“Oh...yeah, I mean that’s the only butler I knew growing up...I have a big mouth, don’t I?”
“No, I thought it was funny. He’s technically not a butler by the way. He doesn’t serve me tea and crumpets.”
“You’ll have to forgive me, I know nothing about the finer things in life. Whatever I know, I learned from Robin Leach.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” He says underneath a smile.
“Please promise me you won’t tell Harrison about the nickname. He seems serious.”
“Believe it or not, he has a sense of humor underneath the professional exterior, but I won’t tell for now. That is unless I need to hold it over your head for a favor.” The way he says that last part sounds like he is not talking about business and I feel myself turning red.
Off we go! The car stalls about three times just getting out of the insanely long driveway. My horrible driving technique adds some levity to the atmosphere in the car.
“The roads are quiet out here, it’ll be a great place to practice,” he assures me. After a few minutes, I start to get a feel for the car, and the tension eases as I build confidence.
“All right,” he says, “let’s speed her up. Hit the clutch, move the gear into second then push on the gas and release the clutch just like you did to get into first. Be smooth.” I take a deep breath, follow his instructions and the car jumps into second gear with a jolt. I am starting to have fun with this.
“I see what you mean about being in control of the car. How long have you been driving stick?”
“It’s how I learned. Keep your eyes on the RPMs. If you hear a bit of roaring or feel a lag, that means you need to shift up again. You always have to be in tune with your vehicle when you are driving a manual transmission.” I immediately accelerate and go into third. “Woah!”
Mr. Holden grabs his cell. “Harrison, meet me at Ms. Ball’s place in an hour and a half.” He turns to me. “Let’s practice for 30 more minutes and then you’ll drive us to your home.” I live around tons of pedestrians, and red lights and parallel parking. My confidence waivers a bit, but I know tomorrow, I’ll need to drive myself to work, so I have to suck it up.
We don’t say much in the way of conversation, but he continues to direct my driving and this time serves to acclimate us to each other’s presence. Although I would normally find silence in the car with a stranger awkward, it is unusually comfortable. In fact, I feel most on edge when we speak, as if every time we talk, there are underlying, unspoken words between us. At one point he asks if I mind having the windows open.
“Not at all, it’s a beautiful day.”
As I pick up in speed, pieces of my hair come undone in the wind and whip into my eyes. I try to brush them out of my face.
“You should keep your hands on the steering wheel and shifter. Let me get that for you. Hold your face still.” I can’t help but hold still, because the anticipation of him touching my hair literally locks me up.
He gently brushes the hair away from my eyes, his fingertips softly caressing my forehead. He then tucks it behind my ears. I feel the hairs stand up on my forearms and silently hope that he does not notice. I can’t be imagining the energy; this can’t all be in my head.
Even though we don’t share many words, I smile a lot, experiencing the joy of driving this zippy little car through winding roads. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, watching me, sometimes smiling too. The question invades my mind again. Does he find me attractive? This should be irrelevant, but I wonder if someone like him would ever want someone like me.
When it is time to drive back to my apartment, hunger pangs begin to kick in. I hadn’t eaten breakfast in the morning and I had no idea I would be with him this long. Then, as if he is reading my mind, he asks: “Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
I could eat a small herd of antelopes right now!
“Let’s grab a bite and discuss some details about what will be coming up the next few weeks. Make a left at this stop sign.” The car stalls as I pull away from the stop sign. Shit! I thought I was getting the hang of this. After a few more turns, he leads me to a small restaurant that looks like a little white farmhouse. Thankfully the unmarked gravel parking lot makes parking as simple as stopping wherever I can. As we enter, ever the gentleman, Mr. Holden grabs the door with handkerchief in hand. It raises a question mark in my head, but I don’t have much time to analyze it as we walk in and sit across from one another in red wooden chairs. An older woman greets us warmly.
“Mr Holden! How good to see you. Will it be the usual?”
“Sure. Make that two. You’ll love it.” A man has never ordered for me before.
