The Unwanted Assistant

by Evangeline Kelly

  He stiffened and shifted in his seat. “Please call me Sawyer. Mr. Drake sounds too formal.” He held my gaze a moment longer and then glanced away. “Yeah, I was there.” He said it as an afterthought.

  There was an edge to his manner, and I sensed he didn’t want to say more, so I moved on. “As your assistant, what will be required of me?”

  He laughed, a low rumble, as if I’d just told a funny story. Surprisingly, I liked his laughter—rough and masculine with a hint of boyishness.

  “Basic stuff. Nothing too taxing.”

  Mr. Jeffries piped up from the back. “You’ll be here to keep Sawyer company, as well as assist with anything he needs, errands and such.”

  “You’ll hang around the house,” Sawyer specified. “But for the most part, I would appreciate it if you kept your distance. I prefer my privacy—”

  “That’s not what we talked about,” Mr. Jeffries said.

  Sawyer glared at Mr. Jeffries and the two men stared each other down. The older man lifted an eyebrow and Sawyer’s shoulders slumped a little. When he turned back to me, he pressed his lips into a hard line. “What else can I answer for you?”

  What had I gotten myself into? What kind of job was this, really? I willed myself to appear composed. “How many hours a week do you need me?”

  While Sawyer contemplated the question, Mr. Jeffries said, “As many hours as you can be here, Miss Wolfe. Whatever fits in with your school schedule.”

  Sawyer smirked. “And if you don’t feel like coming one, two, three days at a time, that’s fine with me.”

  Apparently, this interview was one big joke to him.

  “Come now, Sawyer,” Mr. Jeffries said, voice weary. “Enough of this game. Let’s not waste any more of Miss Wolfe’s time with this endless joking around.”

  Sawyer deadpanned. “Who says I’m joking?” He waited a few seconds and then grimaced. “Fine.” He turned the lamp up one more notch and then stared at me head-on, exposing both sides of his face. He gave me an expectant look, waiting for my response.

  It took everything in me not to gasp.

  Rough, deformed skin twisted along the right side of his hairline like burned rope. The scarring was slightly red, and the surrounding skin appeared withered and tight.

  Suddenly a lot of things made sense—the way he’d held his head, the hoodie that made him appear like a shady character. The man wasn’t trying to appear like a roughneck. He had an injury, was ashamed of the way he looked, so much so that he dressed like a delinquent teenager to cover it up.

  Sawyer lightly touched his scars and his eyes grew sorrowful. “You’re staring, Ivy. Do I freak you out?”

  He asked so abruptly I didn’t have time to process an answer. This whole situation freaked me out, but was I bothered by Sawyer’s face? No. With insecurities of my own, I felt more comfortable around people who didn’t fit into society’s mold of an ideal man or woman.

  I took a moment to examine his features more closely. Yes, the burn scars were glaring, but when I studied him further, his square jaw, full lips, and high cheekbones made him surprisingly handsome. He’d been so unapproachable earlier with the hood over his head that I hadn’t checked him out like that, but now, taking a good look, I had to admit he had a striking face.

  I opened my mouth to speak, to reassure him that his appearance didn’t bother me, but he spoke first.

  “No worries, I freak everyone out.”

  “No, I’m not bothered . . .” What did etiquette call for in a situation like this? Normally, I wouldn’t compliment a stranger’s appearance, but I felt bad for hesitating earlier. “You’re very attractive—”

  He held up a hand to stop me. “Don’t say it. I hate liars.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” He glanced at Mr. Jeffries. “The point I gave her earlier—take it away.”

  “Sawyer . . .” Mr. Jeffries’ tone held a warning as he drew out his name. “Stop playing with Miss Wolfe.” Mr. Jeffries turned to me. “I apologize for his behavior. We’re not using a point system to grade you.”

  I let out a half-hearted laugh, the kind one used when told a joke that wasn’t funny.

