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“Can you give more details?” a young reporter yells. She flashes me a grin, but I ignore her.
“I can’t reveal any client details, you know better than to ask. After all, Lockdown prides itself on confidentiality,” I continue. “But I can assure you with the utmost confidence that the situation has been handled.”
A collective cry of unhappiness rises from the horde of journalists, but I stand up and leave the room before any more questions can be shouted in my general direction.
Because it’s always like this. Every single fucking time.
I shouldn’t be so unhappy. If anything, I should be goddamned grateful that nothing worse happened over the weekend. The world’s leading tennis player, Cliff Rutledge, is a client of mine. His mansion in the Hamptons was broken into over the weekend. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but when something bad happens to someone famous, suddenly it’s the world’s business. They want to know everything even when there’s nothing to know. Cliff is fine. His wife and kids are fine. His tennis rackets are fine. Nothing was touched, in fact.
But the truth isn’t enough to feed the beast. When something like the break-in at Cliff’s mansion happens, I have to spend the next six goddamned months doing damage control. With a deep sigh, I walk into my office suite. Lea, my assistant, is sitting at her desk and typing away on her MacBook Air. When she sees me, she leaps to her feet.
“Mr. Andersen, I wasn’t expecting you back so early,” she mumbles. “Can I bring you anything?”
“Coffee,” I growl as I pass her desk and walk into my office. Shutting the door behind me, I flop down in my chair and kick my feet up on my mahogany desk. Goddamn. It’s only Monday morning, and I feel like it’s the end of the fucking week.
Lea pushes open the door and steps inside. She’s carefully balancing a tray and shoots me a nervous look as she approaches my desk. With a smile, she sets the tray down.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Andersen?”
“Naw,” I say smoothly. “This is good, thanks.”
Lea nods. “Yes, of course,” she says quickly. “Have a good day, sir. Just let me know if you need anything.”
After the door shuts, I’m left in the blissful silence of my office. Finally. I walk over to the windows and look down over the city. The sun is high in the sky and the sight of the buildings glittering in the bright yellow rays fills me with pride. Sure, the break-in over the weekend was a setback, but it was just a minor one. Accidents happen, and even the best security sometimes can’t keep out a stray dog. That’s the truth of it. Lasers and video cameras do a lot, but sometimes stray dogs are smarter than humans and it doesn’t matter what high-tech gear you have – that dog is gonna breach the perimeter.
But it’s okay. Lockdown is the best security company in the world – I know it, Cliff knows it, and all of my competitors know it too. And that’s what’s important. Because I have a gala to attend, and pretty soon, I’ll be coming home with another award proclaiming that we’re “Best in Category.” Then, all of the publicity will be good again and we’ll be sure to attract new high-profile clients. I’ve never been very interested in attention myself, but I’ll take any chance I can get if there’s a possibility of growing Lockdown. This company is my pride and joy. Hell, after so many years, it almost feels more like my baby than my company.
Suddenly, a knock at the door jolts me out of my thoughts and I cross the room in wide strides. Lea is standing on the other side, holding a golden, flaky pastry. When she sees me, she takes a deep breath and flushes. “Mr. Andersen, I brought you a fresh Danish,” she says quietly. “Just in case.”
This is getting ridiculous. Didn’t I say I want
ed to be left alone?
“Thanks,” I say curtly. “I appreciate it.”
“Will that be all?” Lea licks her lips and lets her hazel eyes linger on me.
Oh no. This isn’t what I want, although it’s clear that she’s been lusting after me since day one. “Yes,” I say, trying not to give away my thoughts. “Thank you.”
Lea nods. A pink flush spreads across her face. “Good,” she echoes. “I’ll just be out here, then.” She turns to leave and I can tell that she’s having a hard time dragging her eyes away from mine.
I gesture curtly to the door. “Please.”
The pink on Lea’s cheeks flames red as she scoots out of my office. I roll my eyes as I close the door behind her and sit behind my desk. Because women love me, and my cute little secretary just happens to be one of them. I really should take her up on her silent offer sometime, but Lockdown beckons to me with its seductive whispers and promises of success.
Because this is just another day in the life of Dane Andersen, workaholic extraordinaire. After the excitement of the press conference, I feel about as motivated as a slug. I flip on my computer and glance at my inbox before groaning and leaning back in my chair. Everyone thinks the life of a CEO is so glamorous, but they’ve clearly never waded through an inbox with over six hundred unread messages. The hours drag on and on. I don’t take a lunch – instead, Lea comes in and we go over the press release that I drafted with the help of Cliff’s lawyer. By the end of the day, I’m exhausted. Normally I stay until seven or eight in the evening, but it’s been a long fucking day. I just want to go home, jerk off in the shower, and order Chinese.
Exciting, I know. But not everyone can be Dane Andersen. I take my private elevator down to the lobby, and to my relief, it’s mostly empty and I see my driver, Hanson, waiting by my black Town Car.
“Good evening, sir,” Hanson says when I hand him my briefcase. “Home?”
“Yes please,” I say drily. Hanson opens the door for me. Just as I’m about to climb inside, I see a girl curled up on one of the marble benches outside the lobby.
I narrow my eyes. “Fucking homeless problem,” I mutter. I’ll have to have Lea make arrangements for full-time security outside of Lockdown. The last thing I need is a picture of my building in the press, complete with homeless people flocking nearby. Then the girl shifts and I realize that she’s not homeless at all – she was just holding her coat over her head. Her round and curvy frame is dressed in business casual and she’s crying her eyes out. Streaks of mascara paint her round cheeks.
Despite the tears, she’s beautiful. She’s also young – barely out of her teens from the looks of it.
“Hold on,” I tell Hanson. “I’ll be right back.”
