Romance: The Boss

by West, Lara

  I knock twice on the glass door, giving a small wave and a smile to boot. I may as well try buttering him up as much as possible.

  Every little bit counts at this point.

  I’m an American sweetheart, but with boldness. I’m an American sweetheart but with boldness, I chant in my head as I enter the room.

  “Lauren. What do I owe the pleasure?” he states, sifting through a stack of papers on his desk.

  “I just have some alterations to next week’s schedule that I want to run by you,” I say strongly.

  He pauses and stops sifting, his fierce blue eyes now only me. “Okay. Take a seat.”

  I sit down confidently and suck in a breath.

  Just say it straight and confidently like you practiced. You can do this, Lauren.

  “I’ve assigned an hour next Tuesday at one o’clock and an hour next Thursday at three o’clock for you to meet with each of the CEOs of the charity organizations we’ve been rescheduling,” I spit out. But as I half expected, he lets out a long, elevated sigh, tossing his pen down loudly onto the documents.

  “Lauren, I’ve already told you twice: I’m just not sure if getting involved with these charities is the right move for the company right now. Being the face of aid campaigns is a long-term commitment. It has to be a board decision.”

  “I’m not asking you to agree to anything yet. I just think you should sit down and hear what they have to say. Give them a chance,” I reply sharply, my eyes stone cold.

  Clint takes notice and smirks. “You really want me to do this, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I mean, I think it’ll improve your image…and the company’s.”

  When he doesn’t answer, I go on, more tenaciously. “It’s only two hours out of your week, Clint, surely you can—”

  “Okay. Call them and confirm.”

  “Really? You’re serious? You’ll meet with them?”

  “I may be the devil incarnate, Lauren, but I do have a soul in here. I’m a man of my word.”

  “That’s…great! I’ll phone them straight away and let them know.”

  I leap up, thrilled that he’s finally come round, only to see him waving me down again.

  “Hold up, Mother Teresa. I haven’t finished with you just yet.”

  I sit back down prudently.

  What’s he going to throw at me now?

  “Seeing as you’ve proven yourself to be so staunch when it comes to a good cause, I’ll need you to accompany me to the Starling Bright Foundation’s benefit this Saturday evening. Its theme this year is ‘Shades of Green’ and so you’ll need a dress, an expensive one. Versace have an exquisite line of gowns fresh off the runaway. I’ll send one over to your apartment. You’re a size two, right?”

  That’s it?

  That’s what else he wanted to talk to me about?

  He just wants me to go a charity benefit?

  I don’t know what else to say but, “Yes. I’m a size two. Thank you for the invitation.”

  The Starling Bright Foundation does stellar work. Its mission focuses on fighting poverty in the poorest suburbs of New York. They have established facilities like soup kitchens, homeless shelters, and schools, as well as job training programs for New York’s neediest citizens.

  “Have you thought of a donation amount yet?” I ask.

  As you would presume, it’s mandatory for all those attending the benefit to donate money. Donations in the past have ranged from five dollars up to twenty-five million!

  “I thought perhaps we could discuss it on the night. After all, I don’t want to be outdone by others, do I?

  “Hey, I’m all for you hedge funders trying to outbid each other when it’s for a good cause,” I say, probably too outspokenly. “I heard an anonymous donor gave twenty-five million last year. You’ll have to at least top that.”

  We both crack broad smiles.

  “Indeed.” But then his smile wanes, his eyes withdrawing from mine to focus on something on his desk.

  “I had a friend who grew up in the Bronx,” he says mellifluously. “He once told me that the most powerful tool in the fight against poverty was education. And he was right.”

  “Yes, he is right,” I agree, quite surprised but also warmed by the comment. “Are you both still friends?”

  “No…he, ah, passed away. Sometime ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. May I ask what happened?”

  “He was mugged,” Clint states bluntly. “Stabbed, actually.”

  “Oh my. Where? Here in New York?”

  “Yes, in the neighborhood he grew up in. His mom and little brother were still living there, so he always went back to visit. A pack of young teenagers just saw the shiny truck and the clean-cut clothes and well…you can figure out the rest.”

  I shake my head at the brutality of it. His friend was murdered in his own childhood neighborhood? I can’t imagine that ever happening in Steamboat Springs.

  “Were the teenagers ever apprehended?”

  “No.”

  “So they’re still out there, scot-free?”

  “Yes…although, in a way, they can hardly be blamed for their behavior. They were raised much differently than you and I, Miss Swift. And when I make that donation on Saturday night I’m going to put it towards an education program for underprivileged youths, to get them out of poverty and into prosperity. Anyway, I think that’s enough doom and gloom for one day,” he sighs. “So unless there’s anything else, I’m only a quarter of the way through these accounts and—”

  “Time is money,” I answer for him, giving him a small smile before getting up and heading for the door.

  I can’t believe what Clint has just told me. He didn’t have to; in fact, it kind of came out of nowhere again. But I’m glad he did. Maybe that sensitive side of him is still there after all…

  “Oh, and Lauren,” he utters softly, “It was nice to see you smiling again. You should do that more often.”

  “Ditto,” I reply and return to my desk, rather elated by the conversation we’ve had.