“So, we will be going to St. Petersburg in three weeks, more like two and a half.”
“Florida?”
He laughs a real laugh. He looks so young as the intensity in his eyes dissipates. “Russia.”
Russia? Never in my life did I ever think I would be going to Russia! The news reassures me that he means what he says about showing me the world.
“We will need to get your visa expedited, so please bring in your passport tomorrow.”
“Okay, not a problem.” How is Rick going to feel about me going to Russia so soon? Jesus, he doesn’t even know I have accepted the new job! “What will we be doing there?”
“They are looking to install a new fiber optic network to update their infrastructure and H.I. is in the running for the contract. There is a gala during one of the evenings to meet with all of the decision makers, such as government officials and leading executives in the industry.” I have a very general understanding of the topic, but I have a lot to learn about the telecommunications industry, and the other industries he is involved in.
“So, what will I be doing there?”
“You will make sure I get to every appointment on time, handle all documentation, join me at the gala as a representative of H.I., prepare reports and proofread proposals. Other tasks will come up while we are there, so I will need you to be nimble.”
“Of course.” I am starting to feel like I am in over my head. Mingling with Russian dignitaries? I can barely survive Rick’s company Christmas parties. I thought there would be some “Intro to Holden Industries” class or something, but he is throwing me in head-first with the sharks.
The lady returns with a huge plate of blueberry pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs. Yum! I want to ravage the plate, but instead I take cautious bites. As we eat, he continues to fill me in on the details. We will be there for five days, arriving early on Thursday morning. Business attire is mandatory, except for the gala, which is black tie. I can tell he is alluding to my sophomoric attire. No more jeans and T-shirts for me.
“I take it that working from home all these years means you don’t have business wear?”
“No, but I should be able to go shopping this weekend.”
“I’ll have my stylist come by tomorrow. If you don’t mind.” Even though it is spoken as a request, it feels like an implicit demand.
“Wow. I’ve never worked with a stylist before. Sure! So how does it work? Does she just accompany me to the mall?”
“I’ll let you two hammer those details out tomorrow.” I worry that the stylist’s taste in clothes will be much more than I can afford, but I can’t being myself to say this to Mr. Holden and can only hope this person will be flexible.
As we are driving to my apartment in the car, he is silent and pensive. He has given up the role of driving instructor, only chiming in when necessary and is again the intimidating figure that interviewed me. I am learning quickly that his mood swings, if that is what one can call them, will keep me on my toes. Since we arrive to my apartment around three o’clock, I am lucky enough to pull into a spot, instead of parallel parking. Harrison is already parked a few cars in front of me, ready to take Mr. Holden home.
“Thanks so much for the driving lessons, and lunch. You really didn’t have to.”
“My pleasure Ms. Ball. I look forward to working with you.” He opens his mouth to say something else, but then he pauses. I see a rare moment of uncertainty in his facial expression.
What is it? What do you want to say to me?
“Please arrive at the house at 9:00 am, as we will have a lot to cover tomorrow.” We shake hands and I relish in our hands touching one last time before we part ways.
Chapter Three
When I go upstairs, the enormity of the day’s events hits me. What will I tell Rick?
What can I tell Rick?
I signed an NDA, but does that mean I cannot disclose any details at all? I do live with the man. I need to know right away. I call Harrison since I know he is in the car with Mr. Holden, whose cell number I do not have.
“Harrison speaking.”
“Hi Harrison. Sorry to bother you. Are you with Mr. Holden? It’s Shyla.”
“Ummm, yes. In the car with me now, on speaker. Just a moment.”
“Ms. Ball? You are off the speaker.” His voice sounds concerned
“I am sorry to bother you so soon. However, I realize that I signed an NDA which is not a problem, but how private do I need to be? I mean can I tell people I work for you? That I am going to St. Petersburg?”
