“Sorry about that. Where were we?”
“Emily, his last assistant. Were you friends?”
“Oh, I don’t know much about her. She kept to herself. She was with H.I. for a little over a year before she moved away.” It seems like Marsha is either hiding something, or Mr. Holden is equally mysterious to everyone who works for him. I go for the lowest common denominator to simply satisfy my teenage-like impulses for some boy talk.
“Can we talk about the elephant in the room? Do the women swoon over him in the office?” Her cheeks flush bright red underneath her freckles. She giggles. “I shouldn’t say this, but he is one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. It makes my job a lot easier. I don’t think it’s just women, maybe even a few guys too.” It’s the most rebellious thing I have ever heard her say so far. Naughty Marsha!
When we arrive back to the 45th floor, I go straight to Mr. Holden’s office. I haven’t done much of anything today besides get a makeover, eat and gossip. I can’t believe I am getting paid to do this. His door is open, so I tap on it. He looks up and invites me to take a seat.
“Did you see the briefings on your desk?”
“Yes, I was hoping we could go over what it is exactly you would like me to do with the materials.”
“That was next on the agenda, but I have had enough of this place. Let’s head back to the home office and work there.”
As we exit the building, I feel my phone buzzing. It’s a text from Rick.
Rick:
How’s the new job?
Shyla:
It’s good. Busy. ttyl.
I feel guilty about the express texts, but I don’t have time for small talk right now. I look at the clock. It’s already past three.
Once we arrive at his house, we head straight into the office. “Ms. Ball, I believe Marsha briefed you on the contents of the folders. Our entire itinerary for St. Petersburg is in there. We also have profiles of all the major influencers. I want you to research them and find out as much as you can. We want to engage with them on a personal level and make them like us. It’s all about coaxing egos at this level.” I feel like a spy, like we are on a covert mission. “You will deliver these snippets of information to me as we meet these people so I know good topics of conversation that will appeal to each individual. I hate these things and honestly I want this information spoon fed to me so I have something to say to them. You will also be by my side much of the night and engage them in conversation with me. I want you to use your charm on them as well.” I have to hold in laughter as I would never use that word to describe myself.
“Have you always done this?”
“In some form or another. People like to be flattered and remembered, so I do it.” He delivers this like a robot reciting information about human interaction.
Before I can even respond to his assignment, his demeanor changes. He looks down and adjusts his seating position as he takes an audible breath. He looks uncomfortable in his own skin for the first time, and it makes me nervous.
“There is something else we need to discuss,” he says, clearly perplexed. I wonder where this sudden moment of weakness is coming from. He looks stripped and his eyes appear vulnerable, like bluish pools of sadness. I lean in and I feel like for the first time today, I can relate to him as Shyla, the girl that he pulled out of the rain not too long ago.
“What is it?” I ask, leaning on the edge of my seat.
“You may have noticed, or you may not have. I have become very good at adapting my behavior and hiding my rituals.”
He looks away as he confesses to me. “I have anxiety issues, Shyla.” He called me Shyla. Images of hoarders and hermits come to mind. “In my case, I have issues about touching people and certain things. For example, door handles in public places make me anxious. I don’t like people touching me or hugging me, or shaking my hand. I do not like being handed anything directly by people I do not know.” Oh no, Taylor. Is this why you live in your giant fortress in the hills? I sense the embarrassment in his voice. “One of the reasons I will have you around is to help me as a buffer in social situations. Galas, fundraisers, and those sorts of things make my anxiety more intense. You have no idea how much touching and exchanging of items occur at these events when you have no issue with it. I will rely on you to help me hide these issues. For example, handing me a glass of champagne off of a tray instead of me grabbing it for myself.” I feel the ache of sorrow for this lonely man. His perfect looks, his beautiful house, his wealth all now seem like a cocoon for him, not a manifestation of success.
“Is it about germs?” I ask, genuinely trying to understand.
“Not really. I have always had these issues to some degree and I can’t really say what they stem from. It’s not germaphobia in the conventional sense. I mean, there are many things I touch on any given day that are exposed to the normal amount of germs. It’s something else, a tension or discomfort that needs to be relieved. The anxiety is distracting and makes me hate the mingling aspect of these events even more. I guess the best way to describe it is that I prefer to keep an invisible wall between me and the greater world. These habits help me with that. There are just certain rules I have always had for as long as I can remember and to break them gives me great anxiety. I have found ways to hide it, but certain situations bring the behaviors to the surface. I have a terrible feeling of dread if I don’t do things in conjunction with my rules. As the CEO of one of the lar
gest companies in the US, I do my best to keep this under wraps. I don’t want to attract attention to my issues or tie them into the company. I have worked too hard to look like some freak.” His voice trails off. The NDA makes perfect sense now.
