From the Top

by Roxanne Smith

  His mouth opened. He shut it quickly, irritated to find himself slack-jawed. He inhaled deeply and set Seraphina’s tablet on his desk. “I apologize if I was rude. You’re right. You’re new here, and someone should’ve explained that we have a special team that handles what we call ‘cleanup’ before a big remodel. We do this so that our designers can focus on style and function without worrying about the basic garden variety needs of every job. If your idea is greenlighted, your plans are handed off to the cleanup crew, who run power and water lines where they’re needed. By the time you’re on-site, it’s stick and paste.”

  Seraphina glanced around his office with a thoughtful expression. “Thanks for clearing that up. Are you going to tell me what you think of my designs, or is there some other company procedure I’m unaware of?”

  He wanted to sigh. Her defensiveness was tiresome. “Ms. Fawkes, I don’t apologize unless I mean it. In fact, that goes for anything I say to you. Rest assured, I will never pander to your feelings. I said I’m sorry. I won’t say it again. If you wish to hold it against me, you’ll find the coming weeks unpleasant.”

  Finally, something like chagrin crept onto her face. She looked at her lap demurely for the span of a few seconds before her chin came back up. But the chill had left her, at least. “I’m not usually so prickly. It’s nerves, I suppose. This is difficult. I’m new, and you give very little away. I spoke facetiously, but the question was fair. And I’d still like to know what to expect.”

  He studied her. Her hands were pulled into tight little fists on her lap, but her face was open and questioning, waiting for his answer. “I’ll take some time. If you’ll wait here a moment, I’ll transfer your files from the company cloud.”

  She nodded, and he left the desk and slipped through the door that led to his inner sanctum. His secret office, he sometimes thought of it, where he could let papers pile up, blueprint rolls bunch into corners, and coffee cups sit forgotten. Quickly, he opened the necessary file from the company server but didn’t bother to save a copy on his personal device. He would only keep a copy of the plans he intended to use. He left Seraphina’s files open on his desktop, so they’d be ready when he returned to pore over them. Then he hooked a finger at Ophelia, his assistant, so to speak, and beckoned her to follow him into the outer office.

  She rose immediately, so instantly obedient he almost rolled his eyes. But for the sake of appearances, he gave away nothing.

  Seraphina’s eyebrows drew in confusion when she noticed Ophelia behind him. He stopped near her chair and nodded toward Ophelia. “Ms. Fawkes, meet Ophelia Quenby. I asked her to wait in the inner office for our interview to pass until I introduced her. I judge she’ll be an asset to you as you learn your way here. Ophelia, this is Ms. Fawkes.”

  Seraphina stood up and offered her hand to Ophelia, but did not smile. “A pleasure,” she said. “Please, call me Seraphina.” She turned an inquiring look at him. “I’m being assigned a helper?”

  She appeared dismayed, although Grant couldn’t credit why. “Ophelia is something of a catch-all assistant. She’s been working with me lately, on a recently completed proposal. Roper likes to work alone, and most of my staff already have assistants, so she is currently untasked. Even if I choose Roper’s design for Tanbee House, you won’t be long without a new assignment. We turn down more work than we accept.”

  “I prefer to work solo myself.”

  “When you’ve been with me as long as Roper has, perhaps you may.”

  She pressed her lips together. “So, not an assistant so much as a babysitter.”

  Ophelia looked away, toward the square windows and their broken view of the downtown skyline. Her dark brown eyes glittered, but she said nothing. Grant guessed she wasn’t admiring the picturesque scenery. Seraphina had taken a swipe at the young woman’s pride; spoken as if Ophelia wasn’t standing right next to them. That alone was enough to invite his ire.

  He kept his expression carefully neutral, which made the stinging words all the more effective. “I prefer to call her a guide. She knows what I like, what I expect, and makes better coffee than most baristas in Little Rock. But if insulting her by likening her work to that of an inexperienced child taking care of a toddler makes you feel better about letting her tag along, then sure. Babysitter it is.”

  Seraphina’s vivid blue eyes widened and a crimson tide rose from her neck and stole over her cheeks in a deep flush. Her first exhibition of real and deep emotion.