  Sawyer chuckled as if he knew something no one else did. “Sorry, Ivy. It’s just that I like pushing people to the edge sometimes. It allows me to see what they’re really made of.” He sighed as if our meeting was tiresome, and he’d been forced against his will to sit here with me. “Hayden prefers I be more diplomatic. He believes I should respond in a more conservative, formal manner. Kind of like his tie,” he said with a snicker, glancing meaningfully at Mr. Jeffries’ business attire.

  I turned and glanced at Mr. Jeffries. He rolled his eyes and loosened the gray pin-striped tie at his neck as if he was about to come unglued any moment now.

  “Can we please finish this interview, Mr. Drake?” he asked. “I have things to do.”

  Sawyer cupped one side of his mouth and whispered conspiratorially, “He’s pretending he’s annoyed for your benefit. He knows how I operate.”

  Who was this guy? I’d never been in an interview quite like this before. I looked around for a camera, expecting someone to jump out and say, “Surprise! You’ve been pranked.”

  “Anyway. I have a few questions for you.” Sawyer’s voice pulled me back. Smooth, yet equally rough, it had a hypnotic quality.

  He rubbed his hands together, seeming to relish what he was about to ask.

  I waited for the expected interview questions about my job experience and future goals.

  “Tell me, Ivy, what was the last book you read?”

  I blinked, my mind racing for an answer. He probably expected me to share something intellectual since I was a college student. What was the book I’d been forced to read in my Philosophy class last semester? My mind went blank and I let out a breath, knowing it was futile to try to think when I felt put on the spot.

  “Well, if you’re asking which book I technically read last, that would be the Bible. I read Psalm thirty-four this morning, right before our interview.”

  He seemed surprised. “How often do you read the Bible?”

  “I try to read it on a daily basis. Sometimes things get in the way, but I do my best to be consistent.”

  He gazed past me, lost in thought. “This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him and saved him out of all his troubles.”

  For a second, I was at a loss for words. I hadn’t expected the man in front of me to know the Bible. I mean, what guy wearing steel-toed military boots went around quoting Bible verses? But then again, he had been at church on Sunday. I cleared my throat. “You know Psalm 34?”

  He nodded. “Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good. Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.”

  I smiled. “Verse eight.” And then I said, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves the crushed in spirit.”

  He sat up straight and his eyebrow lifted as if he too was surprised. “That’s verse eighteen.” He looked impressed and a glimmer of a smile formed on his lips. “I memorized that Psalm years ago. Hold on to it, Ivy. It will get you through the hard times.”

  I nodded my agreement, intrigued by the turn of conversation. The snide joking appeared to be over. Thank goodness, for that.

  He appeared lost in thought. I glanced at Mr. Jeffries, then back at Sawyer. Pulling my résumé out of my large purse, I held it up. “I included my last three jobs and a list of references if you’d like to look it over.”

  “Very good,” Mr. Jeffries said. He crossed the room and took it from me, handing it over to Sawyer.

  Sawyer seized the résumé and promptly dropped it into a small trash can next to the lamp stand. He didn’t even scan it first. I thought we’d shared a moment earlier with the verses, but apparently, I’d been wrong.

  It would have been comical if it had been someone else’s interview, a story shared over a hot cup of tea. But it was mine—and I desperately needed the job.

 
Sawyer stared meaningfully at the paper sitting in the trash can. “I have little use for such things since I prefer to come to my own conclusions. Résumés are boring and overrated. Don’t you think?”

  He winked, and my heart kicked up a beat. Despite myself, I melted a little.

  He reminded me of a defiant prep school kid used to getting his way through money and charm. Except prep school kids didn’t wear combat boots. And Sawyer didn’t look like a kid. Far from it.

  Small butterflies danced inside my stomach, oblivious to the fact that they shouldn’t be having a party right now. The guy was so . . . off-putting. And he was purposely trying to throw me off balance. I hated how he affected me.

  “Let me ask you another question.” His tone was marked with arrogance. “What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to deal with?”

  The question came as a surprise. The first thing that came to mind was my break-up with Austin, but there was no way I’d bring that up during an interview. “Um . . .” I flushed underneath his penetrating gaze. “Why do you ask?”

