AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As soon as we were alone in that posh office of yours at the very top of one of the few tall buildings in the area, I could see it on your sculpted face. I was just your type.
Your walls were windows; all around us was the city, the glittering bay, the shipping yards, the marina where the giant cruise ships roll in. To the west, off in the distance, I could just see the white sand beaches cut into jewel-green water.
People make fun of Florida, and this area takes a particular hit. Perhaps it lacks Miami’s more obvious glitz, luster, and culture. But there’s a secret beauty here; something that breathes in morning, and sings at sunset. There’s a violence, a wildness. A peace. Florida hides its predators well—beneath the still lake water, in tall grass, under the foamy waves. Foliage blossoms, grows fecund and thick. The stars glitter and the music wafts; drinks flow. You never see it coming, the darkness.
But I did. I saw that darkness in you—beneath your glittering star eyes, your musical smile. Your ebullient charm, booming laugh, and ready smile. That’s the best trick of the predator, to glamour his prey so he can get in close. Once he strikes, they don’t have a chance.
You enthused over my résumé. My experience, my glowing recommendations. We laughed—at your silly jokes, your self-deprecating comments. I didn’t want to be impressed by you, honestly. But I was. Your intelligence, your obvious passion for the work, the local environmental causes your wealth allowed you to support.
“At heart I’m still a Florida kid, tramping around beaches, kayaking through the mangroves. I want that Florida to be here for my kids—clean and wild.”
Your earnestness. I didn’t expect that.
You showed me around—ushering me from the coders to the testers, from the marketing to publicity departments. The people at their desks were heliotropes and you were the sun, everyone turning a worshipful face to you as you strolled through. By the time we got to the break room—a comfortable space with colorful couches, a generously stocked snack area, Sub-Zero full of beverages, a coffee maker that cost more than a used car, Ping-Pong table, gamer consoles—you had already put a gentle hand on my arm. Just a brush really.
We communicate so much with so little. It was just the slightest breach of professional boundaries. I was sure not to pull away or react with anything but a sweet smile, even though your touch revolted me for a hundred reasons.
The space was expansive with tall ceilings, bright lighting, furniture white, big iMacs gleaming, expensive ergonomic chairs, glass-enclosed conference rooms with screens on the walls. Most of the employees seemed young, not a wrinkle or a gray hair among them. The women were mostly stunners—tall and svelte, or busty, stylish, or quirky. But all shiny hair and the plush skin of youth. Like me. Almost everyone had AirPods in or big Beats making them look like air traffic controllers.
“Family in the area?” you asked.
It was a throwaway question but something that people ask often, as if maybe you wouldn’t come here for any other reason. It’s not New York or San Francisco, or Los Angeles, or any of the places people most often go to hustle and make their dreams come true.
“Some.”
I didn’t go on and you didn’t press.
“What do you think?” you asked. And I saw your boyish need for praise, for people to be impressed by what you’ve shown them.
“It’s—amazing,” I answered, suitably breathless. I tilted my head up, hoped my eyes were gleaming.
The male gaze. It slides, just glancing over the objects in its field. Rarely seeing what is there, merely confirming what it already believes to be true. It only rests on the thing it desires, only notices what whets the appetite.
You must be so proud,I said,to have built this.
I’ve been lucky, you said.That’s all. I had lots of help.
This surprised me.
You took me to lunch in the building’s cafeteria which was surprisingly upscale—we had sushi rolls and seaweed salad, sitting outside in the fresh air while you talked about Red World, and gaming, and how you’re just a geek at heart who got to do the thing he loved the most.
You talked about how after graduating you could have gone anywhere to start your company, but youwanted to come home. You made it sound so meaningful, so emotional.
And I could see why women responded to you. I even felt a little tug myself. You’re that good. That handsome. Virile but boyish, intelligent but sweet.
“I guess what I’m looking for most in a personal assistant is something I like to call ‘The Three I’s.’” You used your fingers to make quotations marks. “Intelligence, integrity, and initiative. The person who had this job was smart, but lacked foresight, failed to learn how to be in step with me, or even one step ahead.”
You want someone to read your mind, to anticipate your whims, to cover for your shortfalls, to make you look good, to laugh at your jokes. In other words, you want someone to stroke your enormous ego, daily, in ways that you don’t even notice.
“I understand,” I said. “Engagement is key. You have a huge job; your assistant needs to be like a second brain, sharp and responsive.”
It was the right thing to say. Your smile was wide and sincere. “Exactly.”
My offer letter came via email later that night with a salary that was a little too high for an assistant job, good benefits, 401K matching, stock options.We like to make a financial commitment to our employees because we want to earn their loyalty. We want people to stay so that we can grow together.
How nice.
I happily accepted.
