by Koko Brown
“Da—”
Again, wanting to help, Patrick tapped the sample. “I chose the Lawford in royal blue.”
Ike’s face beamed in approval. “Good choice. It’ll go great with your hair color. It looked great on Jay Leno.”
“That’s what I hear.”
A half hour later and deserving a merit badge, Patrick followed Shoshana through the showroom. At the front entrance, she turned around. A frown marring her otherwise smooth brow, she looked so worried, he wanted to pull her into his arms. Battling this odd feeling, unsure of what to do since he rarely showed empathy for anyone, he shoved his hands in his pockets.
“An apology is in order.”
He made a dismissive swipe of his hand. “He wasn’t too bad.” He was telling the truth. The afternoon had been pleasant. Of course, his mood had more to do with her than her father.
Patrick stiffened. A nervous flutter similar to butterfly wings played havoc with his gut. WTF! What was she doing to me?
Looking relieved, she ran her palm over her crown, smoothing back her ponytail. What he wouldn’t give to see her dark hair floating around her shoulders while she lay wrapped in his bedsheets. Something told him he’d be sniffing her panties later while he jacked off.
“He normally doesn’t do that,” she confessed.
“How long has he had Alzheimer’s?”
She visibly stiffened. “He hasn’t been diagnosed. He’s just forgetful. He has really good days, some bad.”
Her gaze shifted to a point just beyond him. They’d just met but he could feel her drawing away from him. Unsure of how to prevent it, he clenched his fists against a need for violence. His mind further disordered by this novel development. In all his dealings with the opposite sex, no woman had ever provoked in him more than a banal interest.
“I’m not going to monopolize anymore of your time, Mr. Kelly.” She held out her hand. Patrick almost left her hanging. Weren’t they beyond just a casual association?
“Thank you so much for the commission, we’ll be in touch.”
Even in the face of her impersonal dismissal, he briefly considered going after her, lingering for a time in the showroom debating his motives. Eventually, his pride won.
CHAPTER SIX
To say Patrick woke up on the wrong side of the bed was reaching. One had to actually fall asleep for that to apply. He’d only rested his eyes in-between periodic bouts of overanalyzing yesterday’s events.
His lack of sleep and his inability to wrap his head around anything but Shoshana Haufman was the only reason he’d walked in his office the next morning a half hour late. She was also the primary motivation behind flinging a disgruntled hello at Vanessa. And the sole motive for stomping into his office and slamming the door behind him.
Without any rhyme or reason, he emerged a second later. Hands in his pockets he darkened his assistant’s desk.
“Any calls for me?”
His heart beat wildly as she retrieved the reminders. “Two. A Mr. Carl Rice and Paige Missick.”
Patrick balled them up and planned to drop them in file thirteen.
Mood soured, he turned on his heel but thought better of it.
“Hold all my calls.”
“All of them, Mr. Kelly?”
“I’m not to be disturbed.”
Intent on barricading himself in his office, Patrick swiveled around.
“Is everything okay, sir?”
I’m perfectly fine,” he lied and then slammed the door behind him. A moment later he reemerged.
“What are you doing for lunch?”
“I usually have lunch at my desk, Mr. Kelly.”
“That sounds pathetic. How about we grab a bite at the Skyline Room?”
Her shock didn’t surprise him. In the eight years as his assistant they’d never talked outside the office. She’d remembered not only his birthday she also kept up with his family’s as well. She was so efficient, Patrick no longer bothered with personally buying birthday cards or shopping for presents anymore. Of course, he never reciprocated.
She glanced down at her cardigan. “Am I appropriately dressed?”
“You’re not exactly the Brooks Brother’s set but you’ll do.”
“What about Anderson and Gould? Don’t you usually have lunch with them on Tuesdays?”
“I can have lunch with anyone since it’s my standing reservation.”
“Are y-you sure, sir?” she stammered.
Patrick nodded. “It’s good to shake up things a bit. Make some changes. So, I guess I should start with my own front door.” He glanced at his Michel watch. “Be ready to break away by one thirty.”
