When my phone rings, I jump. I look down and see Oliver’s name, answering it instantly. Before he can get a word out, I ask, “Are you okay?”
I think my panic, my worry, is clear in my voice because Oliver sighs and responds.
“Calm down, Cassidy. Please don’t worry.”
Yeah, that never really works to quell my worries. When someone says, ‘don’t worry’, I feel like I always end up worrying more.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I’m safe, at home, at the manor. Sorry, I got caught up talking with my father and I don’t think I’ll be able to come over tonight. I have to take care of some business.”
My worry melts away, but I quickly feel myself becoming let down. I know it’s stupid. I see him daily at work, but I look forward to the nights we spend together. I look forward to seeing that side of Oliver that only I get to see. It makes me happy, makes me feel special. I know how dumb that sounds, but once I got the go-ahead, I fell quickly for this man.
“Okay,” I said, I’m sure my disappointment is clear.
Oliver picks up on it.
“I’m sorry, Cassidy,” he said, sounding exasperated. “There’s just a lot going on right now. I’ll make it up to you soon. Promise.”
The way he says it makes me feel like I’m begging him to come over anyway, like I’m desperate and being annoying about it. I’m just disappointed that he can’t come over tonight after saying that he would.
“All right, Oliver. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
There’s noise in the background, someone calling for him. It’s male; I think it’s Alan.
“All right, Cassidy, Goodnight.” And then the phone goes dead.
I let the phone drop to the couch, and I lean my head back against the cushion. It’s stupid to be disappointed. I know there’s so much going on with Oliver right now, I know I can’t expect all of his attention...but is it wrong to be disappointed that I can’t have it?
When I get to work the next day, I see that Oliver is already in his office. I ask Joan if he’s busy and she quickly shakes her head.
“I don’t think so. He just got in about five minutes before you did, Cassidy.”
I thank her before walking up to his office door, I knock on it once. I hear a grunt from the other side, likely Oliver signaling for me to come in. I open the door, peeking in to see him.
“Hey,” I said softly.
He looks up at me, black bags underneath his eyes. He looks exhausted, stressed.
“Good morning,” he greeted me. He doesn’t stay looking at me long, his attention instead on the computer in front of him. I enter the office anyway.
“I was just checking in on you this morning. Making sure you’re okay,” I said, closing the door behind me. I don’t cross the room and sit on the corner of his desk like I usually do. Instead, I lean against the door.
The air between us this morning is uncomfortable. It strongly feels like I’ve done something wrong, like I’m being punished. I look down at the coffee cup in my hand, waiting to see if Oliver is going to say something.
Finally, he breaks the silence. I hope that it’ll change the uncomfortableness between us, but it doesn’t.
“I’m fine. You don’t need to check on me, Cassidy. Just because I didn’t come over last night doesn’t mean that something’s wrong.” he said quickly, pretty much snapping at me.
I’m thrown for a loop. Oliver has never spoken to me in such a way before and I...I don’t know what I did. Was it because I was a little bummed that he didn’t show up last night?
“Oh,” I said. “Okay. Well, I’ll just get to work. Just stopping by to say ‘hi’. I’ll see you later. I’ll email you something about an interview I’m working on later.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond, instead I leave his office, wondering where I went wrong.
I try again at lunch, stopping by Oliver’s office to see if he wants to get something together.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, peeping my head in through the door.
He shakes his head, “No. Go ahead.”
“Do you want me to bring you back anything?”
“I said no, Cassidy.” He actually looks up at me, making eye contact. Annoyance is clear on his features, like I’m just a pain in his ass.
“Okay. Fine. Won’t ask again.”
I leave again, even more confused. At first, I thought maybe he had had a bad night or that he maybe received a bad email when he got into the office. But his coldness seems like it’s going to stay for the rest of the day.
I take the elevator down to the lobby and start to head out the front door when I’m stopped by a familiar voice.
