by Emma Quinn
The inside of the building was just as intimidating as its exterior. Everything was bright and fancy and borderline is-the-janitor-secretly-a-serial-killer-because-damn-this-place-is-clean clean. The people around me moved about with purpose, either avoiding eye contact by looking down at the ground with headphones in or focusing on their phones. They were all dressed in fancy suits and expensive dresses, accessorized to the nines with jewelry and flashy watches whose brand name’s I couldn’t even begin to pronounce. I anxiously tugged at my ill-fitted blazer and wondered if the old faded ketchup stain its previous owner left on the lapel was as obvious as I felt it was.
I walked up to the receptionist and smiled. “Hi, I’m–”
“Rachel Ellis?” she asked flatly.
“Yes, that’s me.”
She slapped an ID badge down onto the counter and stood up from her chair. “Follow me. Mr. Alance doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Just like that, I was whisked past the massive security doors and led deeper into the building. I couldn’t quite describe everything I saw. There were rows and rows of offices, each filled with busy teams of workers scurrying about and frantically typing things into computers. The receptionist herself moved like someone had lit a fire under her ass, speed walking all the way down the long hall to guide me to the elevators. We immediately got in and she pressed the top floor’s button with a long, neatly manicured finger.
“Mr. Alance is always up by five in the morning,” the receptionist rattled off. “He expects breakfast to be ready for him every morning without fail. He doesn’t eat carbohydrates, so don’t bother to cut corners and grab him some horrible bagel or something. Be sure to leave it on his desk so that he can eat after his workout. Be sure to memorize his cell number. Miss a call from him and I guarantee you won’t see the end of the business day.”
Our elevator car stopped at the tenth floor. A huge flood of businessmen stepped inside, trapping me against the back wall. We stopped two floors later, and they all stepped out.
“This is the legal floor,” the receptionist explained. “You’ll need to file all Mr. Alance’s paperwork here. You’ll find accounting in the basement. Be sure to submit your payroll information before the end of the week if you want to get paid on time. Also, don’t you even dare ask for time off. As Mr. Alance’s personal assistant, you need to be available around the clock. If he asks you to jump, you have to ask ‘how high?’ Do I make myself clear?”
“Um, yes, but I–”
The elevator stopped at the twentieth floor, the highest the elevator went. Both the receptionist and I stepped off. Before I could even catch my breath, she was already power walking down the hall.
“Mr. Alance prefers private car services to drive him around to his various meetings. Call him a yellow cab and you’re dead. If he asks for coffee, he expects it black. If you add so much as a grain of sugar, you’re dead. Mr. Alance also stays late after regular business hours to conduct phone calls to partners overseas. If you think about leaving the building before he does, you’re–”
“Let me guess,” I said dryly. “I’m dead?”
The receptionist scoffed and rolled her eyes, but said nothing. She knocked three times on the large office doors at the end of the hall. They were made of glass, so I could see the gorgeous set up inside. It looked almost like a mini apartment, with its sitting area full of leather furniture and the pretty decorations that hung from the walls. Sitting at the desk that was lined up to face the city’s breathtaking skyline was a man. His back was to me, so I was unable to get a good look at his face. But I didn’t need to. Peter Alance was pretty much a celebrity, one of the most renowned entrepreneurs and innovators in the world.
I’d seen his face plastered in magazines, in news journals, in television ads for Alance Tech product commercials. He was always friendly-looking in his pictures. But when he swiveled around in his armchair, I couldn’t help but swallow uncomfortably. Now that I’d seen him in person, there was a different air about him. The sharp line of his jaw and the steep frown he wore, coupled with his pursed lips and broad shoulders, made him appear more intimidating than anything.
The receptionist and I stepped into the office. “Good morning, sir,” she practically cooed, switching to a more amicable tone in an instant. “This is Rachel Ellis.”
“Thank you, Denise. That’ll be all.”
Denis nodded curtly, turning on her pricy Louboutin heels. I wasn’t sure if she was glaring at me, or if that was just what her face looked like when she wasn’t sucking up to the boss. She left down the hall as quickly as she came, the clicks of her shoes against the tile floor fading as she went.
Peter Alance stood from his chair and looked me over. There was something hypnotizing about his dark, black eyes. I felt like I was staring into the void, like a black hole that absorbed everything –even light. Maybe my promise to David before, the one about not selling my soul to the devil, was going to turn out to be an impossibility. Standing before me, Peter Alance gave off an aura that only Lucifer himself seemed capable of.
I swallowed at the dry, yet stick lump that had lodged itself in my throat. I stuck my hand out to shake and smiled as politely as I could. In all honesty, something about the man scared me. But since he was my boss and I desperately needed to keep this job, I told myself to strap on a pair. I just had to make nice, to fulfill my role perfectly. I wasn’t here to be his friend, just his personal assistant.
“Hello,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice even. “I’m Rachel Ellis.”
Peter didn’t bother to shake my hand. He simply looked me up and down, as though examining me like some piece of meat on sale at the local butcher.
“You’re going to need to dress up more than that,” he said coldly.