  He was sorry the emotion was mortification. He would’ve preferred not to take her to task with an audience—or at all, if he could help it—but lopping off big heads was often necessary. Disrespect of any of his employees, from his dowdy secretary down to the janitor who swept the floors and emptied the trash bins in the evenings, was dealt with swiftly and harshly.

  More importantly, he considered it good business practice to discourage his employees from questioning his authority before they developed a habit. He had a reputation, after all, and not for being a nice guy. Fair, yes. But not nice.

  He analyzed his watch grimly, aware of the lunch hour creeping ever closer. “Ladies, I apologize if I’m cutting this short, but I have an appointment elsewhere. Ophelia, I’ll need you this afternoon. Report to Seraphina first thing tomorrow morning. Ms. Fawkes, it’s been…interesting. Expect my decision before the end of the day.”

  Seraphina’s face registered relief. Well, that didn’t surprise him. He hadn’t given her any reasons to relish his company. Ophelia only nodded knowingly. She’d probably surmised by now where he spent his hour-long lunch breaks most days, even if he’d never said it out loud to a single soul. She had an underrated intelligence, but he didn’t try explaining that to Seraphina. She’d figure it out on her own. Or she wouldn’t, and be all the poorer for it.

  Chapter 2

  Grant signed in with a friendly nod at Emma, the longtime front desk aide. Her scrubs were a cheerful pink today, scattered with yellow daisies with happy faces drawn inside the center of their petals. For him, it only made the contrast between her bright outfit and the gloomy atmosphere of the home all the more noticeable. But he’d been told he was the only person who found Heritage Acres gloomy.

  Maybe that was so. His mother liked the place well enough. She claimed the orderlies treated her well, the doctors and nurses took careful note of her penned complaints, and the other seniors who called the place home were happy. Content as they could be, at any rate, living in a nursing home, even if it was an incredibly nice nursing home.

  That his mother had to live in such a place at all, chafed badly. But Grant had stopped being able to care for her once he’d started college. By then, Kathleen Gallagher was sixty years old. Grant had done his best, but there were limits to what a kid could do for a mute old woman with a club foot. She couldn’t talk, couldn’t walk without a walker, couldn’t work, cook, or communicate easily. They’d been on their own as long as he could remember, so there was no one to call when he simply couldn’t do it any longer. Certainly not the dad who’d abandoned Grant to Kathleen’s care as a child. She wasn’t even his real mother.

  Still, he hated it. He hated coming here, visiting his mom, chatting with coat-clad doctors who were always in a rush, nurses who were too kind. Mostly, he hated the relief he felt that he no longer carried the burden of taking care of Kathleen. At this point, he wouldn’t know what to do with a seventy-seven-year-old woman.

  He waved at Emma as he passed by the nurse’s station. She smiled so sweetly the apples of her cheeks were like bulbs stuck to her face, then scurried away. He reached Kathleen’s door and knocked before entering.

  As usual, she waited patiently at a pop-up table. There was a cafeteria, but in-room lunches were arranged on request. Grant could remember a time when they hadn’t enjoyed such a luxury. It had taken him a long time to earn the kind of money that kept Kathleen at a place like Heritage Acres. As much as he disli
ked the home for being what it was, he’d never forget there were far worse places for Kathleen to be.

  For their meal, she sat in a wheelchair, even though she hated it. She preferred getting around with her walker. She’d said to Grant once, in a letter, that the exercise is what kept her alive. She wouldn’t give in to the chair until it was the only option left to her. She smiled warmly at him. Her eyes were sunken into folds of wrinkles, but the effect made her look merry and amused. On the table, their meal was ready. He never could complain about the food. He knew the staff tried extra hard for his sake, and a few other regular visitors who came for meals and didn’t want the gooey oatmeal or boiled vegetables their elderly parents or grandparents usually ate.

  Today, it was sautéed mushrooms and mashed potatoes for Kathleen, who still had a hearty appetite—thanks to all that exercise, she’d say—and chopped steak and mushrooms, with the same potatoes and a side of steamed broccoli for Grant. In the center of the table, next to a small vase of dead dried flowers, sat a bowl of banana pudding. Not his favorite, but Kathleen loved it, so he was pleased the kitchen had whipped it up. He took his seat and reached his hand across the table to hold Kathleen’s for a brief moment, their customary wordless greeting.

