Sweet Karma

by Amara Kent

  “How come he’s the one that leads the meetings?”

  “He wants to learn to overcome his fear of public speaking so Dean allows him. It’s a shame because most of the people in the room don’t even pay attention.”

  That makes sense. He’s in a business that requires him to perform these tasks. He can’t really escape it. Plus, the best way to overcome a fear is to face it head-on. Grab the bull by the horns and ride it like it’s your bitch and it owes you money. I respect a person who can do that. It shows personal growth and an emotional strength.

  “I get it.”

  “Tiffany,” Nancy calls to me.

  “Yes, Nancy?”

  “Could you please type up the minutes of the meeting? There is a template on the computer, so you will know exactly how it’s set out. Then I will need you to send it to everyone that was in attendance.”

  “Sure. I can definitely do that for you.”

  “So how was your first day?” Kerri asks, taking a swig of her beer.

  “It was good. Interesting,” I respond, flopping down next to her on my sofa.

  “Find anything interesting about him?”

  “Not yet, it’s the first day. I doubt I will find anything out until the people there know I’m trustworthy.”

  “Do you get a sense that he wants you?” she asks.

  “No. Not yet anyway. There’s definitely attraction there though, so hopefully, I can turn that into interest.”

  “Cheers to that.” She clinks her bottle with my glass.

  Three weeks. It has been three weeks working for Dean, and I’m very close to calling it quits and telling Skylah that I can’t continue on with this job. I’m not stupid to think that this would be easy. No, far from it. Dean is a hard man, something I’ve witnessed on multiple occasions. What I never ever imagined was that I would literally become a personal assistant to every facet of his damn life, and I’m pretty sure that asshole is creating shit that doesn’t need to be done for the sake of pissing me off.

  And it’s goddamn fucking working; I hate that he holds that power over me.

  Dean Lukas is a prick and a half and needs to be beaten over the head a few hundred times.

  I’m thundering down the streets of New York, pushing past angry pedestrians that scream colorful words at me as I rush to ensure that he has his suit from the dry cleaners on time. Yes, the dickhead conveniently forgot to pick it up on the way back from wherever-the-fuck he was before. I’d have believed it were it not delivered in the way it was. You know that way a lot of managers with a massive power trip deliver demands? The “do as I say because I have power over you and you can’t do a damn fucking thing because I own you” attitude.

  I understand that this is my job. It’s literally in my job description, but being woken up at all hours of the night isn’t, because he has forgotten something and needs me to ensure that it’s organized before he forgets. Or, the time where he pulled me out of a day visiting with my sister who had already been at me about not spending enough time with her, to tell him what shirt and tie he should wear to an event, because apparently, all of a sudden he needs a stylist, even though he’s perfectly able to do all of this on his own.

  Nancy had warned me that things would get hard. That he can be quite demanding and that I would have to endure some annoyances, and to be prepared to cancel plans right at the last minute. I thought she was leaving me with a parting joke. No, she had been serious.

  Carrying the precious cargo, I round the corner of the LMPR building and push through the doors, and pretty much jump the gate to the elevators. I slide in right as the doors are closing and am grateful that there are only a few people in there. With a coy smile, I turn around and punch the button to Dean’s level. I rush out and with a quick knock, open the door and find him looking at his watch.

  “You’re late,” he advises with a stern look on his face.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lukas,” I apologize. There is no point explaining the fact that the dry cleaner he sent me to is fifteen blocks away, and getting a cab at this time of day is pretty much nonexistent, so running the fifteen blocks—in heels should I mention—was my only option. Something he would know living in this city. I want to yell at him, want to go apeshit on this asshole, but I can’t, because I need this job, and I need him to fall for me. He’s making it damn difficult for me to want to complete it, despite his godlike looks. All that goes out the door as soon as he opens his mouth. Sure, there have been some flirty moments, I see the way he steals glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking, but for the most part he’s a giant cock with limbs and a face.

