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“You’re telling me,” Carla said, and I looked up to see her standing in the archway to the kitchen down the hall. “If I’d known what I was getting into, I would have never opened the door.”
“Sorry, Carla,” I said. “I had no idea. It won’t happen again.”
She eyed me harshly. “She’s really not your girlfriend?”
“No,” I answered with a rueful laugh. “Dear God, no.”
She nodded slowly. “Hm. Better figure out some way to let her know that. She don’t seem to listen so good.”
“Thanks, Carla,” I said, listening as her footfalls took her back to the stove.
I took a detour into the living room, grabbed a bottle of vermouth from behind the bar, and made myself a martini, but all the alcohol in the world couldn’t drown the sick feeling Jane had left me with that evening. Things were getting worse between us. She was pushing even harder for us to legitimize things, and in a way that reminded me of Fatal Attraction, or for that matter, Misery.
I shuddered at the thought and took another swig. As good as that veal Marsala had smelled on my way in, my stomach turned now at knowing that Jane had had a hand in it.
It was time for Jane to go. I needed Madison to take me up on my offer, and I needed her to do it soon.
Chapter 6
I thought all weekend about Preston’s offer. Frankly, it seemed too good to be true, but who was I to judge? I had an unhealthy view on all things family-oriented, to the point where a simple kindness might seem like a set up to me. I knew I needed to be more trusting about this, especially given the direness of my situation, and in the end, I caved.
Saturday afternoon, I sent Preston a text. I used the number he’d left me on the card, though I didn’t know if that phone was for business or personal use. He didn’t respond right away, and maybe he wouldn’t until Monday morning. Still, he’d told me to show up when I was ready, and I believed in making a good first impression, even for my stepbrother.
I spent the rest of that day sorting through my wardrobe. Preston’s office was unlikely to be anything like ExecuSpace, and I knew I’d have to exhibit a certain amount of decorum. I couldn’t use the check to afford new clothes—not until Monday, anyway—so I chose the only dress I had that could be considered anything close to “high fashion” and paired it with some nude heels I hadn’t worn since I’d got them.
I would have preferred not to wear heels at all. They weren’t my thing. They made my feet hurt, my knees ache, and I’d read all the studies warning me about the long-term damage I was inflicting upon myself by wearing them. Unfortunately, the men who ran these kinds of companies hadn’t gotten the memo—or otherwise didn’t care—which meant that heels were still considered “professional attire” for women, and that meant I had to either put up with them or settle for an equally-unsupportive pair of flats.
In the end, I chose the heels. Flats might have saved my calves, sure, but I could never find a pair that fit right. I’d spend the whole day feeling the backs of them scraping off the skin from my ankles and heels, and I’d come home either bleeding or blistered. Until I got a feel for what Preston would and wouldn’t allow, heels it was.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I was too nervous, too excited, too terrified to doze off. I kept wondering what Preston the boss, rather than Preston the brother, would be like. I wondered if I wasn’t in over my head. Maybe personal assistants to men like him did a lot more than what I’d learned in my ten years of experience working in the field. I didn’t want to screw up and find myself out on my ass yet again for the second time in less than a week.
Preston didn’t strike me as the type, though. Despite everything I’d ever thought about family, he treated me with respect and kindness, if our outing on Friday was any indication. He seemed genuinely to like my company, which hopefully meant that we’d get along. I just hoped he wasn’t expecting perfection and that he would help me correct my mistakes instead of jumping down my throat about them.
Calm down, I told myself when midnight rolled around. Not everyone in the world is your mother, or Tyler, or Miguel, for that matter.
It was still nerve-wracking, though, and when my alarm went off at six a.m., I’d barely slept a wink.
“What a great way to start my first day,” I muttered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as the first amber rays of sunlight tickled my face through the blinds. I needed a hot shower and an even hotter cup of coffee if I was going to be able to count this day as salvageable.
I’d made plans for what bus would take me to Preston’s office and when, but when I hurried downstairs, I found a car waiting for me. This one looked more like what I would have expected from the Harveys: a black town car with a white-gloved driver standing outside, looking up at me and shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Miss Hearst?” he asked me.
“Yes,” I said, carefully taking the next few steps down to where he was parked. I felt like I was going to snap my ankle. I knew I should have gone with a kitten heel. “I take it Preston sent you?”