  No matter how often he visited, he never felt quite right. He did his best to seem at ease. But always, the room felt too small. He felt like a big, lumbering idiot. Like he were the burden now. Kathleen insisted on seeing him, but she happily accepted his absence on the days he couldn’t make it. Maybe she looked at him and saw the man who’d dumped a child on her doorstep thirty years ago.

  Kathleen squeezed his hand and patted it, as if she read his thoughts and wanted to offer comfort. Her smile never waved. She rubbed her belly and lifted her spoon.

  Grant couldn’t help grinning in return. Yes, he was hungry, too. He picked up his fork and made a mock bow. “I’ve had an interesting morning,” he told her. He never knew what to talk about, so he always talked about work.

  Kathleen was as much a therapist as anything, listening silently, nodding or shaking her head depending on her opinion of one thing or another. Occasionally, she’d scratch out a note or a question on the pad she kept in the pocket of her long cardigan.

  “I met with a new designer this morning. Her name is Seraphina, and I think you’d like her. She has a direct way about her. Not unlike me,” he added, wondering at the involuntary smile on his face.

  His mom’s thin eyebrows rose slowly, but rise they did. She ferried a spoonful of fragrant, garlic-rich mushrooms into her mouth, then tidied herself with a cloth napkin, and retrieved her notepad. It took her some time to write out her words, and Grant busied himself with eating. Begrudgingly, he admitted the food was excellent. The mushrooms were buttery and garlicky, the steak tender, and the broccoli not overdone.

  Finally, Kathleen slid the pad across the table.

  Grant wiped his mouth on his napkin, then picked it up. He almost choked on his last bite of broccoli. He coughed, finished chewing, and swallowed. If he took his time, it was because he wasn’t sure what to say.

  If you think I’d like her, you must like her already. Is she very pretty?

  She’d never let it be if he admitted he liked a pretty woman, but Grant had a hard time lying to Kathleen, even remotely. They’d withstood too many rough storms together for the niceties of polite nonsense to stand. “She’s not ugly,” he admitted reluctantly.

  Kathleen’s eyes twinkled merrily but she said no more on the subject.

  Surprisingly, Grant wished she would. He’d brought up Seraphina because he wanted to discuss her, and there was no better confidant than his mother, even if she gave him sly, amused glances from beneath her lashes.

  He smiled, opening himself up to the conversation, so Kathleen wouldn’t feel uncomfortable asking more questions if she wished. “The most arresting thing about her, and why I mention her, is because she’s the first designer I’ve hired that could take my company from under me, if she chose. She’s like steel. And I can’t help but wonder if she’s like me in that she never turns it off.”

  His mother rolled her eyes and spooned mushrooms and gravy into her mashed potatoes.

  Reading her unspoken sentiment was easy. “Well, sure, I can relax around you. But only you. I wonder if Seraphina lets her guard down for anyone.”

  Kathleen paused in eating to scrawl another note. Then find out. She sounds like a perfect apprentice.

  Hm. He hadn’t considered taking on an apprentice for months now. He’d first had the idea last year, but there were no likely candidates. Roper, despite all his talent, didn’t dedicate himself as completely as Grant did. Grant’s work was his life. Well, and Kathleen. Kathleen’s comfort and his business, they were the two pillars of his existence. If he was going to take on an apprentice, someone who would eventually rise to be his equal and partner in his enterprise, they had to be nothing short of perfect.

  “I fear my standards are set too high,” he said regretfully. “But as usual, your advice gives me something to think about.”

  Kathleen nodded somberly, as if she were a queen merely accepting her due, but Grant did not miss the pleased touch to her slight grin.

  * * * *

  Roper was altogether too amused for Seraphina’s taste. Almost smug as she joined him at the little round table. Steam rose from the thick white mug he held. “You could move to Bali. Change your identity. Bleach your hair, get some contacts,” he said. “Killing yourself should be last resort, that’s all I’m saying.” He sipped the scalding contents of his mug tentatively, watching her with dancing eyes.

