Unhinged (2 page)

I was in the process of
shaking the hand of the founder and CEO of Trovato, Inc., Conrad Trovato
himself.

With a name like
Trovato, I had assumed Italian. Don’t ask me why. But this guy didn’t resemble
any Italian guy I knew. Not that I knew many.

If any.

Okay, so that didn’t
matter.

When he glanced down at
our joined hands, I realized I had latched on, and he was in the process of
trying to pull away, but I wasn’t letting him go. I was too busy staring at
him, trying to remember why I’d agreed to take this job. What had made me think
I was capable of being an administrative assistant to a self-made billionaire
in the first place?

Someone cleared their
throat and I wasn’t sure whether it was Mr. Trovato or Jasmine. At the moment,
their voices sounded eerily the same. But either way, I pulled myself together
and released his hand, meeting his formidable gaze.

“I’ll be meeting my
wife for lunch today. Ensure we have reservations at eleven.”

Yeah. Okay. So he was
talking to me. I knew I should have uttered something smart, but for the life
of me, I couldn’t remember what he’d just said. The powerful aura that radiated
off the man had paralyzed my brain, making me worthless.

“Yes, Mr. Trovato.”
Jasmine’s throaty chuckle sounded way too fake.

“She’ll do fine.”

Conrad obviously was
not
talking to me. Thank God.

I wanted to ask him how
he knew that. Maybe he’d enlighten me because I definitely didn’t feel like I
was going to do fine.

“We’ll get the
reservations taken care of immediately,” Jasmine assured him, smiling.

Conrad nodded his head,
turned and walked toward the office that spanned the north side of the
building, closing his door behind him. Jasmine had given me a fleeting view of
that room when I arrived. Other than noting its ridiculous size, a glimpse of
the floor to ceiling windows lining the entire north wall, the grand walnut
desk that sat in the middle of the room and the row of bookshelves on one side
was the extent of my tour. I do remember thinking that that one single space
was probably larger than the three bedroom apartment I shared with my two
closest friends.

I stared after Conrad.
He was distinguished, some would probably even say handsome. For an old man.
Err… Old
er
. I didn’t know exactly how old he was, but the crown of
perfectly styled gray hair led me to believe he was older.

“You’re gonna have to
do better than that, girl,” Jasmine whispered, her smile falling.

“He’s so…”
Do not
say old. Do not say old.
“Intimidating.” I wasn’t even aware I had spoken
aloud until Jasmine snorted with laughter. Until then, I was beginning to
wonder whether she knew how, and now the rusty sound echoed through the open
reception area of the second floor.

My floor.

Technically the floor
belonged to Mr. Trovato, but aside from his office, the only other occupied
space was an area where my desk was positioned and a small section that
contained a fancy leather sofa for clients to wait for Mr. Trovato.
There were windows everywhere,
providing enough natural light to light up the entire space, and that was
without the help of the dangling fluorescent bulbs from above.

A miniscule
kitchenette, equipped with a refrigerator, sink, and an industrial coffeemaker
was tucked into a nook in one corner; a place Jasmine told me would be
essential for me to learn my way around since Mr. Trovato loved his coffee more
than he loved his family.

I was pretty sure she’d
been joking about that last part.

“That’s an
understatement, girl. Now, let’s continue. I’m only here for two more days and
I suggest you pull it together or you’re gonna be looking for another job.”

No, not that.

At twenty-three, I had
spent the last seventeen months looking for a job, coming up empty except for
the occasional temp placement. It had been more than a year since I had
graduated from college with big dreams and even bigger expectations. As it
turned out, there was something like forty percent of people in Austin, Texas
who had a bachelor’s degree or higher, which meant that businesses could be as
particular as they wanted to be in hiring.

That was something that
would have been beneficial to learn in college.
Before
I picked a major.

With a degree in
English Literature, I wasn’t having much luck finding a job in a city that was
dominated by tech companies. But three weeks ago, my dad had stumbled upon an
ad on the internet for an administrative assistant position at Trovato, Inc. Of
course, my father knew everything there was to know about the company that manufactured
performance engines because he made it his business to stay up to date on the
ins and outs of the automotive industry.

