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“Vivienne,” he began, in that coolly aristocratic, old-world voice of his. “I need you to take these documents over to Rachel Carson at CCC today.” He handed her a large envelope with the words “URGENT” in bold, red letters across it before withdrawing a business card and placing that on top of the envelope. Cedar Creek Companies, followed by the address, telephone, and fax numbers was what was on the card. She knew that a copy of the recently signed contract, in which CCC had purchased a dominant hotel chain though the tri-state area, was in the envelope. She’d been expecting him to ask this of her hours ago. Although it was the twenty-first century, Arnold did not trust fax machines, at all. Everything had to be mailed or personally delivered, and he consistently gave the job to Vivienne, despite having two other paralegals and an entire courier company at his disposal.
“I’ve told her to expect you.”
He paused to survey her, and Vivienne felt herself grow self conscious as his eyes took in her plain white blouse and wrinkled blazer. Her face was probably oily again, being so close to the heater, and her hair fuzzy. Why was he staring at her like that?
“You did a good job with the contract.”
With that, he turned and strode from her cubicle. Had he given her a compliment? In her year working for Arnold Hastings, she’d never received a compliment, had never seen him give anyone a compliment. Not even a thank you when she’d just come on to the job and he’d treated her like a personal assistant/body-woman instead of a legal assistant. Coffee, clothes, everything he needed outside of the office, she got it. She even worked around his odd hours, which included his coming in the late afternoon most days, and staying until he dismissed her. And she certainly had never received looks like those, unless they were disapproving looks as he took in her attire.
What changed?
She shook that thought off and slipped her heels back onto her feet. Standing, she looked at the clock on her computer. It was already five. Shaking her head, she picked up her leather bag and placed the envelope inside. She would deliver it, then head home. A small smile touched her lips. This would probably be the first time in months she arrived back at the apartment before six o’clock.
***
It was wishful thinking, getting home before six. She arrived at the Cedar Creek Companies headquarters on Madison Avenue, to be told that Rachel Carson would be with her in a few minutes. Forty-five minutes later, Vivienne decided to live by the motto, “If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.”
The secretary had asked twice if she wouldn’t just prefer to leave the envelope with her, but she knew better. Harvey Taylor, a bright Columbia graduate, had done that once before, leaving a confidential package with a secretary, and had been fired the next day. Hastings was thorough. If he gave you something to deliver to someone then you delivered it or you brought it back to him.
Her Blackberry began to vibrate and she searched through her purse until she located it.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, ma puce. How was your birthday? I tried calling you on Saturday but you didn’t answer. Have you already forgotten your old Maman?” There was motherly reproach in the question. “And I haven’t heard from your sister in almost a week. Have you seen her? And speaking of which, you two haven’t come to visit in weeks. Sometimes I forget I even have daughters, twins at that. One of the new neighbors asked if I have children, can you imagine?”
Vivienne smiled as her mother continued on in her lightly accented English, asking questions and then making statements before asking questions again. It was a habit her father found endearing and her girls had grown to love as they became older.
“So, tell me what’s been happening in your life.” Her mother finally paused and Vivienne knew it was her cue to speak.
“Nothing new. My birthday was good. I went camping with Cassie and then Max and Drew took me out. I’ll come visit you next weekend, okay? How’s Dad?”
“Your father is fine. Like me, he’s constantly worrying about you two. So, have you been seeing anyone?”
Vivienne groaned. Her mother always asked this question. Only a week ago, she’d answered that she hadn’t, yet her mother asked again.
“No, Mom.”
“That’s because you work too much,” Evelyn interrupted, a slight huff coming after that statement. “I really don’t see why you work so hard, sweetheart. The man practically has you working seven days a week. Of course you don’t have time for a social life when you’ve dedicated your entire life to Arnold Hastings. A job where you work seven days a week is called a marriage.”