  “I said I wanted to die,” she pointed out. “Not kill myself.”

  “Come on, Seraphina. Your meeting couldn’t have gone that poorly.” Roper’s voice changed to hold a plaintive note. He really disliked her mood, apparently.

  Well, that was his problem. Not everyone could walk around in a haze of simpleminded contentment, Roper’s apparent default personality setting. Normally, she was cool as a cucumber, but the meeting with Grant this morning had flustered her. She’d hidden in her office, and only just convinced herself to duck into the lounge for a pick-me-up coffee. The lounge was a glorified breakroom for the employees. An expensive gourmet coffeemaker and espresso machine sat on a gold-flecked granite counter. A stainless steel fridge held take-out containers, Tupperware marked with names, and a million flavors of creamer. Several small round tables dotted the room, made of a smooth dark wood. Seraphina ran her hand over the surface, appreciating the satiny finish. It soothed her, for some reason, but it wasn’t enough to kill her anxiety.

  They were expecting Grant’s decision any moment now. He’d seen both their plans, and it was merely a matter of choosing his favorite. What were her chances against Roper? They both had their tablets sitting on the table, physical reminders of the one thing they did not discuss.

  She held in a long-suffering sigh. Sighs and groans were signs of weakness; displays of tired emotions she’d long ago trained herself to forgo in professional company. But then again, she was whining in front of a coworker. She wasn’t exactly in top form, and couldn’t resist sharing her burden with someone who might understand and help her assuage some of her complicated feelings. “I made a fool of myself twice. I insulted a valued member of Mr. Gallagher’s team. I don’t even know why I’m still here.”

  Roper shrugged, took another sip of coffee. His eyebrows rose in a hopeful expression. “You’re an up-and-comer. A lot of people heard your name when Sweetclover made a splash several months ago. You’re here because you’re a promising talent. You’re lucky the head designer at Free Leaf Concepts gave you so much credit. Not everyone in her position would have. Besides, Grant understands we’re human, even if he isn’t. He makes people nervous and knows it. Don’t let one off meeting eat you up.” Some doubt crept into his gaze. “I mean, how bad could it have been?”

 
“Well.” Seraphina paused and sipped from her own mug. The contents had gone cold. “First there was this weird staring contest. Like confronting a bear. Like all sorts of stuff was being said, but without any words.” Roper was nodding as if he weren’t surprised. Perhaps Grant routinely engaged in stare-downs with his employees. “We hardly spoke until he introduced Ophelia. And poor Ophelia. I’m such an idiot. If she hates me, I’ll deserve it.”

  “Ophelia can’t hate you.” Roper assured her with a light laugh. He relaxed, like the whole thing was suddenly all better. “She’s too nice from what I’ve seen. Besides, you’re hardly the first designer to disdain her help. You’ll notice I didn’t get saddled with an assistant. Seniority does have its perks.” He gave her a brilliant smile.

  She answered with a wry grin. “Doesn’t make me feel better. Actually, can you tell me a little more about Ophelia? I need to apologize, or I won’t be able to focus on working with her. It’ll be this big, fat, terrible thing between us.”

  Roper shrugged lightly and readjusted his glasses. His dark hair was ruffled, and he’d undone the top button of his soft blue dress shirt. Even so, it had the effect of making him seem busy and important rather than harried and unkempt. His expressive eyes were open and guileless. The man was charmed, no doubt. “Ophelia is new, actually. She hasn’t been here long at all, but she didn’t waste any time. Dove right in. Replaced the old satellite assistant with hardly a hitch in operations. I’ve worked with her on one project, more or less as a favor to Grant. He wanted Ophelia to get a feel for what we need from her, the type of help we expect. She was on the ball, I tell you. She’s, uh…” Roper paused, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he hunted for the right word. “Self-possessed, I guess. Not in a bad way. She’s one of those people you can’t imagine has a life outside of her job, that’s all. I can’t see her as someone’s mother or significant other.” He smiled and cocked his head to the side. “Not unlike you, actually.”