Not exactly the place I
saw myself working for my first real job out of college, but now that I was
here, I had to admit it wasn’t quite as bad as I’d expected.

From the instant I
stepped through the main doors, I’d been in awe of the place. Glass and steel
constructed the building, and there were actually engines that decorated the
space.

Engines. Like the
things that went in cars.

The walls were white,
the floor slate gray and the décor interesting.

It went without saying
that those engines
—
or the components within them, I wasn’t quite sure
—
had made Mr.
Trovato rich.

When I arrived that
morning, I hadn’t had a lot of time to admire the unusual decorations. As I had
attempted to ascend the stairs to the second floor, I was nearly tackled by a
big, beefy security guard, who defended the stairs as though they led to heaven
and I hadn’t yet been permitted to pass the pearly gates.

“Earth to Payton.”

I blinked twice,
looking up at Jasmine.

“Two days, remember?”
Jasmine nodded her head toward the notebook in my hand. “You might want to
start writing. It’s gonna be a long day for you.”

I had a feeling that
Jasmine was full of understatements. And her crash course in managing Mr.
Trovato’s calendar was just beginning.

Payton

Monday night

By the time I walked to
my car in the deserted parking lot, it was after seven, the sun had long since
gone down and I was starving. Mr. Trovato was apparently an early riser and he
had a penchant for staying at the office late, which didn’t do anything to help
the fact that I hadn’t brought my lunch with me
—
something I had realized
after
my stomach started rumbling.

While Jasmine had gone
out with some of her friends (in case there was any doubt,
no
, I wasn’t
invited), I had sat at the desk and pretended to munch on an invisible granola
bar although no one was there to talk to me about the nutritional value in the
pretend meal.

Didn’t help that I had
spotted a vending machine on the main floor
—
just now
—
on my way out
the door.

During the two hours it
took for Jasmine to celebrate her recent engagement and upcoming relocation to
New York, I had fielded at least thirty phone calls. Thirty freaking calls.

I’m pretty sure Jasmine
was on the verge of a heart attack when she came back and tried to make sense
of the mess that I’d made with that little pink message pad. Luckily, it hadn’t
taken that long to sort out, but we
—
translated to
she
, because I don’t think she trusted me at that point
—
spent the
better part of the afternoon calling people back and scheduling meetings for
Mr. Trovato.

Now, as I approached my
car, my feet were hurting, my head was pounding and my eyes were slowly but
surely drifting closed. I was exhausted and part of me was dreading coming back
tomorrow.

Forcing the thought of
what tomorrow might bring out of my throbbing head, I climbed into my car
—
a vintage,
carbon steel gray, 1965 fastback Mustang that my father insisted I drive
—
and cursed the
idea of having to look at a computer screen or a telephone ever again.

Speaking of telephones…

My cell phone sang
Baby
Got Back
just as I turned the key in the ignition, the tune at war with the
powerful throb of the engine. I never understood why my father souped-up these
cars, or why he insisted that I drove the thing in the first place. I would
have been quite content with a little compact car, maybe something with
Bluetooth or satellite radio. Or, you know, electric windows. I didn’t think
that was too much to ask, but my father insisted on me driving an American
classic, as he referred to the car, and since it meant no car payment, I
couldn’t complain too much.

“Hey, Chloe?” I
greeted, cutting off the song snippet as it started again.

“Where are you?” she
asked, sounding exasperated, which was something I was pretty familiar with.
Chloe Tatum, my best friend –
slash
– roommate was nothing if not easily
excitable, though you’d never know it by looking at her. I could already
picture her lying on the sofa, dark hair fanned out around her head, emerald
green eyes staring at the front door as she waited for me to come in.

“I’m leaving work,” I
explained, leaning my head back on the headrest and closing my eyes.

I wondered if it would
be against company policy if I just slept right there in my car.

“At least tell me
you’re bringing dinner home.”