  “Hang the suit on the door of the bathroom and sit down,” Dean orders. I do as he says. “There is a charity event I’m attending this Saturday. It’s for the designer Armond Boucher. I’ve put you on the list of attendees,” he announces.

  My mouth hangs open. Armond. Fucking. Boucher. The world’s most famous designer, and my idol. Unlike most other designers, his collections are pure gold. He has everything from accessories to clothes and beauty products. Everything is designed and handmade in France. His beauty line is vegan and environmentally friendly and also made in France. Most of his proceeds go toward charities he cares deeply about. He’s the best designer out there in the world today!

  I had hoped that working for a man like Dean would come with some perks. After all the shit he has put me through, I am finally getting something for it.

  “With all due respect, Mr. Lukas, but why would you want me to come with you?” I ask.

  “It’s good for you to know some of my clients. We handle Boucher’s American marketing. Plus, there will be a woman there I would like to avoid and you will be the perfect distraction.”

  Selfish reason or not, I didn’t care. I would hang off his arm to ward off this woman as much as he wanted. I was going to an exclusive event that no one like me would ever be invited to in this lifetime or the next. I can’t hide the wide smile on my face, not bothering to either. This is my first genuine smile in the past month I’ve worked for him.

  “If I’m not overstepping, but who is this woman that you are trying to avoid?”

  “You don’t need to know. You will not be interacting with her in any way. Her seeing you with me will be enough to keep her away from me.”

  Oh, you poor little lamb. This is just another indication of how little men know women. They think that this will push someone who sounds as if she’s been rather pushy with her advances, to back off? The only thing that does to a woman, is make her crazy. And crazy women only continue on pushing until they get what they want or thrown in the jail. One of the two. He’ll turn a relatively sane woman into a lunatic, because that’s what all men do when they flaunt their so-called knowledge of the opposite sex around as if they’re in New Orleans and it’s Mardi Gras.

  “I really don’t—”

  “Just drop it, Tiffany. Now, are you going to come, or do I have to find somebody else, like Brigitte, to come with me?”

  “No, Mr. Lukas. I will be honored to come with you.”

  “Good. At some point today, one of his team from the New York store will be in here to take your measurements. Make sure that you are here, because if you aren’t, they will not wait around.”

  And there we go. I have never been late during the time I have worked for him, except right now, because, I reiterate, I had to fucking run fifteen blocks, but of course, this ass-wipe doesn’t grasp the concept of New York at rush hour. He really holds a grudge and it’s not something that is just his personality. A trait he can’t quite get past because it’s ingrained in him. Dean Lukas actually gets some sick joy in hanging things over people’s heads. It’s a show of power that he must exude whenever he gets the chance. Because being the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company isn’t enough, he needs to ensure people feel like shit about it at the same time. A sick prick he is.

  “Yes, Mr. Lukas. I will make sure that I am here for them, and I promise I won’t be late again
,” I assure him, because next time I have a ridiculous task such as this, I will ask Kerri to do it and then meet her down the street.

  “Now go. You have a lot to do today.”

  I smile and nod, standing up and going to my desk. I sit here smiling like an idiot at the thought of attending Boucher’s charity event. It’s an event that helps children from all over the world. He has various charities that raise money to aid sick children in third world countries, ones that help abused and neglected children, and those with motor disabilities and mental disorders.

  “What happened?” Brigitte asks from across the room.

  “I just got invited to the Armond Boucher event this Saturday.” I continue to beam.

  She chokes on her drink. “Are you kidding me?” she asks through gasps of breath.

  I shake my head. “Nope!” I squeal.

  “I can’t believe that. He has never invited anyone to accompany him to events. He must like you,” she exclaims, jumping up from her desk and jogging over to me, leaning on the top part of my desk.

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Really. You know how private he is, right? I’ve been working at this company for six years, and I still don’t know where he disappears to everyday at two thirty.”

