The Good Assistant

by Cynthia Sax

  John moves to the left, standing partially in front of me, his wide shoulders restricting my view. “Do you have historicals?”

  “Historicals, Mr. Powers?” Stacie replies.

  “I’m speaking with Miss Grant.”

  His bluntness makes me smile while his returned focus pleases the woman in me. I murmur the comparable numbers from the previous quarters, my voice soft, my words meant for his ears only. The elevator stops numerous times, more and more employees filling the small space, everyone wishing to take the same car as the boss.

  John shifts, blocking me into the corner. Soon, all I see is his black fabric of his suit. I whisper the information he should know into his left ear, his head tilted toward me. The elevator doesn’t empty until it stops at the floor below ours, and then everyone exits.

  “Where the hell are they all going?” my boss mutters. “Isn’t that floor being renovated?”

  I laugh. He doesn’t understand his appeal.

  John turns, glares at me. “Are you laughing at me, Grant?”

  “I wouldn’t dare laugh at you, sir.” The doors open and I slide past him, brushing my breasts against his arm. He stiffens and his eyes flash. I scurry into the hallway, wave at Nancy as I pass her desk, the receptionist talking on the phone. Five men and one woman wait in the leather chair.

  John trails behind me, his tread silent. “Don’t turn off your phone.”

  “I never turn off my phone, Mr. Powers.” I nod at Mr. Zanetti, the company’s young CIO. He smiles at me, his white teeth flashing in his tanned face.

  John places his palm on the small of my back, the contact sending sparks down my spine. Mr. Zanetti lifts his gaze and his smile fades.

  “We have a lot of work to complete today.” John’s voice has a hard edge.

  That my boss feels obliged to warn me says it will be a very long day. He enters his office, I sit behind my desk, and my phone buzzes against my hip. This is the first of many texts, John keeping me completely occupied for hours, requesting information, seeking status updates on projects, asking me to set up meetings.

  Nancy calls me at eleven twenty. Rexton Bass, the brass young developer John is considering partnering with, has arrived. I return to the reception area to collect him.

  Nancy speaks into her headset, her head turned toward the lobby’s leather chairs, her attention snagged by Bass. The budding entrepreneur is oblivious to her admiration. He sits with his back to the wall, his blond head bowed over the phone in his hands. His skin is a perfect shade of golden brown and I suspect this shade doesn’t vary over his trim physique, his tan being the product of a salon.

  Rexton Bass is young, handsome, Harvard educated, and destined for success. Any other woman would lust after him. I feel nothing, no flare of arousal, no spark of interest. He’s not John. He’ll never be John.

  “Mr. Bass.” I stride toward the developer.

  He glances upward. His eyes are a startling sky blue. “Call me Rexton, Miss Grant.” Rexton slips his phone into his inside jacket pocket and rises to his feet.

  Although Rexton’s gray suit and black cotton crewneck shirt are well designed and trendy, the garments clinging to his fashionably fit form, they’re wrong for this appointment. I hide my grimace. My more traditional boss will view his casual outfit as an insult, as a form of disrespect.

  “I’m pleased to see you.” Rexton extends his hand, his movements graceful, almost beautiful.

  I grip his fingers. His palm is smooth, not one callous marring his skin. He’s a baby. John’s voice echoes in my mind. I release his hand. “If you’ll come with me.” I cross the threshold into the main floor and walk along the hallway.

  “Powers told me you promoted my project, Trella.” Rexton saunters beside me, matching my shorter stride, treating me as though I’m his equal and not merely an assistant. “May I call you Trella?”

  I hesitate. No one in the company calls me by my first name. I turn my head, studying Rexton. He gazes at me expectantly. It’d be rude to say no. “Of course, you may.”

  He smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “Thank you for defending me.”

  “I defended your project,” I clarify, Rexton’s gratitude warming me. He welcomes my help. He needs me. I can help him. “Don’t repeat anything covered in your previous calls.” I lower my voice and slow my pace. “Mr. Powers is a busy man. He doesn’t tolerate any rehashing of information.”