  He likes to see me smile, he said yes to the CEOs of the charities, and he wants me to join him at the Starling Bright Foundation’s benefit this weekend.

  I did all that worrying last night over nothing.

  Things couldn’t have turned out any better.

  Chapter Ten

  I’m staring at the girl in the mirror again.

  The one in the glamorous Versace emerald gown with the embellished halter-neck, Grecian-inspired gold detailing, backless silhouette, and sultry leg slit.

  Her hair is pulled up in a high bun with curls framing her faultless face.

  I still can’t believe that Clint sent over this dress. If I thought I looked stunning the first time Brooke did me up then I don’t know how to describe this latest transformation.

  I’d told Brooke that she was an absolute miracle worker and that I could hardly believe how she’d managed to make me look almost on par with all the hedge funder wives, girlfriends, and models that will be at the benefit tonight.

  But in typical Brooke style, she’d told me that I was being ridiculous.

  “The mark of true beauty is when you look stunning both with and without makeup. And you, honey, have always excelled in that area,” she’d hawked at me wittily. “I on the other hand am like the creature from the Black Lagoon when I first wake up in the morning. No wonder I can’t get a boyfriend!”

  “What?” I’d slung back at her. “That is not true. Besides, since when have you wanted a boyfriend?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she’d sighed, fixing the hem on my dress. “It’s just been in my head lately. But it’s no biggie. It’s not like I’m depressed over it or anything. After all, this is me we’re talking about here.”

  Well, that last bit is true.

  I’ve never seen Brooke upset over a guy. She’s always been strong like that.

  Unlike me.

  I cry for days after I break up with someone, but Brooke has always been
there to help me pick up the pieces, to tell me that I deserved better and that they all had small cocks anyway so really they were doing me a favor.

  “So, are you ready to go kick some high-end socialite ass or what?” she suddenly announces, bouncing into my room.

  “I think so,” I say securely, still looking at my reflection.

  “Good, because your Hummer is here. Check it out!”

  We both run out to the living room window and peer down at the huge, black pimped-up machine parked out front.

  “Mr. Billionaire awaits,” Brooke giggles, poking out her tongue.

  “That’s real mature,” I mock. “How old are you, ten?”

  “Oh just shut up and get down there already. And I expect a full briefing and photos tomorrow morning. I want to see at least one of you and the oh-so-ravishing devil incarnate.”

  “Oh, I should never have told you about that,” I sing out, grabbing my clutch from my bedroom before heading for the front door.

  “And Lauren,” she timbres, when my hand is literally on the doorknob. “Don’t forget to have a good time.”

  I salute her sarcastically and walk out, taking a few deep breaths on my way down to the Hummer. The usual butterflies I have in my stomach have evolved into wildly flapping eagles, spiraling through my body like some crazy drug.

  “You look beautiful, you deserve to go to this benefit, and you can handle this,” I tell myself once I hit the New York air.

  The driver beams at me from where he stands waiting on the sidewalk, opening the car door once I get closer, ready for me to step inside.

  Chapter Eleven

  When I step into the Hummer, I get quite a shock to find not Clint but Hannah sitting inside.

  What the hell is she doing here?

  The impression that I got from Clint was that he and I would be going together.

  There go those swooping eagles in my belly.

  “Hey, Lauren,” Hannah says vivaciously. “Wow. You look totally amazing. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

  Well it’s nice to see she’s being delightful as ever.

  “Same to you,” I say deftly, hopping up to sit opposite her. Hannah’s dressed in a long, pale-olive sweetheart-cut gown with a pearl-laced bodice. Her hair is swept to one side and curled, the flame red in it illuminating her pristine face.

  She really does look fabulous.

  “So, how did you land your invite to the benefit?” comes her next question. It’s standard nosey Hannah at her best. “I’m dying to know. Not even Penny got one.”

  “Clint—I mean, Mr. Townsend asked me. He thinks it’s something I’d be interested in. You know, given my correspondence with various charities over the last few weeks.”

  She gives me a queer look like she doesn’t believe what I’ve told her. “Seriously? He invited you because of your interest in charity work? Ha. That’s curious.”

  “Why’s that curious?”

  “Well, he’s not usually that…nice.”

  “I think he just thought it’d be a good opportunity.”

  “Oh well.” She then grunts indifferently, passing me a glass of champagne from the compartment beside her. “Here, you’ll need one of these…or twenty.” She laughs loudly, capping it off with a snort.

  “Thanks.” I take a gulp and let myself relax, taking in the interior design of the Hummer.

  It really is indulgent, with electric blue-and-purple neon stripes, tinted windows, a flat-screen HD plasma (just in case the view out the windows isn’t impressive enough), a full-length mirror on the roof, and the most comfy taupe leather seats I have ever had the privilege of sitting on.

  “To be honest, I’m surprised I even got an invite too. When Bill called me into his office yesterday and said that you and I would be representing the ‘young women’ of Townsend Investments, I’d certainly been surprised. After all, we’re not exactly the number crunches, are we? Not even Robyn is going. It’s all very perplexing!” Hannah whirls, barely stopping to take a breath and already halfway through her glass of champagne. “Anyway, I take it this is your first-ever big social event?”

