by Nikki Bopp
“Here we are. You have two minutes.” My door is open before the car comes to a complete halt; the tray of drinks clutched in my hands.
“Excuse me!” I squeak at the elevator, which is just in the process of closing, my purse flapping wildly behind me. “Hold the elevator!”
Between the cracks in the door, a familiar face smiles back at me, standing stock still as the doors close between us.
“Shit,” I curse, looking down at my watch. By the time the elevator gets back down here, I will, for sure, be late. Daniel is going to be pissed. That man is by far the biggest stickler when it comes to laziness and timeliness.
Maybe I should just take the stairs, I wonder to myself. It's probably faster than waiting for the elevator, and thankfully, I chose not to wear heels today. It turns out that if you don't wear them a lot anyway, they kind of kill your feet when walking around the majority of the day.
The sudden ringing of my phone makes me jump in surprise, the sound seeming to echo around the large foyer. The receptionist, the frigid blonde from my first day shoots me a death glare as though I’m actually interrupting her important duties. Given the nail file in one hand, she's obviously incredibly busy.
“Shit,” I grumble to myself while trying to reach for my phone without dumping hot drinks on myself. The endless pit of my purse certainly isn't helping things, and just as my fingers wrap around the vibrating contraption, it stops. “Crap. Leave a message,” I tell the caller with a shrug right as the elevator doors slide open with a ding.
“You're late,” Daniel Price growls at me the moment I step off the elevator, his brows low to emphasize his unhappiness.
“I'm sorry, sir.” Holding up the tray of Starbucks, I hope that my peace offering will be enough to end the storm building in Daniels’ eyes. Eyes that flicker to the tray with a hint of interest before returning back to me with a glower. “I thought it would be nice to get everyone a drink this morning. Wyatt gave me your preferences; I just didn't expect the line to be so long. I guess it's safe to say people need their caffeine in the morning.”
“You don't like coffee,” Daniel states, taking a step back, his shoulders rolling dramatically as though trying to calm himself.
“No, I'm not a big fan. My ex-husband was obsessed with it, but it was never to my taste.” I'm not sure if it was my words, or him just being done with the conversation entirely, but with a final glare, Daniel storms off in the direction of his office. My steps following behind him.
“Did you book the flight for next week?”
“Yes sir,” flipping through my internal reminder list, I rattle off the details of his flight plan. The car is scheduled to pick him up from the airport and take him to the hotel before the meeting at one of the regional research facilities. From there, he will be meeting with more investors for dinner and then returning back to Seattle the next day via the private jet owned by PRI. Stopping at my desk, I drop the tray of drinks on top, grabbing a sheaf of papers from my drawer to hand to him.
“These are the reports that you requested as well as information on the investors you'll be meeting with.” Another stack of papers is handed to him, a neat spreadsheet of numbers meticulously groomed to the standards I have come to be the norm for the CEO. “And here is your coffee.”
Daniel Price doesn't move, the hot cup of coffee gripped in one hand, an unreadable expression on his face. “Is there anything else, Mr. Price?” Sugar couldn't be sweeter than my words, and the devil has nothing on my evil grin when he silently stomps into his office.
“You live for antagonizing him, don't you?” Patrick jokes appearing beside my desk with his sweet grin, his hair mussed and crazy. He drops the bag in his hand to the ground and grabs for his tea. “This for me?”
“Wyatt says you like it, so it most definitely is yours. How was your flight from New York?” Patrick left almost immediately after the meeting on Tuesday, some sort of a disaster that needed his immediate attention. The bags under his eyes and the five o’clock shadow on his chin are telling that it obviously wasn't for pleasure. “Do you want me to clear your schedule for the day?”
I already know it off the top of my head. He only has a couple of meetings today, but they could easily be rescheduled for Monday.
“It was fine. Well, as fine as it could be. And no thank you, I've only got a few today, so I’ll try and rest today in between. Thanks for the tea Jenny, you're a lifesaver.” Sending me a wink, Patrick picks up his bag, disappearing into his office with a drawn-out sigh. Even working here less than a week, I can see how stressful the guys’ positions are. From demanding managers, investors, and everyone else in between, they basically get no time for themselves.