  “That’s a good insight to have.” Rexton’s hand brushes against mine.

  I don’t like him touching me. At all. I drift to the left, subtly putting more distance between us. “Don’t mention his personal connection to the neighborhood,” I coach. They are developing the block where John lived as a child. “This is a business decision for him and he won’t appreciate it.”

  “Ahhh…that’s why he walked away during my first pitch.” Rexton’s lips twist. “I didn’t know.”

  “You should have known.” After years of working for John, I no longer have any sympathy for sloppiness.

  “I guess.” He sighs.

  He’s a couple of years older than me yet I feel ancient, wise, needed. “Do more research next time.” We reach my desk. John’s door remains closed. “You can wait here for Mr. Powers.” I tap one of my guest chairs. The red light for John’s conference call line remains lit. I sit behind my desk, conscious of the handsome man lounging before me.

  “Trella--”

  My phone buzzes. “One moment.” I hold up my right index finger. John wants the sales comparables for the Wilmette project. I search the database and send him the information. “Sorry.” I turn to Rexton. “You were saying?”

  “Was that Powers?” he asks. I dip my head. It was John. “He relies upon you, doesn’t he?”

  He’s the second person this week to say this. “I’m his assistant.” I’m a resource for my boss, nothing more.

  “I need an assistant.” Rexton shifts in his chair. “I tried to hire an assistant through an agency. The people they sent didn’t add any value.”

  “You either have to train an assistant.” As John trained me. “Or you have to hire an experienced assistant already at the level of competency you require.”

  “I don’t have time to train an assistant.” He holds my gaze.

  He can’t be asking what I think he’s asking. My boss, the man he hopes to partner with, sits in the next office. To pouch his assistant would be rude, a declaration of war. “This isn’t a discussion you wish to have.” It isn’t a discussion I wish to have. Ever.

  “We won’t discuss it here,” he concedes. John’s door opens and Rexton leans closer to me. “Are you free for lunch?”

  “Bass,” John barks and I jump in my seat. My boss’ eyes flash, his face hard. He’s furious. This doesn’t bode well for his meeting with Rexton.

  “Powers.” The developer leaps to his feet. The men’s palms smack together, the skin whitening around their grip. Rexton pulls his hand away first, conceding to John’s greater strength, and they move into the office, the door slamming shut behind them.

  I receive a text message less than a minute later.

  “That fool is asking about you.”

  I groan. Rexton isn’t being subtle at all. He’ll cause trouble for both of us. I don’t reply, John’s statement not needing an answer.

  My phone buzzes again. “Why the hell is he calling you Trella?” John asks. I read the anger in his words.

  “Because Trella is my name,” I type. “I gave him permission to use it.”

  “I didn’t give him permission,” my grumpy executive replies. “Send me the notes for the lunch meeting. This fool is wasting my time.”

  Chapter Five

  My boss’ office door opens at noon. A subdued Rexton and a furious John emerge, the silence between them strained. The look on my boss’ face tells me this deal is on life support. One more wrong move will kill it.

  I suppress my sigh of disappointment and fix a smile to my face. “You’ll ne
ed this file for your meeting, sir.” I hand John a gray file folder with the information he requires. “If you’ll wait here, Mr. Bass.” I pat my guest chair. I don’t dare call him Rexton in front of my boss. “I’ll return to see you out.” We’ll have our talk then.

  “Walk with me, Grant.” John waves the file, indicating that I should lead the way, buffering him from other employees. I’m not equal. Not at all.

  “Of course, sir.” I stride toward the west meeting room, my back straight, my hips swaying. “The funding for the software rollout is in the budget but not all members of the team are on board.” I give him the insights he needs for the next meeting.

  “Bass is a fool.” John’s mind remains on his previous appointment. “What did they teach him at that fancy school of his?”

  “They didn’t teach everything, sir.” I glance over my shoulder. John scans the area, his gaze shifting from the left to the right. I don’t know who or what he’s looking for. “He needs someone to guide him.”