“I’m sorry, we probably should have discussed this in further detail. You may tell people about your position and general details to family and friends. What is most important to me is that you not share the inner workings of the business or specifics of our interactions. So, yes, you can tell your family you are going to Russia.”
“Thank you for the clarification. I will see you tomorrow.”
This is going to be hard. I don’t have many friends, but I am very close to the ones I do have. How can I keep the story of the strange offer from my mysterious, brooding and handsome boss from my best friend, Kristin? Feelings of isolation appear because I now have a part of my life that I can share with no one but Mr. Holden. With a belly full of pancakes and my head spinning, I lay down on the couch and close my eyes.
I wake up to the sound of the keys in the front door. I shoot up and look at the clock. It’s 6:30 p.m. I feel a bit disoriented since I had no intention of sleeping for this long.
“Hi,” Rick says as he wrestles with some grocery bags.
“Hi,” I say reaching my hands overhead and stretching, sleep still in my voice. “I must have passed out.”
He places the groceries on the kitchen counter. “So...how did your interview go?”
“Really well. I was offered a position and I took it.” I try my best to downplay it because there won’t be much I can reveal anyway.
“Really? Congrats! What are you doing?”
“I will be his Personal Assistant...Executive Assistant. I am not sure which one, the role is pretty muddled.”
“Interesting!”
“Very.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. I just have to warn you, he is extremely private and I had to sign an NDA since we will be working closely. As you know, he works in technology and there are trade secrets I can’t reveal. So, I can’t really talk much about the details of the job.”
“Oh, it’s not like I’ll tell anyone.” He doesn’t get it. I am not telling him anything. Partly because of the NDA, but mostly because I am afraid he will see right through me if I talk about Mr. Holden.
“Yeah, I know.” I quickly change the subject. “Big news, I am accompanying him to St. Petersburg, Russia in a few weeks. I don’t think I can say why, but let’s say it’s a sales call.”
“Russia?” Rick exclaims. “Well, you are hitting the ground running aren’t you? This is wild. I mean...” His voice trails off.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Nevermind.” He begins to unload the groceries into the fridge.
“No. Tell me.” I want to know if he thinks this is as strange as I do.
“Well, don’t you think this is all a little odd? I mean, I agree with him. You know I think you’re brilliant, but you meet this guy in a coffee shop and a couple of days later you are hired to be his assistant. It moved so fast. Something about that is just, I don’t want to say fishy, but makes you wonder.”
“Wonder what?” For some strange reason, I suddenly feel defensive, as if I am defending Mr. Holden’s honor.
“Maybe he likes you?”
I start to laugh, almost mockingly, and Rick furrows his eyebrows. “Taylor Holden is a multimillionaire who can have any woman he wants. Why in the world would he go through so much trouble for me? Don’t worry. What happened was his previous assistant moved away and he really needed to replace her. When we chatted I mentioned what I did and he really wanted someone with my skill set. Just pure luck I guess.” I say all this, secretly hoping what Rick claims is true, but knowing it’s not.
“You’re right, I am probably reading too much into things, but you should give yourself more credit. It’s not a completely ridiculous line of thought. I think you’re hot. Are you hungry?”
“Well, thanks honey. I’m hungry enough, can we order take out? Maybe we can watch a show and then I’ll go take a shower and call it a night so I can rest up for my first day.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The Chinese take out arrives very quickly and we slurp on our noodles in the dark while an episode of “The Bachelor” provides the only light in the room. Halfway into the show, we have both finished eating as indicated by our containers sitting idly on their respective TV trays with chopsticks popping out, like a flag sitting on conquered territory. Rick reaches his hand over onto my thigh. I know what he wants and I hope my stillness is enough of a signal to indicate that I am not in the mood. During a commercial he leans over to kiss my neck and I reach for the remote.
“Can’t we fast forward this?”
“Why don’t we pause it?”
“Not tonight Rick.”
“Why not?”
“I’m tired and your breath smells like Chinese food.”
“Well so does yours. We can cancel each other out.”
“Gross.”