  I wait a few seconds just to make sure she’s finished talking. It’s hard to tell with Hannah. “Kind of…well, as a guest anyway. I’ve waited at a lot of social events like this one.”

  “Waited? Like in hospitality?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow! I’d die if I ever had to work in hospitality. No offense. I just wasn’t born for that kind of work.”

  Neither was I, I want to scream at her.

  Who does she think she is, the Queen?

  She’s a secretary, which is not exactly the Rolls-Royce of careers. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a secretary. It’s just, the way Hannah said it, you’d think she was some high-profile attorney or brain surgeon or something.

  “Anyway, if you’re impressed with this Hummer then you haven’t seen anything yet. Have you seen his apartment?”

  His apartment? As in Clint’s apartment? What has that got to do with anything?

  Honestly, she changes subjects so often I barely have time to process it all.

  “No,” I lie, but I’m curious as to where she is going with this. “Have you?”

  “No.”

  Good. The thought of Hannah and Clint even standing together in that spectacular high-rise irks me. Although I have no doubt that she shamelessly flirts with him at the office.

  “But I’ve seen the blueprints and photos, obviously,” she goes on. “It’s breathtaking. I guess the only woman who gets to see it would be Little Miss Germany.”

  Elsa…I’d almost forgotten all about her. I wonder if she’ll be there tonight.

  “She’ll be there tonight,” Hannah proclaims clamorously like she’s psychic. I feel my stomach knotting up all over again.

  “Are her and Clint, ah, going together?” I falter, and drink the rest of my drink.

  “No. I don’t think they’re exclusive like that. They’re more…bedroom associates, if you get my drift.”

  I want to ask her straight out if she knows that for sure, but I don’t want her to see through my façade. I don’t want her to see that I have feelings for our boss. Our incredibly desirable, sophisticated, ripped billionaire boss.

  “The tabloids seem to think Elsa and him are more than that,” I say instead, digging for more information.

  “Well the tabloids don’t know jack,” she replies brusquely, her defensive tone catching me off guard. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she also has a thing for Clint. “The only information they get is what the company gives them.”

  I nod, both fascinated and relieved, and decide to have another glass of wine. After all, it’s not every day I get driven around New York in a Hummer with free drinks.

  I glance at Hannah, her face half lit in neon. “Is it okay if I have another?”

  “Of course,” she hums. “A little liquid poison couldn’t hurt. Especially since this is your first ride on the road to perdition.”

  I’m not quite sure what she means by perdition. I’ve been to events like this before—well worked at them, anyway. They seem more boring than otherworldly.

  I smile at Hannah tentatively, feeling the bubbles going to my head already.

  After another few minutes, I decide that she’s right: a couple of glasses of champagne to help me unwind before the benefit shouldn’t hurt.

  If anything, it’ll help me get my game face on.

  Chapter Twelve

  The whole setup of the Javits Center looks amazing.

  The Starling Bright Foundation’s benefit theme of “Shades of Green” has been fashioned for it perfectly, from replicas to real plants hanging from the ceilings, to jungle-painted backdrops, to ivy twisting around the walls, to small man-made lagoons in the foyer, which already have some ladies and gents dipping their toes in them.

  It’s like an enchanted forest swimming with every hedge funder this side of the country. If you don’t have a c
heckbook or black Amex with you, then you’re certainly not going to fit in here.

  Luckily for Hannah and me, Townsend Investments supplied us with a company black Amex card for our personal donations with a limit of $5,000 each. And considering what Clint will end up contributing on behalf of the board, that is more than generous.

  It’s downright noble even, and makes me like him even more.

  I’m still not sure what the deal is with him and Elsa, even though it’s completely none of my business.

  But I can’t help but want to know—except I have no way of knowing.

  Unless I get it from the horse’s mouth…and given the way I’m feeling right now, practically fluctuating in giddiness from the champagne, that doesn’t seem like the most depraved idea.

  Or does it? I can’t decide. Not that the horse has shown himself yet tonight…

  “You want to try the poison ivy mélange first?” Hannah asks keenly.

  A lot of her mannerisms remind me of Brooke’s. I think that’s the only reason why I’ve come to tolerate her.

  Oh, and the fact that there is literally no one else at this benefit to hang around with. I rest my forearms on the leaf-decorated bar and mull over the list of cocktails.

  “Or the Amazon heartbeat, a secret combination of tantalizing components that will get your pulse racing and your feet dancing.”

  “Ooh, on second thoughts let’s go for that,” Hannah winks. “It sounds illegal.”

  “I guess I’m game if you are,” I chide, yet know in hindsight it may not be a good move.

  Maybe I should volley some food down my throat first. The last thing I’d want to happen tonight is to fall over in front of all these people, seeing as I’ve been here for only ten minutes.

  We take our cocktails and sit at our designated table, making small talk with the people on either side of us.

  Above us hangs a huge sculpture of a starling, with a dark velvet cloak spread behind it to represent the night sky over Manhattan. I tell Hannah that I think the bird looks sad, that it has a look of wistful melancholia bleeding from its face, only to have her break out in stitches over it.