“E-excuse me?” I stammered.
“I meet with a lot of important people. Your job requires you to be around me at all times. That being said, you need to look like you give a damn. Do your hair. Wear a little makeup. I can’t be dragging around a girl wearing cheap knockoffs. What would that do to my image?”
My cheeks burned with the fire of a thousand suns. I actually spent hours trying to put this outfit together. Considering my shallow budget, I thought I did fairly well, but I wasn’t about to explain myself to him. If he was going to be an asshole, I was simply going to have to rise to the challenge.
“If you meet with a lot of important people, as you say,” I began calmly, “I would hope you have enough etiquette to shake their hands.”
Much to my surprise, Peter smirked. “You’re a lot more eloquent than the last girl. Tell you what, I’ll bother memorizing your name if you can last longer than she did.”
“And how long was that?”
Peter grinned. In a way, it was charming. But in context, it was terrifying.
“Two weeks.”
I took a deep breath in through the nose, holding his searing gaze. I smiled.
“Two weeks? That’s nothing.”
He clicked his tongue and chuckled, low and gruff.
“That’s what she said.”
3
Peter
T
he new girl was interesting, for a lack of better terms. I was very particular about my work, so whenever she made a mistake, I naturally had to correct her. It was the only way she was going to learn. But what surprised me was that she didn’t cower. She didn’t shrink out of the way whenever I had something harsh to say like my other personal assistants. Instead, she actually listened. That was the problem with Tracy, or whatever her name was. That last girl didn’t have enough smarts to get my coffee order right. How hard was it to get black coffee wrong?
But this new girl was different. There was a spark behind her hazel eyes, a fire of something determined and brave. Was this what competence looked like? It had been so long since I’d seen any that I honestly couldn’t be sure. When she moved, she scurried about quietly like a mouse, going about her tasks without flare or flourish. She was
a plain little thing, and her clearly thrifted clothes made her look washed out. Her long black hair was always pulled up into a tight bun atop her head, and her face was usually pretty bland. She was clearly making a conscious effort to up her style, but the look of a high-power businesswoman just didn’t suit her. In a word: not my type.
It was a Tuesday morning when Rachel knocked on my office door, poking her head through with a weird expression on her face. She looked… Well, she looked like someone just curb stomped a puppy in front of her. Her brows were pulled together with worry, her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her cheeks were a bit flushed. I thought perhaps she was steeling herself to hand in her two-week’s notice. To her credit, she lasted longer under my employment than any of the other assistants I’d hired.
“What is it?” I snapped.
Rachel swallowed, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“There’s a Mrs. Teresa Alance here to see you.”
I looked up from my paperwork and sighed. Suddenly, everything made a whole lot of sense. Mother did always have that kind of effect on people.
“Send her in,” I ordered.
“Right away, sir.”
Sir. I had to admit, I kind of liked the way she said that.
A few short seconds later, Mother came storming in, throwing her limited-edition Chanel bag and bespoke beige Burberry trench coat down on the couch like she owned the place. For a woman in her late fifties, she looked great –a testament to the skilled work Dr. Fitza had done on her. Mother’s face was beautiful, but cold and stiff. The sharp edges of her cheekbones and jawline could cut a man like a hot knife through butter. She was dressed in a tight navy-blue dress that had intricate lace embroidery along the neckline and sleeve cuffs.
“Where’d you hire that little gremlin out there?” she asked, words bitter.
Mother always sounded pissed off, so I didn’t take her comment to heart. I rose from behind my desk and made my way over to her, placing a kiss on her cheek. Her skin was frigid, but I couldn’t say I was surprised. Knowing her, Mother probably murdered the Ice Queen and forcefully took up the role with the insistence that she could do a better job. I mustered a polite smile and said, “Tracey couldn’t cut it.”
Mother shook her head.
“I liked Tracey. At least she wasn’t hard on the eyes.”
“What brings you in today, Mother?” I asked, changing the subject. “I’m very busy.”
She patted me on the shoulders. “I was in the area having lunch and wanted to drop by and see my favorite son.”
“I’m your only son, Mother.”
“You’ll never guess who I ran into at the restaurant,” she continued, sitting down on the back of the couch.
I sighed. I could tell where this was going. Mother was stubborn and had a one-track mind –a distressingly exhausting combination, if anyone wanted my opinion. The only things she ever talked to me about were my health and my love life.
“Do you remember Anastasia?” she asked. “Lovely girl, super smart. I ran into her and her mother today after –how long has it been?”
“Four years, Mother.”
She clapped her hands together. “That’s right. Four whole years and we happen to cross paths again. What are the chances?”
Pretty damn slim, I thought to myself. Out of all the people in New York, Mother just happened to run into my ex-girlfriend? Highly unlikely.
“Remind me again why you two broke up. Anastasia was a treasure.”
I resisted the temptation of rolling my eyes.
“Mother, we’ve been over this.”
“Oh, come on. She comes from a really good family and she’s incredibly pretty and polite.”
And as dumb as a brick.
“We broke up because things were moving too fast,” I explained for what felt like the millionth time.