Maybe the weekend will do everyone good, I think to myself with a shrug. Grabbing the last unclaimed cup of coffee from the desk, I go in search of Edward. His office is empty and just as messy as the first time I entered it. A sticky note on the side of the cup with a funny joke is the best I can do, but I'm sure he’ll still know who it’s from.
“Jennifer,” Daniel calls from his office, his head sticking around the door frame and stopping me in my tracks. The normally unruly hair is even more of a disaster and sticking in every direction.
“Yes?”
“Ed is going to be in around lunch. We would like you to join us for our meeting.” Without saying anything further, he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
“Uh, ok,” I murmur, confused. I've never been around a group of individuals who seem to love having meetings. If they're not actively in one meeting, they are planning another one. I mean, it obviously isn't hurting them if my salary is anything to go by. But this would be the first lunch meeting that I’ve been invited to. They order lunch every day, and they always have me order something for myself, but I typically eat at my desk, or I go visit Mia.
Returning to my desk, I stare blankly ahead at the screensaver on my computer and wonder why I'm being asked to attend the meeting. Did I do something wrong? Is there some sort of an issue that they want to address? I almost wish that Daniel wouldn't have told me about it this early, I now have to wait four damn hours until lunch to figure out what's going on.
My hand wraps around the white chocolate concoction in front of me, my fingers soaking in the warmth of the drink. Forcing the worries and doubts from my mind, I take a sip, expecting the typically bitter coffee taste, but I'm pleasantly surprised. Sure, there is the flavor of the coffee, but it's nearly entirely overshadowed by the chocolate mixed in. Taking another gulp, I swish the drink over my tongue before swallowing it down with an audible moan. I can entirely understand why Daniel likes this one so much. I would have personally picked him out to be a black coffee drinker myself, but this is even better. Quicker than I thought possible, the Starbucks cup is empty, and I'm jonesing for another one with a vengeance, my leg bouncing uncontrollably with the caffeine rush.
Deciding to take advantage of the energy, I figure I might as well complete my rounds through the building. This entails me checking in with all of the managers to see if they need anything and have them sign any paperwork that's been handed to me by one of the executives.
Upon returning to my desk, I'm surprised to find a box sitting atop an envelope, the silver wrapping shining brightly under the fluorescent lighting. It's not large, about the size of a DVD case, but thick enough to convince me it's not my favorite movie. My brows furrow in confusion, looking around me for the culprit, even though I know I'm not going to find one. All three of the executive office doors are closed, including Edward’s. Ingrid was typing away wildly when I passed her desk just a bit ago.
Figuring I’d start with the envelope, I'm not all that excited to find a proof of the upcoming company-wide symposium. The flier is rather dull with an outline of the planned activities and all pertinent information for the day. I'm not sure who designed the damn thing, but it's pretty pathetic.
Pulling up my email program, I quickly type out a message to Edward, figuring since h
e's the head of the financial stuff, he should know who was paid to produce this. Then they need to fire them because this had to of been made by a three-year-old. Hitting send, I move the flier off to the side and turn my attention to the wrapped package.
For a millisecond, I question if it’s even for me, but turning it over in my hands, I can't find any sort of a note to indicate otherwise. With a shrug, I rip into the paper to reveal a plain black box beneath. Giddy with excitement, I lift off the top of the box to reveal a dark green cloth inside. The shiny hue to the fabric makes me believe it’s velvet, and when I lift it from the box, I'm excited to find the most beautiful scarf I’ve ever seen. The plush fabric is thick and slides through my fingers in the most sensual way. It must have cost a fortune.
I don't know who bought it, but they certainly did good. Not only is green my favorite color, but scarves are some of my favorite accessories, especially with all the rainy weather here in Washington. Wrapping the luxurious fabric around my neck, I can't help by preen at the feel of it against my throat, stroking it lovingly.