“Cassidy!” I turn around to see Noelle, the receptionist.
I’m not friends with Noelle, but we’re friendly. I greet her almost every morning and every morning, she responds with a smile. We’ve never been in a situation where we had to spend time together.
“Hey Noelle,” I said, turning around.
“Are you going to lunch?” she asked. When I nod, she tacks on,“Mind if I come?”
Saying ‘no’ would make me feel awful. Plus, I’m so used to getting lunch with Oliver at this point that I don’t really want to get it alone.
“Sure,” I said. This is going to be an awkward new adventure, but who knows? I could use a friend in New York that isn’t a sixty-year old driver for a rich family.
We start walking down the block, towards a little café on the corner. The silence between us is how it usually is between you and a stranger. Unsure. Neither of us really know what to say.
“Is Oliver okay this morning?” she asked me. “He seemed upset about something.”
Oliver and I being a couple is probably the worst kept secret in the company. We don’t try to hide it anymore, but we aren’t out in the open about it. Whatever people see is what they see. I sigh. Should I really unload all of my problems on the poor receptionist who just asked a question?
“I don’t know,” I answered. “He’s not communicating well.”
I hear Noelle click her tongue beside me. “Do you want unsolicited advice?”
“I’ll take anything, honestly,” I said with a sigh. “He’s been really difficult.”
“Well,” Noelle sighed. “I guess it’s not advice, but it’s a warning. When Oliver gets like that...it’s not a good sign. It usually means he’s distancing himself because he’s done.”
“Done?”
“He usually distances himself when relationships are getting too serious and he doesn’t want them to. He doesn’t do serious.” There’s a tone I’m not used to in happy-go-lucky Noelle’s voice. It’s like there’s a bitterness there.
Before I noticed the change in her tone, I would have chalked it up to Noelle just knowing Oliver because she’s worked for the company for a while. But...I don’t think that’s the case. I try to put two and two together.
“You two dated, didn’t you?” I said with a small sigh.
She nods her head to confirm, “Yes. We did. For about four months and then Oliver started pulling away when things got too serious. He became cold and uncaring and I didn’t really know what to do. Finally, he broke it off one night. It was really awkward for a few months, seeing him every day at work, but then I met my fiancé, Richard. Now, I don’t really care.” She paused before saying, “Well, I care. I mean, I’ll always care about Oliver, but it doesn’t bother me when I see him around or when I see him with a different girl.”
“Well then,” I didn’t know that Oliver dated the perky receptionist...although I probably could have guessed. Noelle’s stunning. She seems like his type. “what do you suggest doing? Break up with him before he can break it off?”
She shrugged, “I don’t know. I don’t want to give you bad advice and make it seem like I’m sabotaging your relationship as the ex or something. I would either just let him stew and figure it out himself because maybe I’m wrong, or I would just confront him with it.”
I want to believe that maybe nothing is wrong. Maybe Oliver just really had a bad night. He’s never been cold and distant with me before and we haven’t been together long enough for him to get bored...right?
“I don’t know,” I admitted as we enter the café. “I just...I think maybe I should give him some time, some space. I’m sure whatever it is, he’ll talk about it eventually.”
He has to. He can’t just give me the silent treatment until I break. We work together.
“I’m sure he will,” Noelle said. “I know it’s not my business, but I don’t want you to be blindsided like I was.”
I do appreciate her honesty. Because I was, and still am confused. I just miss Oliver being his usual self with me, not cold and distant. I decide not to bother him for the rest of the day. If he needs something, he can contact me first.
“Thank you,” I said.
We go up to the counter and order, get our food and eat outside together at one of the small tables. We don’t talk about Oliver for the rest of our lunch, and it’s the most normal I’ve felt since arriving in New York.