  “I know why he wants to partner with me,” my boss growls. “Why do I want to partner with him?”

  “It’s a good project.” I stop outside the meeting room. All of the seats except one are filled, the team eagerly awaiting their leader’s arrival.

  “There are better projects.” John looms over me. “I should exit these negotiations.”

  John has never cared about what he should do. I tilt my head back and meet his gaze. He wants to be involved in this deal. “Give him another chance, sir.” I relay the answer I believe he wants.

  “This will be his last opportunity, Grant.” John scowls. “Tell him not to waste it.” My boss enters the meeting room and the other participants clamber to their feet.

  I retrace my steps. Rexton slumps in my guest chair, staring blindly into space, a frown on his handsome face.

  He sees me, his head lifts, and his lips curl slightly upward. “It was the small talk, wasn’t it?” He stands. Rexton is only an inch or two shorter than John yet he takes up less space, appearing much less threatening. “There’s so much riding on these meetings. I couldn’t stop talking.”

  As he can’t stop talking now. “You’ll have one more opportunity to convince him.”

  “Really?” His eyes widen.

  “Really,” I confirm, his reaction making me smile. Was John ever this young and eager? Or was he born tough, cynical, world-wary, the man I now love?

  “Then we’ll convince him.” Rexton beams, his blue eyes sparkling. “Together.” He catches my hand. “I need you, Trella.” He squeezes my fingers.

  I long to be needed, to be included. “I’m loyal to Mr. Powers.” I pull my hand away from him.

  “Of course, you are.” Rexton smiles. “You’re a great assistant. Great assistants are loyal to their bosses.”

  I frown, not liking this assumption. Loyalty is earned. I’m not a dog, blindly following her master.

  “I appreciate that loyalty.” The developer leans closer to me. “I appreciate you.”

  John has never said these words to me. Maybe I am blindly loyal.

  “Have lunch with me.” Rexton smiles. “There’s a great seafood restaurant next door. We can talk about the development.”

  I’m not a seafood lover but I do have to eat lunch and John wants this project to happen. He doesn’t give second chances to many people. Mr. Zanetti, the CIO, walks by my desk, his gaze openly curious. This also isn’t the place to have a sensitive business conversation.

  “I’ll walk you out, Mr. Bass.” I stride down the hallway. Rexton catches up to me and walks beside me. He doesn’t expect me to form a wall between him and others.

  “Powers mentioned you went to college,” Rexton says.

  John talked about me? I blink, stunned by this revelation. “I attended the University of Toronto.” I couldn’t afford Harvard, couldn’t afford to leave Toronto. “Undergrad only.” I also didn’t have the money for a MBA.

  “It’s a good school.” There’s a tinge of condescension in Rexton’s voice.

  John deals with this condescension every day. I press the button for the elevator. The not-so-subtle insults must have been ego battering while he was building his success. “All my education proves is I can be trained.” I tilt my chin upward, quoting my boss.

  “You’ve been trained by the best.” The doors open and Rexton follows me inside. He claims one back corner. I stand in the other. If John were here, he’d position his big body directly in front of me. I feel strangely exposed without him, vulnerable.

  “I know you’re loyal to Powers.” Rexton leans against the mirrored walls, his blond hair glowing under the overhead lights. “But he can train another assistant. He has the time and the knowledge to do this. I don’t.”

  If I left him, John would replace me both at the office and in his bed. Pain pierces my heart. Months after our split, he wouldn’t remember I existed, forgetting about me as my parents forgot about me.

  “I need you, Trella,” Rexton says all of the right words, appealing to my battered soul.

  I force myself to think rationally, to consider the consequences, and as John has taught me, there are always consequences to every decision.

  “Mr. Powers would view my defection as a personal affront,” I caution. “If you hire me, he won’t partner with you on the development. You won’t have the benefit of his name, his contacts and his experience.”

  Rexton pauses for one telling moment. “I’d take that chance.”