“Let me go brush my teeth then.”
“I should take a shower and go to sleep, I have a busy day tomorrow.” I can see in his eyes his feelings are hurt and I start to feel guilty. “Do you want to hop into the shower with me?”
“That works for me.”
Our tub is so cramped that we rarely shower together, and it always makes for a clumsy scene. I hop in first, soaking myself in steamy goodness. As crappy as our shower is, it has great water pressure. No more than a minute later, the curtain flings open and exposes Rick’s naked body. Rick has always been very long and lean, the kind of guy that can eat anything and the food just goes to some magical land...or maybe my hips. I am convinced somehow the food he eats goes to my hips instead.
We awkwardly reach over each other for the shower gel.
“Can you get my back?” Rick asks.
“Sure, turn around.” I soap him up. “Now my turn.”
Rick gently lathers my back. Then he moves my wet hair off of my shoulder, kissing my neck. I am still not in the mood, but I dutifully give in to his advances by turning around and kissing him. We start to make out, which warms me up. Then comes the awkward part.
“Maybe if you position yourself this way.” Rick suggests.
I try to elevate one leg and rise on my tippy toes with my back facing him. The cold shower curtain clings to my leg and I think of all the little microorganisms that welcome this new breeding ground. It feels good but after a few minutes, the water running between my legs starts to dry me out, not to mention my calf begins to cramp.
“Maybe I should just finish you off,” I suggest. I should be a phone sex operator with that kind of sexy talk.
“You sure?” Rick is always so polite, wanting to make sure I am satisfied first.
“Yes, don’t worry about me.” I stoop down and fulfill my suggestion.
The next day, I leave my apartment 45 minutes early to accommodate my entry level manual driving. The ride starts off rough, but once I get on the freeway, things turn for the better. I arrive to the house at 8:20, much earlier than I had expected. I just hope my early arrival will leave a good impression. Harrison answers the doorbell.
“Good morning Ms. Ball,” he nods.
“Good morning.” I wear the same black slacks as yesterday with a cream colored sweater. I know it’s an underwhelming outfit, but it is all I have to work with.
“There is breakfast at the breakfast bar if you would like. I believe Mr. Holden is wrapping up his morning workout, he was not expecting you here until 9:00am.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I left early because I wanted to give myself some time figuring out the new car.” Harrison smiles and gestures to the great room. There is a large selection of fruits and cheeses and well as fresh scrambled eggs and bacon sitting in some pans on the range. I didn’t have breakfast, so I pour myself a coffee and grab a few pieces of fruit. I am not yet comfortable enough to dig into the eggs and bacon without being explicitly invited. I pull out a stool, sit down and begin to pick on the fruit. Almost immediately, I hear bare footsteps behind me.
“Good morning Ms. Ball.” I stand and turn to face the voice, and yet again, Mr. Holden surprises me. He is shirtless and sweaty, a white towel is dangling around his neck, and he is wearing a pair of faded black sweatpants. They hang low on his hips, his hip flexors drawing my eyes to his...
Look up!
My eyes cannot betray me.
Look into his eyes!
They are so beautiful, a deep blue color in this light, framed by dark, long eyelashes.
Stop this!
His behavior cannot be considered professional behavior by any means, but I guess this is what I get for showing up so early.
“I didn’t expect you here until nine.” As he says this he takes a swig out of his water bottle. It is hard not to notice his body. His hips are narrow, shoulders prominent and he has washboard abs with beads of sweat rolling down each ripple.
This guy cannot be for real.
“Ye...yes. I’m sorry, I, uh, left early because I thought driving the MINI would take me longer.”
“Judging by your arrival time, you seem to be picking up pretty quickly,” he says as he pops a strawberry into his mouth.
Those lips.
I am flustered dammit. I am flustered and I think he is getting a kick out of it.
“Should I just wait in the office?” I say, giving him the opportunity to get decent before we go any further. Is there no place my eyes can rest upon this man that isn’t perfect?