“That's pretty,” Mia speaks up, nearly sending me out of my seat at the suddenness of it. I usually can hear the ding of the elevator when people arrive on this floor.
“Fiddlesticks, Mia, you need to make more noise! You're going to give someone a heart attack!”
“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Where’d you get that?” She continues, reaching out to finger the edge of the scarf. “It looks expensive.”
“I don't know actually,” shrugging my shoulders, I show her the empty box. “I was doing something around the office, and when I came back, this box was on my desk.”
“Are you sure it's for you?”
“I have no idea, but I mean, it was on my desk, and there wasn't anything there to make me think otherwise.”
“What if it was one of theirs?” Mia tilts her head toward the closed doors of PRI’s executives. “What if it was for a girlfriend?”
“Girlfriend?” My voice is full of doubt and sarcasm, but anyone could see how close the three of them are, closer than any man I've ever seen before. The only one who could even possibly have a girlfriend is Mr. Price, and that's only because of the woman that answered my call at the start of the week. I'm still not totally sold on it, though. I don't see her wearing something like this, though. Her voice, it was like pure sex. She probably only dresses in lace and silk. She’d be beautiful, tall and lithe, her throat encrusted with diamonds and rubies. She would be-
“Hello? Jenny?” Mia’s voice cuts of my thoughts, more like a daydream. Daniel Price would only want the best of the best, a beautiful goddess to compliment him in every way. Goddamn, I think I'm slightly jealous of this woman.
“Yeah, sorry, I wandered off. So, what were you coming up here for?” Deciding to change the conversation, I toss the box and paper into the trash before turning my attention back to a confused Mia.
“Uh,” her brow creases, her face twisting as she attempts to remember why she was here. “Oh! I was going to see if you wanted to grab a drink after work. A lot of people go to this little pub just down the street.”
“Well, I've got to go pick up Eva from daycare…” my words are drawn out, hoping to clue her in to the fact that I do have a child, and I can't just leave her there to go out for a beer.
“Yeah, I know. I just thought since you'd have an hour till then, you'd like to come with me.”
What the hell is she talking about? It doesn't take me an hour to get to the daycare, and I certainly can't expect them to watch her longer on such short notice. Mia and I sit there in silence, staring at each other for a couple of moments before comprehension flits across her features, her face relaxing with a smile.
“Nobody told you, did they? About Fridays?”
“Obviously not. Now out with it, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Giving me a big grin, Mia props herself against the edge of my desk. “We get off an hour early on Fridays.”
“Oh… well, that's cool! I don't know why you had to make it so dramatic,” rolling my eyes at her, I nudge her butt off my desk with the tip of my pen. “I suppose it would be alright to have one drink.”
Mia lets out a little squeal of excitement, the sound seeming to echo around us and making me look towards the closed offices with worry. They certainly aren't assholes, but all three of them are pretty strict about getting work done.
“I'm going, I'm going! I'll wait for you in the lobby!” With a little wave, Mia is off towards the elevator, the ding of the doors telling me I can rest easy about slacking at work. I don't need another dressing down from Daniel Price today.
“Mr. Price, lunch has arrived,” the phone is gripped between my ear and shoulder as I wait for direction. When he only grunts out an unintelligible response, I continue with a furrowed brow. “Do you want to eat in one of the conference rooms or…?”
“My office is fine, Jennifer. Please let Ed and Dan know as well. And you won't be needing your notepad.” Without further ado, the line goes dead, leaving me even more confused.
Edward and Patrick are both out of their offices before I can even knock.
“Ooo lunch!” Edward exclaims, reaching out for his Caesar salad. For a second, and maybe I'm losing my mind, but when I turn to face him, his eyes are glued to my ass before rising to meet mine. His eyes, so beautifully green, are filled with a heat that I’ve not seen before, a dark pool of desire floating so close to the surface. If I wasn’t already convinced that the man was as gay as the day is bright, I might be a little interested to see what exactly it means. Maybe he's just an ass man. Perhaps I’m just losing myself around all the incredibly handsome men.
