AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 5
Essex
If who I am–thisextraordinary version of me – isn’t good enough for Quintessa, I don’t know what is. That’s all I thought about when I got home last night. I couldn’t eat – had to send my chef home. I had other pressing matters to deal with other than food. I had to deal with her. Quintessa consumes my every thought to the point that I find myself daydreaming about her in meetings. I’m off my game and I know why. It’s because I don’t know how to impress her. How do you impress someone when they don’t care about your status, accomplishments or what you own? She said I needed an attitude adjustment, but surely it would take more than that to truly get her attention, wouldn’t it?
That’s what I contemplated on the drive to work today – and yes, I drove since I didn’t feel like being chauffeured around today. I needed space from everyone – wanted to be alone with my thoughts as I attempted to work through what was happening to me. I’m still thinking about it when the elevator opens to my floor. The ding snaps me out of a trance. Ms. Davison is sitting there like she’s willing herself not to make eye contact with me. It’s been her survival mechanism for years. It makes me think of Quintessa’s many assessments of me. What kind of man am I if people go out of their way to avoid me? Do I want to be this man? No, I don’t. Fear is not equal to respect, nor is it greater. I don’t want people to be afraid of me. So, I must behave in a manner that shifts the paradigm in this office. Starting now.
“Good morning, Ms. Davison,” I say, being cordial for a change.
She frowns, looks stunned. “Good…morning…?”
I smirk and keep walking toward my office.
She says, “Oh, Mr. DePaul, I printed your schedule for the day, sir. It’s on your desk. Would you like some coffee this morning?”
I stop, turn around and say, “I would, but not the break room coffee. I need something stronger, but not too strong. Would you go to the café downstairs and get—”
“A large black coffee with a dash of cinnamon—no sugar or cream,” she says.
Impressive. She’s been my assistant for years. I shouldn’t be surprised how she remembers what I like and how I like it, but I usually am.
“Yes. That will be all.”
“Sure thing,” she says, standing. “Heading there now.”
I continue to my office, read over the schedule Ms. Davison has laid out on my desk. I have a meeting scheduled with Greta’s team this morning at ten, and I’m very much looking forward to seeing Quintessa again, even though our lunch conversation wasn’t anything close to what I wanted it to be. I suppose that’s why anticipation is building. I’m desperately wanting to understand her, but she’s made it clear what she thinks of me and mykind, whatever that means.
But even still…
Even after she’s told me all of that, I still can’t help but think about how amazing she is and how she’s still the girl of my dreams after so many years have separated us. I need to find a way to tell her who I am without sending her into shock. If she knew who I really was, maybe her attitude toward me would soften. Maybe she’d remember how much she used to care for me.
Maybe.
I downed a full cup of coffee while reading over the Walbridge contract, making sure everything is documented correctly for Mr. Walbridge and his team. I was so engrossed, time easily escaped me. It’s ten minutes after ten. I know Greta’s team is already waiting on me. I leave the document on my desk, button my jacket and head to the conference room. When I arrive, the team is there, but one person is noticeably missing – Quintessa.
Now, I’m irritated. Is this a test? Out of all thetestsshe could’ve given me, she chosethisone? She knows how important meetings are to me. Meetings are how things get done. How deals get made. How I find out who needs hiring and who needs firing, and she does this?
All right, Ess…keep your cool. You got this, man. If you show your frustration, surely her coworkers will relay this to her, especially the African girl. Don’t let Quintessa get to you. You must pass the test.
After giving myself a pep talk, I clear my throat and say, “Good morning, everyone. My apologies for the delay.”
A round of dry, tight-lipped good mornings come at me in a chorus. I’m surprised they said anything at all. The girl with the purple hair said nothing.
Greta says, “Good morning, Mr. DePaul. I hope you’re doing well.”
“I’m doing exceptionally well. I would be doing a lot better if your team was here on time.”
“We were here before you, sir,” Greta says.
Is she in on it, too?
“I’m aware of that. What I meant was, yourentireteam.”
“Oh, you mean Quintessa,” she says. “She’s out today.”
“Why?”
Greta shrugs. “She called me this morning and said something about a family emergency.”
