AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter One
Logan
"I hear you're searching for a new assistant again, Dad. What happened? You've fired three assistants in six months," Casey teased.
"They were amateurs," I responded.
Attempting to find a new personal assistant just before a large-scale project was the worst. I had fired my last assistant because she could never show up to work on time, and the three before her had been completely incompetent. As one of the most sought-out architects in New York City, I was a very busy man and had little time in my life for sluggards.
"No," Casey, my daughter and VP, scolded me, "you're just being too picky. Dad, you have to have someone here to help you keep track of clients, payments, run errands, and whatever other annoying tasks you make up. I can't do everything around here."
"Oh," I chuckled. "You're the one doing everything around here? Please, explain."
"Alright." She plopped down in the chair opposite my desk. "Let's see. I remind you to eat breakfast. Make sure your cars come on time, and your flights are set. Take care of inventory. Go out to visit sites. Promote the company. Do you want me to keep going? Because we can sit here all morning."
I couldn't help but laugh at the bossy woman I’d had a hand in creating. Powerhouse Luxury Designs might have crumbled years before if it hadn’t been for Casey. When she was just eighteen years old, she started business school and simultaneously helped me run the books for my company. She was a big help to me then and still is, and my staff and I couldn't thank her enough. That’s why I made her vice president.
"I think I get the point," I laughed. "Thank you, we appreciate you around here. But let's leave my personal assistant picking to me." As pedant as I was, I wanted to hire only the best.
“It would help if you had someone stable and long-term. You've been waiting on this deal with Paris for a long time, and you don't want too much on your plate while trying to use your brain for a brilliant design."
Casey was right. My head had to be clear for my trial run with the magistrate of Paris, France. Of course, I had traveled the world and designed buildings and homes in many places, but France was different. And so was the timing. Though some would say I’d become a grumpy, bitter old man after my divorce, I felt otherwise. I felt creatively romantic, and what better place to set a structure built from passion than Paris?
"I'll find someone by the end of the night. Don't worry. All of our focus has to go to Paris. Jean Claude is a very important man." I nodded. "He has a great eye for art, and I really wanna show him my skill. That's my main focus."
"Good. I laid out a few resumes you should look at. These people have a lot of experience with big names under their belts, so you shouldn't have too much trouble finding someone."
There were five file folders on my desk. I hated looking through resumes. It was always the same mumbo jumbo—people doctoring up their work experience to fit the job they wanted the most but not able to follow through with those expectations.
"You know that’s the job of our hiring manager, Annette Larson, right? That's why we have her. I don't know why you’re being so picky, Dad."
"Casey, if you want the job done right, you got to do it yourself.” I chuckled. "I'll give them a pass-through a little later today. I have a conference call in a few. There's no telling how I'll feel after that, so I should look through these resumes while I have a stiff drink."
When the day ended, I felt the same way I did any other day—tired, annoyed with clients, and exhausted with my work life. I couldn't complain too much, though. I lived the life I’d always dreamed of while trying to provide the best for my children, even though my son and I weren't seeing eye to eye.
I took the resumes home after work that evening and picked them up again once I was ready to wind down for the night. I knew right away that the first three weren't a good fit for me. But the last two I felt had a lot of potential—especially Ariane Pratts. I couldn't help the feeling that I knew her from somewhere other than my work life. Most of the assistants I encountered had already worked with either entertainers or other high-end folk who thought they were too important to run their own errands. Still, I couldn't place her by face. It was just a feeling I got when I looked at her. She was of mixed race. Half black and half Caucasian, maybe, a perfect blend. She had these beautiful hazel eyes that matched her full perky cheeks, pouty lips, and symmetric nose. In addition, she had an angelic oval-shaped face that perfectly showcased her delicate features.
After going back and forth between her and another guy I was impressed with, I followed up with her. I sent an email to Annette, our hiring manager, telling her to set up the interview, and send an email to Ariane Pratts with a list of job duties, a visual of the company apartment where she would reside if she decided to join my team, and any other information I felt she might need to make a decision. The salary I was paying was one of a kind too. I knew assistants who said they didn't make half of what I was paying, and that was while working with very wealthy entertainers and movie stars.
While I lay in bed—tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep—I thought about my relationship with my son. Before he got himself into legal trouble and practically demanded I take his side, things had been great between us. Things changed only after I disagreed with him and his lifestyle. Most of his hatred for me stemmed from my and his mother’s divorce, but he would never admit to that. Instead, he preferred to blame me for not having his back.
Ariane
It was nearing midnight when I got the email notification from Annette Larson at Powerhouse Luxury Designs. It came right on time too. I had grown tired of living in hiding after a terrible breakup and was more than ready to return to my field of work. I specialized as a life coach—helping stars and entertainers organize and manage their lives—and I prided myself on that even though I had more trouble than I could handle managing my own life.
Logan Taylor was one of the wealthiest men in the world of all things design. He had built his company from the ground up and was an expert in the reality of execution. It was one of the many reasons I’d admired him for as long as I had. I had first met Logan while I was dating Lucas, his son. We didn't meet until I had been with Lucas for three years, and it was only for a brief moment, so I was sure he didn't remember me. But I remembered him. He was the reason behind a lot of the fights Lucas had picked with me.
I was so torn about taking the job offer from Logan. And it was an exceptional offer—great pay, a company apartment, free flights, and the works on health insurance. But I had been living free for so long, I didn't want to place myself anywhere Lucas might have easy access to me again. But since I went into hiding, I have used most of my savings, and with only a little income coming in each month, I was at the end of my rope with money. I did not want to bother my family or friends with my financial trouble, so considering Logan's job offer seemed the best option for the time being.
"Girl, I just got the best job offer in the world."
Even though it was late, I called my best friend, Justine, to gossip about the gig. Whenever I needed help making big decisions, she was the first person I called. Of course, I hated that we’d bonded over our traumatic relationship experiences. Still, I trusted her judgment in that department more than my own.
"Hold up," she said, switching from a voice call to a video call. "I have to see your face for this conversation."
"I already knew you would do that." I laughed. "I'm serious, though. I've been working small odd jobs, trying to make ends meet—ensuring I don't run into Lucas—but I'm so sick of that. I feel like I'm just sitting here withering away."
A large smile arose on Justine's face. She knew how terrible my relationship with Lucas had been and how I’d had to change my real name to stay under the radar because he had the funds and the means to track me down wherever I went. But she hadn’t known that I was considering going back to work.