“No, enjoy your breakfast. Eat. You’ll need the energy.” It sounds like he is talking about something other than work. “Don’t you want eggs?”
I do.
“No thanks, this is fine.” I awkwardly try to figure out where I can place my eyes and I choose the fruit on my plate as the safest spot.
“So, I mentioned introducing you to Mona. After speaking with her, she and I concluded that the attire I expect you to wear is something you may not be used to. It is also not something I would expect you to be able to afford on your paycheck.” I didn’t think my paycheck was so measly, but I bet he finds that amount in coins between the cushions of his Italian leather sofa.
“I was hoping to talk to her about that. I don’t mind investing in good pieces, but I thought I could talk to her about a budget.”
“I guessed by looking at you, that you are a size 4. Am I right?” That’s rather impressive. Most guys I know know nothing about women’s clothing sizes.
“Yes, clothing sizes vary, but generally.” How does he suck me into the strangest conversations? Why can’t he ever just spit out what he has to say instead of taking me down a stupid rabbit hole every time? He’s noshing on a piece of bacon and I catch myself staring at his mouth. Again.
Stop that!
I look around to see if Harrison is within sight so I can sense if he feels awkward about Mr. Holden standing here shirtless like this, but he is long gone.
“Follow me.” Mr. Holden walks ahead of me and I have a free, undisturbed view of his narrow hips and muscular back. Why can’t he just be a fat, balding, middle-aged CEO? He leads me into his office, where there are boxes and bags piled high on the floor. I recognize some names: Carolina Herrera, Diane Von Furstenberg, Tory Burch, Nordstrom, along with other names I do not recognize. I gasp, but I don’t want to assume this is for me, even though all roads are leading to this fact.
“I had my stylist Mona go shopping for you yesterday. She’s going to be here a little after nine too. We figured it would save time if she just brought the wardrobe here. Then you can keep what works or if you like something, but need a different size, she can take care of all that.” The sight leaves speechless. While any woman would love a new designer wardrobe, I feel a mixed bag of emotions: Is this normal behavior, for a boss to buy his assistant a new wardrobe? At least one he is not fucking?
“I don’t think I can accept this.” I say, really wanting to accept it.
“Nonsense. I certainly don’t think it is fair to expect you to spend half of your salary on your work attire and Mona doesn’t do cheap.” That’s just an expression, right? He didn’t really just spend
seventy-five thousand dollars
on my wardrobe, did he?
“I don’t know...this is too kind of you. I can’t. I don’t know what to say.”
“There is nothing to say. Think of it as a tax write-off for me. Why don’t you start looking through the clothes? I’ll have Mona stop in when she arrives. We’ll be going to headquarters today to show you around. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to head into the shower.” He leaves me alone in the office, with all of these clothes. I don’t know where to start. I open a box with the words Claire Pettibone etched on the lid. I peel open the paper wrapping to reveal the most delicious...Underwear! Does my professional wardrobe extend to my underwear? This must be Mona’s doing, she probably finds it repulsive that I would wear Hanes underneath such fine garments. I close the box and dig into some other bags to discover a black pencil skirt and a wine colored silk blouse. This will do. I uncover some shoe boxes on the other side of the room. I recognize these names thanks to “Sex and the City”: Louboutin, Prada, Jimmy Choo, Manolo Blahnik. I chose a pair of black leather heels and a pair of silk stockings. Once I am done, the office is full of bags and boxes turned upside down. I frantically start shoving clothing and shoes back into their rightful enclosures. I don’t want to seem too eager to accept the clothing, my mother would not be proud. I scoop up the outfit I have designated for the day and turn around.
“Shyla?” I turn around and drop a shoe. In front of me is a slender brunette. She has sleek, long hair parted down the middle that nearly hits her waist. She is wearing a black shift dress with a large beaded turquoise-colored necklace and black patent leather kitten heels. Her face holds impressive amount of make-up, and she pulls it off nicely with a smile.