“I’ll be ready, sir.”
Missing her crest fallen expression, Patrick disappeared in his office. He had a ton of things he could dive into, and yet none of them, not even the idea of making money, appealed to him. Abuzz with nervous energy, he walked past his desk. He stopped in front of the floor to ceiling windows and peered out.
Eyes scanning the New York skyline, he counted down the blocks running from Central Park. This high up he couldn’t see the orange and white script emblazoned on the side of the building. But as sure as he knew every vein running along the back of his hand, Patrick knew New York City. Without a doubt, the large building with twin water towers belonged to Haufman’s Clothiers. And inside, SHE was blissfully unaware of the shambles she’d made of his night.
Reminded of the way things ended, Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets. How could she turn from hot to cold so quickly? They’d had a connection. He’d felt it the moment he’d laid eyes on her. A constant source of female admiration, he could tell the chemistry hadn’t been completely one sided. Maybe he’d simply been the unlucky beneficiary of an excellent salesperson’s guerilla tactics to seal the deal.
Patrick smirked. In an industry where bonuses ran in the millions, and deals could set one’s family up for generations, he’d seen people do everything humanely and inhumanely possible to cement a contract. Not fond of being duped–since it didn’t happen often–he had to admire her negotiation skills. Absolutely devoid of morals when it came to business, he’d do anything, save sucking someone’s dick, to undercut a rival.
Patrick pivoted on his heel. All this reflecting on Shoshana and her unsavory business methodology made him suddenly avarice. Mentally processing his daily to-do-list, he stalked over to his desk. Situated in the corner of his spacious corner office, the glass-topped, L-shaped table had been dubbed the Headquarters. Burdened with not one but two large-screen computer monitors, four landline phones, two cell phones, several stacks of paper, his desk with wires running practically in all directions was his conduit to the world.
Ready to wheel and deal, Patrick draped his blazer on the back of his chair. Off the rack, this time Armani, the black three-piece suit had been tailored to his exact specifications and fit him like a second skin. One of his better investments, the ensemble proved to be a babe magnet. For some reason, women couldn’t get enough of him in it, so they tried their hardest to get him out of it.
As he undid the bottom button of the vest, his thoughts drifted to Shoshana. What would she think of the suit? Would she appreciate the cut, the quality of the material? Or would she simply turn up her nose at another off the rack?
“C’mon get a grip, man.” He raked his hand through his hair, mussing the silver strands. “Stop giving her too much credit.”
She, like all women, came a dime a dozen. Inconsequential and disposable, they were easily forgotten. The only thing was, he was finding it hard to file away Shoshana Haufman. In a league of her own, she’d muddled his previous notions of women.
There was nothing Patrick hated more than being stumped. That had to be the reason why she’d monopolized his thoughts. He needed to figure her out, learn what made her tick. The gears in his head working, he strummed his fingers on the desk.
Maybe he was going about this all wrong? Instead of playing offense, he should play defense. Af
ter all, she had him in unfamiliar territory.
Not one to oscillate on a decision, Patrick decided on his stratagem. He’d simply follow her lead. Allow her to make her move and act accordingly to defray damages to his ego.
Pretty confident he had his work cut out for him, yet anticipating the challenge, Patrick moved onto something easy. He needed to raise, unearth, or swindle up a quarter of a billion dollars by the end of the month to facilitate the expansion of a dot com Morrissey believed could be a hot commodity. Patrick felt it was all hot air, and a waste of his time. Of course, his opinion didn’t matter. What R.W. wanted, he moved mountains to attain it.
Four hours later, Patrick was up to his elbows in profit margins and cold calls. Ever efficient, Vanessa didn’t interrupt him until later that afternoon. Quiet as a mouse, she stuck her head in.
“Mr. Kelly, it’s a quarter past one. I’m going to head down now. I’ll meet you at The Skyline Room.”
Grateful for the interruption, Patrick stood. “How about we go together?”