  Part of me is flattered by his high opinion of me. The other part of me thinks he’s a naïve fool. John can destroy him, tear his reputation to shreds, freezing all financing, blackballing him with potential partners. The risks far exceed the rewards. “I won’t allow you to take that chance.”

  “Consider my offer, Trella,” Rexton urges. “That’s all I’m asking. I can’t build my empire alone.”

  I do consider it. I consider Rexton’s offer during the walk to the restaurant, while we order our lunches, throughout our strategy session. My relationship with John will end. Will it hurt less if I leave him before he leaves me? I’d save my pride yet sacrifice time with the man I love, the man I will always love.

  My phone buzzes. John’s number appears on my screen. “I need a moment.” I hold up my hand, interrupting Rexton’s steady stream of words.

  “What can I do for you, sir?” I cup this hand over my mouth, trying to block some of the clatter from the busy restaurant.

  Rexton and I are seated at a corner booth. Every wooden table is filled with business people and tourists. A tired-looking waitress rushes from the kitchen, carrying platters of crab cakes and dipping sauce, her smile strained, her gray hair frizzy. A bearded man seated next to us wears a plastic bib, a pile of lobster claws stacked on the plate before him. The sight makes me queasy, the fishy scent crawling up my nostrils.

  “Where are you?” John’s words are barely audible which worries me. The softer his voice is, the angrier he is.

  “I’m eating lunch at the seafood restaurant on the corner.” I don’t lie to my boss. Ever.

  The phone clicks. Silence follows. A shiver skitters along my spine.

  “You should leave now,” I tell Rexton, my voice flat. No longer hungry, I gaze at the yellow lettuce in the shrimpless shrimp salad I ordered.

  “Pardon?” Rexton sets his knife and fork down on the red and white checkered placemat, having devoured his grilled salmon in record time.

  “John is on his way to the restaurant and he’s very, very angry.” I poke a grape tomato with the tongs of my fork. “If you’re here when he arrives, all of our strategizing is for nothing. You can kiss your partnership goodbye.”

  Rexton’s eyes widen. “I’m leaving.” He removes his wallet from his jacket’s inside pocket, removes too many bills, and tosses them on the table. “Thank you, Trella.” He squeezes my shoulder and dashes away, not looking back.

  I remain seated and pick away at my salad, waiting for my boss. I don’t have to wa
it long. Mere moments later, a shadow falls over my table.

  “Where the hell is he?” John bites off each word.

  I gaze up at him. His face is dark, his fingers are clenched into massive fists and his eyes flash. He’s pissed off because I have a life, because I’m not in the office anticipating his next command. My lips twist. “He had another meeting.”

  “I have another meeting also.” John’s chest heaves. Beads of sweat glisten on his forehead. Did he run here? “Yet here I am.”

  Why is he here? “Did you need something, sir?”

  “What I need is to not have to worry about you, Grant.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, mussing the short strands. “I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for this shit.”

  I blink. He worries about me? “I went out for lunch.”

  “You went out to lunch with that young fool.” John sits beside me, trapping me between the wall and his hard body. “And he left you alone and unprotected.” He pulls me onto his lap, not caring that we’re in public. “You could have been hurt.” He runs his hands over my shoulders, arms, chest and hips as though assuring himself I’m unharmed.

  He’s genuinely concerned about me. I lean back, sinking deeper into his fit form. “This is a family restaurant, sir.”

  “I almost died outside a family hospital.” John rubs his fingers over the silver scars encircling his neck. “And I wasn’t successful back then. I didn’t have people targeting me or targeting my employees, as I do now.” He sweeps his hands over me once more. “You shouldn’t be alone and you shouldn’t be sitting here. You should always sit with your back to the wall.” He indicates Rexton’s vacant seat. “Never allow anyone to approach you from behind.”

  Had the strung-out junkie who’d slit his throat approached him from behind? The almost myth-like recounts on the internet had been vague. “Would you care if something happened to me?”

  “Nothing will happen to you.” John tightens his grip on me, pressing his arms against my ribs.