  His expression darkened. “Misery loves company. If I’m to hire you, I need to know we can relate on some level.”

  Completely tongue-tied, I was unable to think of one suitable reply. Difficult problems I’d faced over the years crossed my mind, but nothing I cared to share with this man. I stared at him like an idiot, hoping he’d move on to another question.

  Squirming in my seat, I eyed the door again. “Um . . .” I coughed, my throat suddenly feeling dry and closed-off. I still had nothing.

  This interview was not going well. Not well at all.

  Chapter 5

  Ivy

  Sawyer’s eyes trailed my face. “I can see my question provoked a response, given you’re three shades of pink right now.”

  The snarky side of my personality wanted to thank him for pointing that out, but I bit my tongue because talking back to a potential employer wasn’t wise.

  I pinched my lips together. “I’m a private person and it’s hard for me to talk about—”

  “Frankly, you don’t look like someone who’s been through a lot. You come across as smart . . . pretty, the type who’s never had to struggle. What’s the worst that’s happened to you? Broke a nail? Got an A-minus?” He shot a quick glance down my body, an unreadable emotion sparking in his eyes. “Clearly you aren’t starving.”

  I gaped at him. Had he really just said that? What a jerk. Something snapped inside me, and all resolve to be patient and hold my tongue was a distant memory.

  Sure, I needed financial help but no amount of money was worth being snubbed by this upper-class spoiled brat who, apparently, had no qualms about insulting me to my face. “I don’t know what your problem is Mr. Drake, but you can’t say things like that and expect me to work for you. This may be a game to you, but it’s not to me.” I stood to leave. “I’ll see myself out.”

  He stood as well, towering over me. “It’s Sawyer.” He cleared his throat and gave me a hard look. “Take a seat.” The strain showed in the lines of his forehead. There was a short pause as he averted his gaze and stared at the floor. “Please,” he said quietly, as though it had taken a great deal of effort. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  I remained standing. “Well, that’s not true. Do I get to take a point away from you now?” I put a hand on my hip. “This interview is a joke. You don’t plan on hiring anyone. Anyone sane, that is.”

  He bit down on his bottom lip as if trying not to smile. “Perceptive. But before you go, let’s get one thing straight. I didn’t insult you.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  His eyes swept my face. “How is calling you pretty, insulting?”

  “It wasn’t the pretty comment that rubbed me the wrong way; it was the other one.”

  A moment passed before understanding dimmed in his eyes and then shifted into amusement. “Ohhh . . . you didn’t like that I said you weren’t starving.” He scoffed. “You’re more shallow than I thought. I guess you’d prefer to be one of those girls who refuses to eat so she can fit into a tiny dress. Like the chick who interviewed before you.”

  Yeah, actually I did want to be like one of those girls. I was so tired of being the overweight girl, and even more tired of comments about having a “pretty face.”

  My silence was answer enough.

  A muscle in his jaw tensed, and he gazed at me again with curiosity, as if trying to unravel a puzzle. His next words were stated carefully. “You’re well-fed and that’s a blessing. I never meant to insinuate anything else. And just so we’re clear, you have a perfectly nice . . .” He glanced at my full figure and trailed off, eyes widening as if realizing what he was about to say.

  Even though I was feeling sensitive from his earlier statement, I relished watching him squirm.

  Try to get out of that one Mr. Drake.

  On the other side of the room, Mr. Jeffries lightly knocked the back of his head against the wall in frustration. Poor man. How long had he worked for Sawyer?

  Sawyer ran a hand through his hair and had the decency to look mortified. “Ugh, what I meant to say is . . . your figure is just fine. There’s nothing wrong with it.” He stood hastily and walked to the window, opening the curtain a few inches, expression hidden. “I’m trying to find out—and doing a horrible job—what we might have in common. I’ve been through some difficult things and I’d prefer not to work with someone who’s had it easy.”

  Something in his tone made me think he truly wanted to hear the answer, not to mock me, but because sorrow lurked at his own doorstep.