“O-okay,” she murmured.
In surprisingly good spirits, Patrick walked to the elevator with Vanessa in tow. Petite and on the slim side, she reminded him of a gray mouse. Her drab gray clothing swallowed her and even her jet-black hair, cut just above her shoulders in a bob, was streaked with gray. If she weren’t married, he’d bet she’d rarely got laid. And even if she did, he doubted it would be enjoyable for either party.
The elevator dinged, ending Patrick’s private summation of his assistant’s sex life. The car doors opened, and his two lunch mates, Thad Anderson, and Saul Gould, were inside. They had Deacon Owens from financing in tow.
Anderson’s eyes narrowed. “Did you change your mind, Kelly?”
Patrick shook his head. “Vanessa and I are having lunch.”
Anderson and Gould exchanged a look but kept their opinions to themselves. For the rest of the ride down, the trio ignored them, opting to chat about their subpar golf games and the recent addition of Karaoke nights at some trendy spot in Tribeca.
The elevator reached the ground floor, and Patrick couldn’t wait to alight. The three windbags’ one-upmanship was sucking up all the air. He’d only suffered Gould and Anderson and about a dozen other co-workers the allusion of being an extrovert due to a false misconception that they made better leaders.
Half way across the lobby, Anderson caught up with them.
“Can I have a word, Kelly?”
Patrick acquiesced only because the other man almost steamrolled him into Vanessa, who’d hesitated as well, he said, “Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”
Smiling that shark-toothed grin of his, Anderson wagged his elbow at him. Damn, the guy was a schmuck. “Hey, my man, since we both know you’re not banging her, what’s gives? Why are you taking her to lunch?”
Thinking Anderson was yanking his chain, Patrick was stunned by the question.
Unaware of his misstep, Anderson leaned in closer. “Is this your modus operandi for a promotion? Take out the support staff. Make yourself look like the good guy.”
Was the other man that shallow or did he consider Patrick so shallow he’d only eat with his support staff for some kind of gain? Likely both, since he could see himself mirrored in the other man. Not liking that image very much, Patrick shouldered his way past him.
“Seems like this is long overdue. If you would excuse me.”
“Are you talking about the promotion?” Anderson called after him.
Firm in his belief that stupid questions deserved to be ignored, Patrick left him hanging.
Established in 1944, The Skyline Room was a New York landmark located only a couple of blocks from the firm’s downtown offices. To Patrick, it felt like fifty. According to Anderson, he was a self-centered prick.
And Vanessa wasn’t doing anything to improve his mood. Not big on small talk she gave the requisite polite responses and then quickly retreated into her own little world. If the rest of their lunch continued in this manner, Anderson and Gould’s company would start to look appealing.
Curiosity piqued, he asked, “do you think I’m a self-centered prick?”
Vanessa’s salad fork slipped from her fingers and clattered on her plate.
“I guess that’s a yes.” Patrick chuckled.
Brow furrowed, she stared at her plate. A beat passed where he almost assumed she’d fallen asleep. When she finally lifted her gaze, anxiety glittered in her almond-shaped eyes.
“I think…you are extremely focused, Mr. Kelly.”
“Focused on myself it seems.”
Vanessa set her fork next to her plate. “I think it’s one of the strengths behind your success.”
“There’s more to life than meeting quotas. Like relationships and our dealings with those around us.” Patrick glanced down at his butter knife. Vanessa’s deer in headlights expression was rather unnerving.
“Mr. Kelly, can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Why did you invite me out for lunch?”
“I had a fitting yesterday for a new suit. Struck by their longevity and how their working environment contributed to its success, I felt compelled to change some things.”
Frowning, Patrick sat back. Even his decision to treat his assistant to lunch had somehow come back to her. Either he needed to fuck this woman or cancel his commission. And without thinking too hard, Patrick knew which one sounded the most appealing.
Sniffling, Vanessa reached into her purse and pulled out a handkerchief out of her purse.
“Are you okay?”
