The Contract (5 page)

An hour later, Graham stood up. “I’m away until Friday. I’d like to extend an invitation to attend a barbeque my wife and I are having on Saturday. I’d like you to meet her and a few other people.”

I knew what that meant. “I’d enjoy that, sir. Thank you.”

“With Katharine, of course.”

I kept my face impassive as I grasped his extended hand. “She’ll love it.”

Back at the office, Miss Elliott was at her desk when I arrived. Although she was on the phone, I felt her eyes watching me as I crossed her path. No doubt, she was waiting for my wrath to descend on her for whatever infraction I chose to pick out today. Instead, I nodded and kept walking to my desk, flipping through the messages, and the small pile of documents waiting for my approval. Feeling oddly disinterested, I stood up, looking out at the skyline and the city below; its bustle and noise muted by the glass and height from the street. The view and sound would be much different at The Gavin Group.

Everything would be different.

Often, by the time I finished any sort of meeting with David, I was a mass of nerve endings, pulsating and anxious. He knew how to push the buttons of every person who worked for him; how to say and do exactly what he needed to get what he wanted—be it positive or negative. Until this very moment, I hadn’t realized that. Meeting with Graham, even though I was on edge, given the premise I was meeting him under, I was still calm.

In my research of his company, and of the man himself, I had read over and again of his kindness and generosity of spirit. In fact, other than David’s low opinion of Graham, I hadn’t read or heard another unkind remark. Sitting with him, discussing the concepts in my mind for the footwear campaign, I had felt an enthusiasm that had been lacking for a long time. I felt creative again, energized. Graham listened, truly listened, encouraging my thought process with positive reinforcement, and adding ideas of his own. To my surprise, I liked his concept of teamwork. I wondered what it would be like not to be involved in the daily cutthroat world of Anderson Inc. How it would feel to work
with
people instead of against them. Would it make for a better life? An easier one—of that fact I was certain. Yet, I felt it would be no less challenging.

All I knew was, by the time our meeting ended, my reasons for wanting to work for him were no longer all about revenge. I wanted to feel that enthusiasm—to be proud of the campaigns I created. It was an unexpected situation, yet not unpleasant.

My door slammed and I turned, frowning, my thoughts interrupted.

“David.” I regarded him pointedly. “Good thing I wasn’t with a client.”

“Katy told me you were free. She buzzed you, but you didn’t answer.”

I had been so deep in thought I hadn’t heard the intercom. That was a first.

“What can I do for you?”

He drew back his shoulders, preparing for an argument. “Where were you this morning? I was looking for you, and you weren’t answering your phone, or returning my messages.”

“I was on a personal appointment.”

“Your assistant said it was a doctor’s appointment.”

I knew he was lying. One thing Miss Elliott was good at was keeping my secrets. I called his bluff. “Why she would say such a thing, I have no idea. I didn’t tell Miss Elliott where I would be. As I said, it was personal.”

He scowled at me, but dropped it. He walked around a bit, patting his comb-over; a gesture of his I knew well. He was going in for the kill. He pivoted to face me. “Why was Brian Maxwell here the other day?”

I shrugged, moving to sit at my desk so he wouldn’t see my smirk. Now, I understood what this was all about.

“Brian and I are friends. We were setting up a round of golf.”

“He couldn’t do that over the phone?”

“He was in the neighborhood. He likes to flirt with Miss Elliott, and he dropped by in person. Is there a problem?”

“What are you up to?”

I lifted my hands in supplication. “I’m up to nothing, David, except a round of golf and a couple hours outside the office. Dock me if you want.” I picked up the stack of documents. “I think if you checked though, you’d see I have a lot of unused vacation time—take the two hours out of there.”

“I’m watching you,” he warned, turning on his heel, and storming out. The door slammed so hard the windows rattled.

I grinned at the door. “Watch away, David. Watch me walk away.”

I stretched over the desk, and punched the intercom button.

Miss Elliott answered, sounding more cautious than usual. “Mr. VanRyan?”

“I need a coffee, Miss Elliott.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“A few moments of your time.”

She drew in a stuttering breath. “Right away.”

I turned my chair back toward the window, and heaved a sigh. I couldn’t believe what I was about to do.

I hoped I wouldn’t fail. God help me—either way.

KATHARINE

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND,” I MURMURED
into the phone, trying to remain calm. “I didn’t receive any other notice about this increase.”

“I know, Miss Elliott. We only received the instructions two days ago, which is why I’m calling to inform you of the change.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Four hundred dollars more a month. I needed to pay four hundred dollars more.

“Did you hear me, Miss Elliott?”

“I’m sorry—could you repeat what you said?”

“I said the new fee structure begins as of the first.”

I glanced at the calendar. That was two weeks away.

“Is this even legal?”