Mother snorted. “‘Moving too fast.’ I don’t remember raising you to be afraid of commitment. You’d be lucky to marry a girl like her.”
“Anchored down, you mean.”
“I’m not getting any younger, son. All of my friends already have grandchildren. When can I expect little kids running around the office to spoil?”
I groaned, “First of all, Mother, children aren’t playthings for you to flaunt. They’re messy, they’re loud, and they’re demanding. I’m not going to settle down and have kids just because you want me to. And second of all, I’m too busy with work. We’re expanding into China come April. The last thing I want is a wife and children to neglect.”
Mother pressed her lips together, her equivalent of frowning. “Then don’t neglect them.”
“Look what Father did to us,” I snapped. “All he cared about was work. Were you happy while you were married to him? If you say yes, I’ll know you’re lying.”
Mother stiffened at this and cast her eyes down to the floor. I didn’t like seeing her this way, but sometimes the only way to get through to the Ice Queen was to stab where I knew it hurt. It was the only way to get her to see my side of things.
“I just don’t want to see you all alone,” she muttered calmly. “I’m proud that you’re so dedicated to your company. But one day, you’re going to wake up an old man with an entire empire around you, but no one to share it with. That’s my biggest fear for you, sweetheart.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled through my nose, nodding slowly. “I understand your concern, Mother. But I promise, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m totally happy with the way things are right now.”
Mother got back onto her feet and straightened her back. She reached with her right and stroked my cheek. We weren’t a lovey-dovey family. We didn’t hug openly or say that we loved each other in public. Her pinching my cheek was the closest to an I love you that I was ever going to get.
“Well, I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your plate. Will you promise to call me later?”
I nodded. “I promise.”
“You’d better. Otherwise I’ll be making more unexpected visits, and I know how much you love that.”
I bit back a chuckle. “Okay, Mother. I’ll even have Rachel put it in my schedule.”
Mother rolled her eyes, but there wasn’t any heat behind it. She picked up her coat and bag before seeing herself out of my office.
4
Rachel
A
s far as bosses went, Peter actually wasn’t that bad. In high school, David and I used to work at the same fast-food restaurant where our manager literally did nothing but yell. Gertrude had been a tiny little woman, but boy did she have a set of pipes on her. Whether it was screaming her head off down the line at the fry cook for a fresh batch of onion rings, taking drive thru orders at the window, or ringing customers in at the cash register, our old boss was always speaking at a hundred decibels.
Peter never raised his voice. In the three months that I’d been working for him, he never shouted or screamed. The fact of the matter was that he didn’t have to. He was too powerful, too dignified to bother wasting his time and energy chewing someone out. If he was ever disappointed or frustrated, I could read his facial expressions and body language in lieu of listening to heated words. Peter’s brow would furrow in a very particular way; a deep crease at the inner corner of his right brow appearing darker when he frowned. He’d thread his fingers together and place his hands neatly before him on either his lap or his desk and set his jaw, the tendons in his face tensing sharply. Instead of yelling, he would become deathly quiet. It was intimidating, really. There was no way to know what he was thinking, not a clue behind his dark eyes.
I made it a point to do my job well, or else I’d end up on the wrong side of his death glare.
The job itself had its benefits, so I knew I should be grateful. The salary, for one, was incredibly generous considering the position and all of the basic responsibilities I was in charge of. For the first couple of weeks on the job, I couldn’t understand how fetching Peter coffee and making cop
ies of important documents justified such a high starting pay. But then, as I learned how to book appointments for Peter and arrange rides to various places and important events, I slowly came to the realization that I wasn’t being paid for my skills alone.
I was being paid for my discretion.
Peter had what Denise liked to dub ‘a social call’ at least once every week. These appointments were always meant to be kept off the record, and any funds used to arrange such meetings were to come out of Peter’s personal expense account, not Alance Tech’s. I was initially confused and a little disgruntled. Peter wasn’t just seeing one woman, but several women. I normally couldn’t care less if he had a hundred mistresses on the side because, quite frankly, that was his business. But as his personal assistant, I was the one responsible for juggling the names and faces of all Peter’s women.
No wonder I was paid so much.
I wasn’t here to judge. I supposed a man as powerful and rich as Peter could have anybody he wanted, so he naturally wanted them all. But I couldn’t deny that making arrangements for his dates every week made me feel a little slimy and weird. I shouldn’t have been surprised. One look at Peter, and I could tell that he was a heartless womanizer. He looked the part –what with his fancy suits and cropped hair and chiseled Hollywood charm. I honestly didn’t think handsome men like him existed anymore. But then again, very little surprised me.
We were riding in the back of a private town car. He was busy scrolling through his emails on his phone –one of the latest models that Alance Tech had actually designed– while I was busy drafting up an email on my work laptop on his behalf.
“Which one am I meeting again?” he asked, not looking up from the screen. Soft white light radiated from his phone onto his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his high cheekbones, straight nose, and angular jaw.
I didn’t even need to stop typing when I said, “Amanda Van Leeuwen. Actress, model and daughter of the rich businessman Rick Van Leeuwen.”