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I heave a sigh and stand up from my chair before stretching my hands high above my head. I’m still a little sore from all those hours at the gym, and I already know that today is going to be one hell of an unpleasantly long day.
When I unlock my office door, I see Lea standing there. She’s holding a new Armani tuxedo in a plastic wrapper and she beams at me.
“Hi, Mr. Andersen,” Lea chirps. “I just picked this up from your tailor. The alterations are all done in time for the awards ceremony tonight!”
I resist the urge to groan. “I hate these things,” I mutter under my breath as Lea passes me the tux. “It’s gonna be a rubber chicken dinner while making nice with my competitors. Can you go in my place?”
I’m obviously kidding, but Lea flushes and giggles. “Mr. Andersen!” she scolds me. “That wouldn’t be appropriate!”
I roll my eyes subtly, but bite my lip becqause I don’t want to engage with my assistant more than necessary. “Thanks for picking this up,” I say, indicating the tux.
Lea nods. She looks shy again as she twines her hands together in front of her narrow hips. The girl shifts her weight from one foot to the other and shoots me a nervous look.
“I know I shouldn’t say anything, but I know that you don’t have, well, um…”
“Yes?” I ask eyebrows raise. Oh god. She’s gonna do it.
Lea’s cheeks flush bright red and she swallows. “I know you don’t have a date,” she says in a rushed voice. “And I was wondering if you wanted me to arrange for someone to accompany you? You will be receiving an award, after all. I could find someone for you real quick, no problem.”
Suddenly, it dawns on me – she’s waiting for me to invite her along! The idea fills me with dread, but I have to make nice. This is my employee after all, and a young woman who could easily take things the wrong way.
“No, no thanks,” I say smoothly. “I’m totally comfortable flying solo. Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”
Lea backs up while nodding her head, still blushing furiously. As soon as she closes the door, I groan and flop down on the couch.
Why does my assistant have to meddle? Why does she have to have an all-too-obvious crush on me? And how could I have forgotten all about the Excellence Awards? Normally, this awards ceremony is the highlight of the year for Lockdown. For the past three years in a row, we’ve won the prize for “Excellence in Home Protection.” I don’t personally give a rat’s ass about winning, but I’ll take any chance to grow my company that I can get.
Tonight, though, my heart won’t be in it. I’ll be sitting up on the dais with other winners, but I won’t be thinking about how lucky I am or how much I deserved to win.
I’ll be thinking about Allie and that juicy ass of hers.
The day drags on. I skip lunch and try to focus on work, but everything blurs together. Finally, I take my tux and tell Lea that I’m leaving early. I have Hanson take me home where I spend an hour jacking off in the shower and dreaming of Allie.
Jesus Christ, I really need to get a grip. I’m acting like a schoolgirl with a crush, not a forty-eight-year-old man. By the time Hanson is waiting to take me to the Excellence Awards, I feel drained and exhausted.
“Best of luck tonight, sir,” Hanson says as he pulls up in front of the Waldorf-Astoria, where the awards ceremony is being held.
“I already know that I’m winning,” I reply drily. Hanson looks mortally offended. “But thank you,” I add.
Hanson looks mollified. “You’re welcome, sir,” he says crisply. “I’ll be right out front when the awards ceremony is finished.”
I turn and walk into the hotel. It’s packed with the billionaires of New York – all men like me, who own their own massive companies like Lockdown. For years, I had dreamed of finally joining their elite ranks.
And now that I’m here, part of me wonders what it would be like to be a nobody.
Stop it, I order myself as I push through the crowd to the bar. You’re turning maudlin in your old age.
There is one huge perk of being Dane Andersen, though. I’m instantly recognizable. A group of men at the bar part for me, letting me pass through like I’m the most important man in the world.
I have to admit, it does feel pretty fucking good sometimes.
“What can I get for you, sir?” the bartender asks. She bats her long lashes at me. “The signature cocktail of the evening is called The Aviator. It’s a floral gin with elderflower liqueur and a splash of lavender tonic water. Of course, all drinks are complimentary.”
I wrinkle my nose – the cocktail sounds like something Versace’s ghost would drink on the beach.
“Top shelf whiskey, whatever you have, on the rocks.”
The bartender nods. “Yes, sir. Right away.”