“But you touched my hand.”
“Listen. I didn’t want you to feel weird about this when I was persuading you to work for me, so I wanted to wait until we knew each other a little better.” He pauses, looking uncomfortable. “When you spilled the coffee on me, normally, that would have sent me reeling. I mean there was your coffee on me, and you were wiping me, touching me.” I wince at my clumsy and awkward behavior, having no idea how that must have felt for him.
“I’m sorry,” I say with shame in my voice.
“No. That’s not how I meant it. What I am trying to say is I didn’t feel any of that when you touched me. I felt completely relaxed. I am not sure why, but I knew I couldn’t let you walk away without talking to your further. Lucky for me, it rained.” He smiles a wistful smile. “I thought you could be my conduit to the world, a work companion of sorts. It’s nice to be around someone that doesn’t make me feel so tense. I really did need an assistant, but was having a hard time finding someone suitable. Then you literally fell into my arms like fate.” While I feel sad for Holden’s predicament, part of me selfishly feels relief. I now know why he so adamantly pursued me and why he made me sign the NDA. We are finally sitting here, out in the open, no gameplay or hidden agendas. I can only hope that now that I know his secret, he can act more like the person I first met.
I am careful not to be too emotional in my response as I have learned this only causes him to recoil. “I am happy to help however I can. Just tell me what you need me to do and I will help you.” I look into his eyes, that now appear to be two orbs of jade, darkened with emotion.
“Thank you Ms. Ball.” Just like that, the wall is back up. I clench up from the immediate disappointment. The tension is now mine to bear. “You should be heading home. We have a full day of work ahead of us tomorrow. Harrison will help you take your clothes to your car.” Oh shit, I forgot about all of those clothes. How I will explain the new wardrobe to Rick? I didn’t tell him about the car either. I am in a bind. How can I explain that Holden’s need for me comes from a pure place without breaking my contract? I don’t want to hide anything from Rick, but at the same time, I don’t want to be subjected to invalid assumptions about Mr. Holden’s character. Especially now that I know his secret: He is a lonely man.
Chapter Five
I try my best to act completely nonchalant when Harrison helps me bring dozens of boxes and bags through the door to my apartment. I hoped Rick would be late to give me enough time to hide the bulk of the clothes, but instead he is sitting on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. He does a double take as I walk through the door and then sits at attention.
“Who are you and what have you done to my girlfriend?”
“Hi Rick, this is Harrison. Harrison, this is Rick.” Rick has a puzzled look on his face while Harrison helps unload the last of the bags.
“What’s all this?” He asks once Harrison closes the door. “You went shopping? Your hair looks totally different!”
“I hope that’s a compliment. No, I didn’t go shopping. It was on the company, they want me to dress a certain way.”
“So they gave you a makeover?”
“Yes. I mean, I have to travel with the CEO and they want me to wear designer clothes and stuff,” I shrug as I grab a drink out of the fridge.
“Was it Holden that insisted on this?” He doesn’t sound upset, but I can sense him trying to make sense of the entire situation.
“He’s just being generous. He does this for all of his close staff.” I lie. He did not do it for Marsha. The statement serves to appease his curiosity. I get ready to head to the bookstore to grab some literature about the industry that I can study nightly.
“What do you want to do for dinner?”
“Go ahead and have something without me. I have a lot of catching up to do for work. I’ll be right back. Getting some books for research. I’m going to use the company car.”
“You got a company car too? What a sweet gig.” I can’t tell if he is being sarcastic and I don’t want to find out. I give him a kiss on his head and leave.
My shifting is still a little jumpy but I don’t stall anymore. As I pull into the bookstore parking lot, I cannot drive the conversation with Holden out of my head. I smile to myself at the thought that this beautiful man, that women fawn over, has an inexplicable connection to me. A childish sense of superiority heightens in me because I can touch him and yet most of the world is closed off to his touch. I shake the selfish thought out of my head just as my cell phone rings. It is my best friend Kristin, who I have not spoken to in over two weeks. I hastily pick up, skimming my thoughts for what I can and can’t tell her. I am so used to telling her everything.
“Kristin!”
“Hey stranger! What’s going on?”