The woman on the phone sighed in understanding. “It’s a privately run home, Miss Elliott. One of the best in the city, but they also make their own rules. There are other places where you could see about moving your aunt—ones that are government run with fees set in place.”

“No,” I insisted. “I don’t want to do that. She’s so well cared-for and settled.”

“The staff is the best. There are other rooms, semi-private ones you could move her into.”

I rubbed my head in frustration. Those rooms didn’t have a garden view—or a space for Penny’s easels and art books. She would be so unhappy and lost. I had to keep her in her private room, no matter what.

Mr. VanRyan walked in the office, staring at me. I hesitated before saying anything else, unsure if he would stop, but he kept walking, entered his office, and shut the door with a quiet click behind him. He didn’t acknowledge me, not that he ever did, unless it was to yell or curse, so I could only assume the strange call he had me make had been acceptable.

“Miss Elliott?”

“I apologize. I’m at work, and my boss came in.”

“Do you have any other questions?”

I wanted to scream at her and say
, “Yes! How the hell am I supposed to come up with another four hundred dollars to give you?
” but I knew it was useless. She worked in the accounting department; she didn’t make the decisions.

“Not at the moment.”

“You have our number.”

“Yes, thank you.” I hung up. They certainly had
my
number.

I stared at my desk, my mind going a mile a minute. They paid me well here at Anderson Inc.—I was one of the highest salaried PAs because I worked for Mr. VanRyan. He was horrible to work for—his dislike of me obvious. However, I did it because it made me extra money, which all went to care for Penny Johnson.

I traced my finger along the worn edge of the blotter I kept on my desk. I already lived in the cheapest place I could find. I cut my own hair, bought my clothes at second-hand stores, and my diet consisted of ramen noodles and a lot of cheap peanut butter and jam. I splurged on nothing, using every opportunity to save a little. Coffee was free in the office, and there were always muffins and cookies around. The company paid for my cell phone, and in the warm weather, I walked to and from work, to save the bus fare. Every so often, I used the kitchen at the home to bake cookies with the residents and brought some in to work to share. It was my silent way to make up for the goodies I snagged. If an unexpected expense arose, there were days those cookies and muffins were all I could afford to eat. I checked to see if there were any in the break room before I left at night that I could put in the small freezer in my apartment.

I blinked away the tears that were building. How was I going to come up with another four hundred dollars a month? I already lived from paycheck to paycheck. I knew I couldn’t ask for a raise. I would have to get a second job, which meant I would have less time to spend with Penny.

The outer door opened and David came in, his face like thunder.

“Is he in yet?”

“Yes.”

“Is he with someone?”

“No, sir.” I picked up the phone, surprised when Mr. VanRyan didn’t answer my buzz.

“Where was he?” he demanded.

“As I told you this morning, he didn’t tell me. He said it was personal, so it wasn’t my place to ask.”

He scowled at me, his beady eyes almost disappearing. “This is my company, young lady. Everything that happens here is my business. Next time you ask. Understand?”

I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t tell him to go fuck himself. Instead, I nodded, relieved when he marched past me and slammed into Mr. VanRyan’s office.

I sighed. That door was slammed so often I had to get maintenance to rehang it almost every month. A few minutes later, David slammed back out, cursing under his breath. I watched him leave, an anxious sensation building in my stomach. If he was in a bad mood, it meant Mr. VanRyan would be in a bad mood. That meant only one thing: soon he’d be yelling at me for whatever mistake he thought I’d made today.

I hung my head. I hated my life. I hated being a PA. I especially hated being a PA for Mr. VanRyan. I had never known anyone so cruel. Nothing I did was ever enough—certainly not enough to warrant a thank you or a grudging smile. In fact, I was certain he had never smiled at me the entire year I’d worked for him. I could remember the day David summoned me to his office.

“Katy,”—he looked hard at me—“as you know, Lee Stevens is leaving. I am going to reassign you to another account rep—Richard VanRyan.”

“Oh.” I had heard horror stories of Richard VanRyan and his temper, and I was nervous. He went through PAs quickly. However, reassignment was better than no job. I had finally found a place for Penny where she was happy, and I didn’t want to take her out of it.

“The pay rate is higher than what you’re making now and that of the other PAs.” He quoted me a figure that seemed enormous, but the amount meant I could give Penny her own room.

Surely, Mr. VanRyan couldn’t be that bad.

How wrong I had been. He made my life hell, and I took it—because I had no other choice.

Not yet.

My intercom buzzed, and I steadied my nerves. “Mr. VanRyan?”

“I need a coffee, Miss Elliott.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“A few moments of your time.”

I shut my eyes, wondering what was about to happen. “Right away.”

Carrying his coffee, I approached his office with trepidation. I knocked, entering only when he bade me to come in. I had made that mistake once and would never do it again. His biting remarks had stung for days over that infraction.