“Yes, miss,” he replied, opening the back door for me. “I’ll be taking you to his office today. But first, I’m to ensure you’ve had a good breakfast. Let me know where to stop, miss. Anywhere you’d like.”
I slid into the backseat, buckling my seatbelt as the driver closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. As he sat down and shifted into drive, I told him, “Honestly, I’m not really a breakfast person…”
The driver frowned. “Mr. Harvey asked me not to bring you to the office until eight-thirty, miss. I think he has some sort of meeting to attend to before then, and he doesn’t want you waiting around.”
“I’m fine with waiting,” I assured him. I met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry—we haven’t really been introduced.”
“I’m Gordon, miss. Or Mr. Fletcher. Whichever you’d prefer.” He was an older man, white-haired and rugged, but when he spoke it was like listening to pure velvet. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, if Mr. Harvey offered me a free breakfast, I wouldn’t waste the opportunity. There’s a place downtown called Nero’s that does a fantastic omelet, or if you’d prefer, we could stop at one of the chains…”
I smiled at him. “Really, it’s not necessary. I’ll let Preston… er, Mr. Harvey know that he can treat me to lunch, instead. Besides, if I get in a little early, I can get the lay of the land before he gets out of his meeting. I’d count that as an advantage, wouldn’t you?”
Mr. Fletcher shrugged. “I suppose so. If you insist, Miss Hearst…”
I leaned back and relaxed as Mr. Fletcher pulled away from the curb and turned out of my apartment complex. It calmed me to know that I might have some time to myself in the office before Preston knew I was there. His previous assistant might have left some notes I could go over while I was waiting, something that could give me a head start on performing my new job duties. I always liked having a leg up, and for the first time since Preston had offered me the position, I felt confident.
It was a deceptively long ride to his office. Maybe it just felt that way because he wasn’t in the car to have a conversation with to pass the time, although Mr. Fletcher did a good enough job of keeping me entertained. He was a really kind man, and I felt a little guilty that he had to come all the way out to my apartment so early in the morning to ensure I made it to work. I’d have to look into getting a car sometime soon—a used one. I didn’t want to blow my signing bonus all in one place.
Mr. Fletcher pulled up to a building that didn’t look at all like an office. In fact, it reminded me of a small Tuscan villa more than anything else. It had those terracotta roof tiles I’d always seen in pictures and columns out front that seemed way too majestic for a mere base of operations. With the gate out front and the fountain gushing beyond it, it was definitely not what I was expecting.
Hell, I could fit my apartment in there five times over, I thought as I looked
up at it. And I owned a two-bedroom.
Mr. Fletcher waited at the gate as it opened, prompted by the transponder attached to the visor of his car. “Mr. Harvey likes to keep things… homey,” he explained, driving through. “He spends a lot of time here. He’s even got a small bedroom set up for those nights when he just can’t get away. There’s a kitchen, too. Do you cook?”
“Yes,” I answered. “But only for myself…” I thought my skills were adequate, but what if Preston didn’t? Was that something he expected out of a PA? It wasn’t even something I had considered.
A new level of apprehension washed over me as Mr. Fletcher made his way up the circular drive to the front of the office. He parked, looking over his shoulder at me as he said, “You’ll be fine, miss. Mr. Harvey’s not a bad guy, and you seem like a smart girl. You’ll do well.”
“Thanks,” I said, though I was sure my lips were trembling. I let him open the door for me before stepping out of the car and mounting the stone steps leading up to Preston’s office-cum-villa.
Two beautiful wooden double doors towered above me at the entryway. As I neared, I saw they were marked by an intricate set of carvings, filigree mostly, but with a touch of vines and grapes here and there. They were beautiful yet imposing, just like the office itself was, and I found myself turning over my shoulder to look down at Mr. Fletcher and his car once again.
Mr. Fletcher nodded reassuringly. I could see confidence in his eyes, a confidence I myself no longer had. But it was enough to spur me forward, and I took a deep breath before pulling on one of the great handles and letting myself in to Preston Harvey’s inner sanctum.
The inside was just as impressive as the outside, a gleaming chamber of earth-tone walls and rustic stone tile. It felt so warm, so inviting, not at all like I’d expected his office to be. Not that Preston wasn’t a warm and inviting man, perhaps in more ways than I wanted to admit right then, but I’d always figured a billionaire’s office for something cold and harsh, a testament to his power and authority. Mr. Fletcher was right. This felt like a home.