“I can.” I peered
through one eye to see that the lights were slowly going out inside the
two-story building in front of me. It was only seven, but since it was almost
November, the days were getting shorter. That should have made me feel a little
better, and it would have if I weren't still at work. I loved fall. It was my
favorite time of year. Instead, I was imagining crawling into bed and sleeping
away the last few days of October. “What did you have in mind?”

“Chinese.”

“I’ll pick it up on my
way. Is Aaron home yet?” I asked, referring to our other roommate.

Aaron, my best friend
since junior high school was still a student at the University of Texas,
working on his master’s degree in business. He and I had shared an apartment
since we were sophomores in college, after each spending a year in the dorms.
And when I moved farther from campus after I graduated, he had decided to come
with me. Unfortunately, he wasn’t home much these days, choosing to spend his
evenings with his new boyfriend. Unfortunate because I didn’t get to see him
much, not because he had a boyfriend.

Seeing how incredibly
happy Aaron was, I couldn’t even find it in me to be bothered by the fact that
he wasn’t there for me to talk to, or to do his share of chores either. Paying
a third of the rent while staying elsewhere ninety percent of the time, I
figured the guy deserved a little slack. Since I’d had the pleasure of hearing
all about New-Boyfriend-Mark, suffice it to say, I was actually thrilled for
Aaron. He’d been looking for love for a long time, and it seemed as though he might
have actually found it with Mark. At least according to him. I, personally,
didn’t know Mark all that well, so the jury was still out as far as I was
concerned.

“Nope. He came and went
an hour ago. Said he’s staying with his love bunny and not to wait up.”

“He said that?” I
asked, my eyebrows shifting up. “He called Mark his love bunny?”

“No. I did.” Chloe
chuckled, obviously proud of herself.

“So dinner for two?”

“Unless you’re gonna
waste more time talking. Then you might as well make it three ’cause I’m
starving.”

“At least there won’t
be any traffic,” I told Chloe.

“Traffic? At this time
of night, you’ll be lucky if there’re any restaurants open,” she said
facetiously, following with a giggle.

I couldn’t even drum up
enough energy to laugh at her lame jokes, so I simply said goodbye and thumbed
off the phone, dropping it onto the seat beside me.

An hour and ten
freaking minutes later, I was pulling into the parking lot of my apartment
complex. Since I’d had so much time to think on the way home, I’d come to one
sound conclusion: there was no way I was going to survive that commute every
day.

To make a bad day
worse, someone had stolen my parking spot in front of my building, so I had to
drive around for an extra minute until I found an empty place.

Three buildings down.

Figured.

Dreading the walk in
the foot murderers that I called shoes, I was tempted to bust into the food
that had been my only companion for the past half hour right there in my car.
The heavenly scent of Chinese food taunted me, making my mouth water. I’d made
the mistake of stopping at one of my favorite places near downtown Austin,
rather than near the apartment, and I’d had to endure the overwhelming urge to
eat sweet and sour pork with my fingers most of the way home.

Now, as I lugged all of
my stuff toward my building, I worried that I might not be awake long enough to
enjoy it at all.

When I walked in my
front door a few minutes later, toting my purse on one arm, the computer bag
complete with the laptop I was told to keep on me at all times, and the plastic
bag holding our dinner, I was panting like I’d been floundering on the
treadmill again.

Damn stairs.

“A little help would be
nice,” I muttered to Chloe, who was lounging on the couch, her Kindle in front
of her.

She didn’t budge. Not
that I had really expected her to. This was Chloe. When she was focused, she
made as little movement as possible, which made me hate her for the simple fact
that she was so damn skinny and she never had to work out. She claimed that she
kept in shape because she was on her feet all day. Did I mention Chloe was a
hairstylist? One of the best, to be exact.

“Fine. I’ll just eat your eggroll,” I added as I passed her.

“What’s
that
?”
Chloe’s bright green eyes homed in on the computer bag now dangling from my
arm, her head turning at an odd angle so that she didn’t have to get up.

“Work.”

“Why’re you bringing it
home?” she asked, looking sincerely perplexed.