Eyes watering, she shook her head. “I cleared out my desk. I thought you were letting me go.”
“What made you think that?”
She blew her nose loudly. “You invited me to lunch.”
“And the eight years as my assistant this is the first time I’ve asked you to do something other than make a call, fetch a report, or dictate my notes.” Patrick stroked his chin. “That explains the dead man march all the way here.”
She nodded and he felt like an even bigger prick. “I’m not letting you go. I might not say it very often or if at all, but I appreciate everything you do. You keep my world running like a well-oiled machine. Besides, I don’t have the time to train someone else to keep track of my brothers’ birthdays and buy all those Christmas presents. How do you manage to buy the perfect gifts?”
“There’s no big secret really.” She paused to blow her nose again. “I-I listen to you, Mr. Kelly. You might not keep in touch with your family but you do talk about them. Over the years, I’ve taken notes.”
“Have you really taken notes?”
“Oh, yes! I keep a journal in my desk.”
He couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone to call his family and she’d kept a register of all their personal details. Self-centered prick!
“Speaking of family, how’s your husband? Wade, isn’t it?”
Vanessa’s shoulders slumped. “Wendell. He and I divorced a year and half ago.”
“I’m sorry I had no idea. How’s your son taking it?”
“Tabitha and Tamara never knew their father. He left before they were born.”
Patrick felt a twist of guilt in his chest. “Didn’t you cut your maternity leave short?”
Vanessa nodded. “You’d gone through seven temps then you broke down and offered me a seven percent salary increase to cut my leave two weeks short.”
“I’ve been a piece of work.”
“Never a dull moment, that’s for sure. At least the pay is great. I can definitely use it. I’m raising the twins by myself.”
Patrick sat up straighter. He’d grown up in a single parent household where the remaining parent had mentally checked out. “Your ex doesn’t provide support?”
“He moved back West.”
Blood percolating through his veins, Patrick drummed his fingers on the table.
“Does your family help out?”
“I wish. Everyone is still b
ack in Portland.”
“Do you have a picture of your girls?” Patrick surprised even himself. Whenever his co-workers started reaching for the phones to show off their kids he ran for the hills.
Smiling, Vanessa reached inside her purse. “This is from their second birthday party last month.”
While he gazed down at the two little girls in matching pink pinafores and pig tails, Patrick calculated the math in his head. “And he divorced you while were still pregnant?”
“I divorced him,” she said swiping the phone to another picture of the girls in a toddler pool. “He was getting abusive and I didn’t want that kind of environment for my girls.”
“I don’t want to come off as self-righteous or like I’m patronizing you but if you ever need to take time off or leave early. Don’t hesitate to ask.”
“That isn’t necessary, Mr. Ke—”
“I insist,” he interjected. “And I don’t want to hear anything else about it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kelly. I promise you I won’t abuse the privilege.”
“While you’re at it, stop calling me, Mr. Kelly. From now on I’m Patrick.”
For a good portion of the next hour, Patrick peppered Vanessa with questions. With each answer, she seemed to blossom before his eyes.
“Would you mind if we did this once a week?” he asked while signing the check.
“I would like that.”
To his surprise, he agreed.
After lunch, and in unusually high spirits, Patrick dove into the stack on his desk–-at the top Burke Industries.
Old man Burke and his sons were up to their eyeballs in debt caused by fines and penalties against the Clean Water Act. Despite paying more than a half a million to settle a civil lawsuit brought by the U.S Department of Justice and the State of Arkansas, they were looking to expand their poultry egg production facility into West Virginia. If polluting the Arkansas River wasn’t enough for them, they were looking to transfer their waste to the Shenandoah Valley.
Their environmental track record wasn’t the reason why Patrick had seesawed on the project. Far from a tree hugger, he’d invested in dozens of companies with sketchy backgrounds. However, he rarely invested in family-owned companies. Sure, the years and loyalty were there but so were the unwanted emotion and attachment, which caused most people to hang on to something far longer than they should.