The next day is the interview with NNC at Windsor Manor, so I arrive early in the morning instead of heading to work downtown. I don’t know what to expect after yesterday. After the offer of bringing him back some food, Oliver and I didn’t talk again. He didn’t text me goodnight; he didn’t even check to make sure I got home okay. It’s nothing like the Oliver I’m used to, and I don’t know what to do. Noelle’s words keep playing through my mind, thinking of how our relationship must be on its death bed.
Windsor Manor in the morning is a different experience, especially when the press is visiting. The sitting room is being prepped for the interview when I get there. Alan’s favorite chair has been cleaned, looking fresh and new. Next to it is an end table, already furnished with a family photo and a mug that says, ‘Father of the Year’. I bet these things were placed there just for the interview. I can’t imagine Oliver or Allison ever buying him that mug. Alan somehow values what I say. I told him he needs to come off personable, likeable. The Alan Windsor the world knows is a ruthless businessman, a possible murderer. He needs to change that.
I’m guided to Alan’s study by numerous staff members. I approach the door, hearing quiet whispers from the other side. I knock on it and the whispers stop. Finally, I hear, “Come in.”
I open the heavy door, having to push it open with my shoulder. Alan’s study is full of dark wood furniture, the walls are lined with large bookcases stuffed with books. The gaps between bookcases are decorated with more of the museum-quality artwork that lines the walls of the rest of the house. Off to the side is an overstuffed leather couch and two matching armchairs. In the center is a dark wood desk that matches the rest of the furniture, large and scattered with belongings. Two simple chairs sit in front of it.
When I enter, Oliver is in one of those chairs, already wearing a suit. His hair is freshly styled, clearly just out of the shower. Alan is sitting behind the desk, wearing a new suit, and looking more put together than anyone who’s ever been on trial for murder before.
Alan’s face lights up when he sees me.
“There’s our miracle maker!” his voice booms and I can’t tell whether he’s being sarcastic or serious.
“Good morning,” I greeted them both and closing the door behind me. My bag is tossed over my shoulder, laptop, and printouts inside. In the other hand is a cup of coffee from a local place, just something to wake me up.
“Are you ready for the day?” I asked them.
Oliver doesn’t even look at me. He doesn’t acknowledge me. He stares straight ahead, out the window past his father’s desk. The window takes up almost the entire length of Alan’s study, like the wall is made of it. It overlooks the pool in the backyard and the forest beyond that.
Seeing that forest always gives me chills.
Alan nods his head.
“Absolutely. I looked over these talking points you sent over. Beautiful stuff, Cassidy. I think you’re an absolute genius.”
I still can’t tell whether he’s being facetious or not. I choose to take it at face value, hoping that I haven’t somehow fallen out of my good graces with the family.
“Great. So, I found out this morning that your interviewer is going to be Gavin Panton. Gavin’s known for asking the hard-hitting questions. Now, it’s not what I was hoping for us,” I admitted. I had been hoping for a female interviewer, someone who would soften at the idea of family values and a broken-hearted man. I don’t think we’ll be able to pull on Gavin’s heartstrings, but I think it’s still manageable for us. I think my talking points will keep things on track.
“Not what you were hoping?” Oliver speaks for the first time since I’ve entered the room. He doesn’t speak to me; he speaks more at me.
“Gavin’s going to ask more serious questions. He’ll want to avoid the fluff piece, so,” I sighed, “Alan, I need you to focus on the more serious aspects. I want you to speak about how hard this split with Camille is, how you never saw it coming. I want you to talk about how it was hard to hand your company over to Oliver. I want you to be blunt and honest, but not too honest. Don’t spill every family secret, but don’t act like you’re hiding something.”
I know it’s likely easier said than done, but this is a last-ditch effort. This interview is important. They’re going to play clips leading up to Alan’s trial, they’re going to replay voice clips on the radio. It’s the last thing people are going to see of the Windsor’s before Alan’s trial begins.
“So, don’t focus on how much I love my family?” he asked.