“No idea.” I didn’t
really care to talk, I preferred to eat, so I made my way to the kitchen,
letting the bag and my purse slide to the floor where I left them near my
bedroom door. I kicked off my shoes, sending one flying into the wall, the
other falling from my aching foot.

After pulling the
containers from the bag and gathering utensils, I carried the two cartons of
food and two plastic forks
—
screw the chopsticks, I was just too damn tired to make that happen
—
into the living
room and joined Chloe on the couch.

“So, tell me about
him,” Chloe stated as she crossed her legs and dropped her Kindle onto the
coffee table before reaching for the carton that contained her beef and
broccoli.

“Who?” I asked,
mirroring her position so I could face her. I feared that if I relaxed too
much, I’d fall asleep right there.

“Conrad Trovato.” Chloe
annunciated his name slowly, dreamily. “He looks so handsome when I’ve seen him
on TV.”

I cocked an eyebrow.
“Seriously? He’s like fifty,” I told her, laughing around a mouthful of food.

“That just means he’s
distinguished,” Chloe countered, forking rice into her mouth.

“It also means he’s
married.”

“True. For like the
third time if I remember correctly.” Chloe kept eating, her full attention on
the food in front of her as she continued talking, oblivious to the fact that
her mouth was full. “Does he have any kids?”

When she peered up at
me, I shrugged.

“You don’t
know
?
What kind of assistant are you?” Chloe huffed.

“He’s got a daughter, I
think.” I paused, chewing thoroughly, purposely making her wait. “He’s got her
picture in his office.”

“You sure that’s his
daughter and not his wife?” Chloe asked. “Or his mistress?”

God, I hoped not. The
girl was young and he was… not.

“How old is she?” Chloe
inquired before I could even answer.

“She’s in college.
Aside from that, I didn’t bombard him with personal questions on my first day.”

“I would have.” I
totally believed her. “Seriously, Payton. This is Conrad Trovato. He’s the
mastermind behind those engines that make your girl parts sing.”

My eyes nearly bugged
out of my head. “Sorry, my girl parts don’t sing for engines.” Hell, these
days, my girl parts didn’t sing for anyone.

“Oh, come on. How
freaking hot is it when one of those things starts up? I still don’t know how
you can drive your Mustang and not have an orgasm every damn day. Did you ask
him how they make them do that?”

I laughed, nearly
choking on my sweet and sour pork. Chloe’s mouth did not have a filter; that
was for sure. “No, I didn’t.”

“Well, you should,”
Chloe said seriously.

No, I shouldn’t. I
should just do my job and maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to save up a little
money to move to a city where I could find a job I actually enjoyed. I didn’t
share that little tidbit of internal monologue with Chloe.

“Wait!” Chloe
exclaimed, snatching up the fortune cookies sitting on the couch between us.
She tossed one my way. “Open it,” Chloe demanded as she cracked open her cookie
and smiled.

Oh, the dreaded fortune
cookie. This had become a ritual for us anytime we picked up Chinese to go,
which was about once a week these days. The rule was that we had to open the
cookie before we ever finished our meal. If there was a particular protocol
around reading those things, I was pretty sure we’d mucked that up a long time
ago.

Placing the container
on my leg, I followed suit, tearing the plastic wrapper and then breaking the
cookie. I stared at the message, blinking several times as I did.

“What does yours say?”
Chloe asked inquisitively.

Glancing up, I met her
eyes. “Uh…” My attention slid back to the paper. “It says ‘Get ready for
something to shake up your life.'”

Chloe sighed heavily.
“Lucky you. Mine says ‘You’ll take a trip to Asia.' I mean, come on. That’s not
a fortune. Asia. Right. Like I’ll ever be that lucky.”

I stared at the paper
in my hand, wondering for once if it might come true. I needed something to come
along and give my life a little shake.

Not that I wanted to
think about that now. Right now, I just wanted to finish my food and pray that
my feet would carry me the short distance to my bedroom.

After all, I still had
to get up and do it all again tomorrow.