“Not much, and you?”
“Well, you know, same shit, different day. Just studying.” Kristin is completing law school. She is sharp and assertive and I know she is going to be a great lawyer one day.
“There is one thing. I got a new job!”
“Really? I didn’t even know you were looking! Congrats! What are you doing?”
“It’s a long story.” My voice sounds exhausted as I say this; Kristin reads right into it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just a big transition for me. Are you familiar with Holden Industries?”
“Yeah, I have heard of them before. It’s that huge building downtown, right?”
“Yeah. I am the Executive Assistant for Mr. Holden and I am already going to Russia in a few weeks.”
“Wow. Is he the owner?”
“Yup!” I presume that she thinks he is a middle-aged fat man. She has no idea.
“I have to run and I can’t talk much about it because I signed an NDA. I am really excited though. I am going to be really busy the next couple of weeks getting familiar with the new job and getting ready for St. Petersburg. Let’s get together when I get back.”
“We must. I want to hear about your trip.”
“Oh it will be all work and no play, believe me. Love ya.”
“Love ya too!”
When I return home, Rick is noticeably quieter. I ask if anything is wrong to which he replies with a simple “no.” I am not sure I believe him, but I have research to do and I need time to comprehend the new information I just learned about Mr. Holden. I set my alarm knowing this thrilling literature is sure to make me nod off. I delve into a book about writing business proposals and last about an hour before I am gone.
I get a nervous feeling in my stomach as I pull into the driveway for my second day of work. No one should feel this anxious seeing their boss, but I have a physical reaction at the thought of him and I can’t help it. I chose a navy blue A-line dress with a skinny red belt and navy open toe kitten heels from the new wardrobe. I pressed soft curls into my hair; something about the stark straightness of the new style was not me. Harrison gave me a key to the house on my first day, so I let myself in.
There is no sign of Harrison when I enter and the house is incredibly quiet. I call out meekly. I don’t feel comfortable walking through his house and I wonder again, if this is one of his little mental games. My heels click loudly against the floor with each step, but still no one calls out. I peer into his office; the room looks perfectly organized, as usual. The bathrooms are unoccupied. The guest bedroom looks untouched. I haven’t seen the other levels of the house and I choose not venture into them. Finally I walk past what at first appears to be a huge wooden panel on the wall. It is completely flush, but it is the same wood as the other doors in the house. There is no handle, but I do see a keyhole. I press my hand against it and feel it give just a little. It’s probably just a storage closet. My phone rings and I
nearly jump out of my dress. It is a number I don’t recognize.
“Shyla speaking.”
“You’re early again.” He says it almost playfully. I whip around to see if Taylor is in the house.
“Sorry, I was always taught that if you’re not early, you’re late.”
“That’s a good habit. I like it.” I blush. “I’m sorry. I had an early morning meeting to attend and I am running behind. I should be arriving in five minutes. Harrison is with me. The house is all yours. Help yourself to breakfast on the counter.” He hangs up without saying goodbye. I wonder why I wasn’t a part of this meeting, but feel slightly relieved as I have much to learn. I look overhead to see if there are surveillance cameras and take one last look at what I believe is some kind of hidden door. I am strangely tempted to try my key in it, but common sense and morality get the better of me.
I grab a cup of coffee, head to the office, and open up all the documents that Marsha prepped for me. There are proposals with lots of jargon, numbers and graphs. Underneath the proposals there appears to be profiles of various Russian figures. Each folder contains pictures along with personal details such as family members, hobbies, and job histories. I really do feel like a spy. My job is to learn who these people are and prompt interesting discussion when we host them. I cannot believe I am being paid to do this, but I will gladly accept. I dig into the reports when I hear the front door open. He’s here. His footsteps come straight towards the office and he glides in.
“Good morning, Ms. Ball.”
“Good morning, Mr. Holden.”
“Let’s dig into these proposals, shall we? Oh and this is for you.” He points to a 17” brand new Macbook on one of the tables. I giggle inside. I love new gadgets.
The party is over. No more Heather the stylist and dress up time with Mona. Alongside Mr. Holden, we tear apart the proposals, analyzing figures, looking at them with a discerning eye. He wants to know every figure like the back of his hand before we arrive in St. Petersburg. I am surprised at how well I am keeping up. He dictates changes and questions to me so that I can later return the notes to the appropriate department for updates. My mind is spinning but I feel incredibly adept that I can even understand what is going on. Maybe there is something he sees in me that I don’t.
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