“Thanks, Jenny,” Patrick murmurs, his voice breaking the spell between us and making me jump in guilt. I shouldn't be ogling anyone, let alone my bosses.
“Of course, Mr. Roswell,” handing him his chicken salad sandwich, I try not to jump out of my skin when our fingers brush, even lingering for half a second. Giving me one of his beaming smiles, he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows Edward into Daniel’s office.
“What the hell,” I whisper to myself, feeling like an idiot. It’s got to be what Mia said about them having a girlfriend. I'm projecting things that aren't true. Giving myself a little shake, I brush aside all thoughts of my bosses in that way and join the trio of men in the office. Edward and Patrick are already almost done with their lunches, and when I hand Daniel his salad, he gives an interested look at my new scarf.
Sitting at the couch off to the side, I dig into my club sandwich and chips with eagerness. Having only been here a handful of days, I learned very quickly that the deli across the street makes the absolute best salads and sandwiches. They also bake their bread fresh every day, and even though I should probably be watching my weight, their bread is by far the best that I’ve ever tasted. Unable to control myself, a small moan of appreciation slips out at the first bite.
“Well,” Edward says with a voice of intrigue. “If the bread is that amazing, I'll have to get a sandwich next week.”
His words cause a wave of embarrassment to wash over me, my cheeks burning at his words and my unintentional noises. Ducking my head, I don't feel any amount of relief when my hair falls forward to hide me from prying eyes. Edwards laugh doesn't help any either.
“Sorry, Jennifer, I just have to tease,” clearing his throat, his words turn serious enough for me to lift my head. “Now, I did want to talk to you about the email you sent me.”
Wracking my brain, I try to recall what email it is precisely that he's talking about. The amount of emails I send to the three of them in a day is a little bit ludicrous, but someone has to keep track of everything for them.
Edward is able to pick up on my look of confusion and stands up to grab a piece of paper from atop Daniel’s desk. When he turns the company-wide symposium flier towards me, my mind finally pulls up the email sent less than an hour ago.
“Mhm,” I give him a nod, holdi
ng up my finger in the universal ‘give me a minute’ sign. Chewing like a madwoman, I try to work the bite of the sandwich down without choking myself in the process. A drink of water helps wash the delicious food down.
“Yes! I wasn't sure who would be the person to talk to about it, but I just think we can do a lot better with it. I understand this is just a proof, but it looks like it was made by a toddler.”
“I designed the flier,” Daniel pipes up, making my eyes go wide. Patrick bursts into laughter, making me even more uncomfortable with how this conversation seems to be going. Everywhere I turn, I seem to be insulting the man. Probably not the best thing for my fourth day on the job.
“Um,” I sputter, my eyes flitting between the two other men in the room. Taking pity on me, Daniel leans back in his chair, a curl of his lip telling me he's not actually offended at my words.
“She’s right, though,” Patrick chokes out between bouts of hilarity. “You didn't win any awards for design.”
Rolling his eyes, Daniel waves a hand at me, “Then you go ahead and draw up a design.”
“Well I-I didn't mean that I wanted too…” trailing off, I give his glare an agreeable nod. “Yes, sir, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Now that we’ve settled that…” Edward interjects with a deep sigh. Thankfully the rest of the lunch is quiet on my part, my mind wandering. At the same time, the three men discuss everything from tennis to a quarterly meeting in St. Louis. I have enough brainpower left to add the date to my mental calendar, knowing that I will need to book flights, cars, and hotels for the event.
When Edward and Patrick stand up to leave, I realize that I’ve blanked out almost the entire time. Thankfully I didn't need to take notes of anything. Following on their heels, I'm stopped by Daniel’s call.
“Jennifer, I would like to talk to you for a moment.”
“Absolutely, let me just go throw this in the trash,” holding up my lunch container, I hurry to do as I said when he gives me a nod of agreement. My hands are shaking when I return, every part of me quivering at what he wants to talk to me about. Has he finally had his fill of the stubborn assistant? Is he writing me up? Firing me?