  I took a deep breath to steady myself. “Just because I’m ‘well-fed’ as you put it, doesn’t mean I haven’t suffered. It’s easy to smile, to throw up a mask to hide what’s underneath.”

  He turned and looked at me as if seeing me for the first time.

  His expression turned thoughtful and a bit remorseful. The shoulders that had been so tight up until this point relaxed as if ready to give up the fight. His eyes held an empty, infinite loneliness, making me wish I hadn’t responded with anger earlier.

  As he studied me, his voice grew quiet, almost gentle. “What exactly brought suffering into your life?” He walked away from the window and lowered himself onto the sofa, giving me his full attention.

  I sat as well and let go of a breath, taking a second to collect myself. “Are you going to tell me how you’ve suffered?” That was a fair enough question. Did he think this was a therapy session or an interview?

  He pointed to his scars and gave me a sharp look. “My suffering is already apparent.”

  Different emotions battled within me: compassion for a man who clearly had terrible things happen to him, anger for being interrogated about my personal life, and frustration that I’d put up with it because I needed a job so badly. I should have walked out long ago.

  “Fine. I’ll tell you this. I grew up in an underprivileged neighborhood.” I spoke deliberately, glancing around the room, gaze falling on the fancy furniture. “To be honest, being in a house like this makes me uncomfortable. My mom is a waitress and my dad . . . my dad earns minimum wage as a greeter at a popular convenience store.”

  I met his eyes and hiked my chin up a notch, even as heat crept up my face. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of my dad—I truly wasn’t—but I usually didn’t talk about his work because most people didn’t understand. Some were insensitive, and I’d received a few snickers in the past when sharing what he did for a living.

  “He had a motorcycle accident when I was a kid and it resulted in brain damage. He used to be an engineer, but he was unable to remain in the field afterward. He has a good attitude though, and he does his best. We always worried about the bills getting paid and I never had a lot of clothes or nice things. We lived in a shabby apartment my whole life. Anything I wanted besides food and shelter, I had to buy myself. I got my first paycheck at fifteen and I’ve worked hard ever since.”

  Sawyer nodded his head slowly. “Go on
.”

  “What else do you want to know?”

  He looked away. “Have you ever lost someone? Anyone you cared about?”

  I felt the blood drain from my face, and I licked my dry lips. Might as well just tell him. “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  Hesitating, I glanced away. “My boyfriend.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “He died?”

  “No. We broke up.”

  He blinked and shook his head in annoyance. “A break-up? That’s the best you’ve got?”

  “He dumped me. Said he had feelings for another woman.”

  “Being dumped is nothing like having someone die on you.” His words echoed throughout the room.

  “You’re right.” My voice softened. “What I’ve gone through can’t compare to that kind of loss. I won’t even pretend they’re the same thing. But you’re the one who asked the question. You wanted to hear how I’ve suffered.” I shifted in my seat, itching to leave. “And maybe I can’t begin to understand the kind of grief you’re talking about, but it doesn’t mean my pain isn’t real. Rejection hurts, too. It makes you doubt yourself. It gets in your head and messes with your thinking. Makes you wonder if you’ll ever be loved again. By anyone.”

  Wow, had I just revealed all that? A part of me wanted to cover my face with my hands while the other part wanted to give myself a standing ovation for being able to say the words without flinching.

  His eyes glistened as he studied me. “I’m sorry for calling you shallow. I had no right.”

  We stared at one another for several moments. His eyes, beautiful and completely unique to any I’d ever seen before, warned me to be careful. This man knew how to play with my emotions. He’d been throwing me off balance with the skill of a master manipulator. My heartbeat sped up like a rabbit running from a predator.

  But for some reason, the rest of my body hadn’t received the memo: Sawyer Drake is dangerous. I just gawked at the man, fascinated.

  He lowered his voice. “Did you love him?”

  I started to say yes, but the word caught in my throat. “I thought I did.” Before I considered the insensitivity of the question, I asked, “Have you ever had anyone break-up with you, Sawyer? Do you understand what it’s like?”