“You can touch on it, but don’t focus on it like you would with a female interviewer. Gavin isn’t going to care about your love for your family. He’s going to ask you about business, about how you knew Matthew, about your jail experiences and how you feel about potentially going back. He’s going to hit you hard, so don’t get offended. Just take things calmly and it’ll be fine.”
Alan nods at my instructions. I can only hope he doesn’t decide to go rogue. It wouldn’t be the first time that an interviewee was instructed what to say but went totally off the rails. It’s every PR rep’s worst nightmare, because then we really have to go on damage control.
“I’ll be out there, waiting for Gavin to get here. I need to go over what he’s not allowed to bring up during the interview.”
I want to steal a moment with Oliver, talk to him about what’s going on with us. But he hardly looks at me. He didn’t even make eye contact with me when he asked a question. I push down my personal wants and decide to focus on my job. I step out of the room and go to the entryway, trying to think of anything but Oliver Windsor.
A feat that proves to be incredibly hard when we’re inside his home.
Forty minutes later, Gavin Panton arrives. Gavin is a young interviewer, at the top of his game. He’s a heartthrob for every housewife in America who watches the morning news, just for his interviews. He has short dark hair and light brown eyes. He’s wearing a light blue button-up and a pair of slacks. When he enters the room, he immediately looks over at me.
“Cassidy Hanson?”
“That’s me,” I replied. We shake hands.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” he said. “After you saved that business down in Georgia, I was excited to see your career advance. I didn’t expect you to land the Windsor family as a client though.”
“Neither did I,” I laughed.
Gavin and I walk to the sitting room, where the interview will be conducted.
“So,” he said, taking a seat in the chair across from Alan’s. It’s clearly not as comfortable as the one that Alan’s going to lounge in throughout the interview, but it’ll look nice on camera. “What’s on the list? I know that’s why you’re here,” he laughs.
I take a seat on the couch that’s further off to the side, out of view of the camera. Reaching into the bag that was still on my shoulder, I pull out my
file folder full of notes.
“I still wanted to meet you,” I laughed. Opening the folder, I find the list of negative talking points. “Okay, Alan will not answer questions about the trial, about his daughter Allison’s distance from the case, and the stock drop that Windsor experienced.”
“So, nothing about the trial? What does that include?”
“How he’s feeling leading up to it, what he hopes for, what he thinks the outcome will be. I’d also prefer you don’t mention the sex tape leak. That’s a sore spot.”
“You really shouldn’t tell me that it’s a sore spot,” he said, winking at me. “You know that’s exactly where I’m going to attack.”
“Look,” I said, leaning forward slightly. My elbows rest on my knees, head in my hands. “I’d really prefer that you didn’t. It’s not what this interview should highlight, so we should probably avoid it. Is that doable?”
“It might be. Depends on what you can offer me,” said Gavin while Gavin arching an eyebrow in my direction.
The relationship between reporters and PR goes back to the beginning of both careers. It’s a give and take, a type of food chain. The worst thing the two sides can do is sleep together. It makes things messy; secrets get revealed.
Not that I’m thinking of sleeping with Gavin, even if he’s a gorgeous man. But flirting certainly doesn’t hurt a thing, especially if it makes things better for my client.
“What would you like? I’m up to negotiate,” I said slyly.
“Dinner. Tonight. There’s an Italian place downtown that’s my favorite. I hate eating alone, so have dinner with me.”
I don’t accept immediately, because I don’t know whether I should or not. Oliver’s still in the picture. We haven’t broken up, even if it damned near feels like it. But until we break up, I’m still treating us as a thing, as a couple.
“How about I give you that answer after the interview? It will depend on how well you do,” I smirk. It feels sleazy, but that’s how this business works.
I don’t wait for Gavin’s response. I put everything back into my bag, throw it back over my shoulder and stand up. Before I make it out of the sitting room, Gavin calls, “I’m going to hold you to that answer after the interview, Cassidy. Don’t you dare run out on me.”
Fake Love Rich Boss Series Page 11