  Yes, that’s still a big question mark for me too. I’ve learned a lot from Dean, but there are some things I can’t seem to crack, because nobody here knows. Every day he leaves here at two thirty. He won’t provide me with the information of his whereabouts, just tells me to advise anyone that calls for him that he’s out. When people have asked where he is I’ve had to lie and say he’s out attending to some business things. He also doesn’t come back to work at the same time every time. He’s hiding something, something big if it takes so long for him to get back. I once had Kerri see if she could track him, but she never sees him come out of the building. So where is he going? He obviously leaves the office, because he would be seen around work otherwise. So what is he hiding?

  “I wish I could tell you where he goes, but I’m just as clueless as you are. Donald knows. I know he does. He’s not the best liar in the world. Whenever I’ve asked him in the past, he would avoid my gaze, and then he started to snap at me whenever I asked, telling me that it’s none of my business and that I shouldn’t be going and prying into other people’s lives. It’s definitely not work related then.”

  Brigitte is quite the sleuth. If you want to know something, she’ll most likely be the person that will know. She doesn’t gossip, she’s just one of those people that everyone trusts. On the outside she gives off the impression that she’s just another dumb blonde that doesn’t know chicken from fish, when in reality she’s incredibly smart and intuitive with the best stalking skills. Except when it comes to Dean, which was rather upsetting when I realized just how little she knew about him.

  I’m about to ask her a question, when a tall man comes up to my desk, looking… no, observing me. I look up at him. “Hello, welcome to Lukas Marketing and PR,” I greet. He continues to study me, tilting his head from side to side before he steps back.

  “Stand up please,” he orders.

  “I’ll leave you two be,” Brigitte excuses herself. Stepping back timidly, but makes sure to keep her eye on the scene.

  “Sorry?” I ask. Who is this person and why is he…

  “Adam, I thought I heard you out here. You can come in here to take her measurements,” Dean offers.

  Ahh, okay. He’s from Boucher New York.

  “Hello, Dean. Good to see you again.”

  They enter his office and I follow, feeling a little giddy. Closing the door behind me, I stand, waiting for my next direction.

  “Come here, please. I’m going to take your measurements. Please remove your cardigan.”

  I do as instructed, taking my light cardigan off and placing it on the couch that sits against the window. Adam takes a dressmakers tape measure out of his pocket and circles me like a vulture. I watch him as he moves around, holding the tape in his hands but not actually doing anything other than looking at me. I glance at Dean and he nods his head. As if that is supposed to be the answer I need. I want to know what this man is doing. Shouldn’t he be measuring, not just looking at me?

  After a few more minutes of just looking at me, he finally gets to work. He’s done in a matter of minutes, which I’m grateful for.

  “Okay, you’re a lot bigger than our usual clients—”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, offended. Now, I’m not a stick, but I’m not fat either, so for this assistant to say as such is an absolute insult. I work out and go for runs in Central Park every goddamn morning to ensure that I keep this figure.

  He laughs and waves his hand at me as if I’m stupid to have taken his obvious insult for exactly just that. “I’m not saying that you’re fat, I just mean that you’re curvier. It’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s rather refreshing not to have someone who is built like a pencil.” Oh, well. Okay, I’ll take that. “We don’t have a lot of dresses that will be suitable for someone of your figure unfor—” He snaps his fingers and whips out his phone, punching in a number at a speed that is preternatural. “Dahlia, sweetie, do we still have the Selene dress in the store?” He waits a few minutes, face lit up like a Christmas tree as he anticipates the response from Dahlia. “Perfect! Please reserve a size eight for me… yes a size eight. She’s a little bustier than our usual clientele. Just put one aside, it’s for Mr. Lukas’s plus one. Good girl.”

  “Selene dress?” I ask. I consider myself very well versed in all things Armond Boucher, and I have not heard of the Selene dress in my life.

  “Yes, it’s a brand new collection of Boucher’s that hasn’t been revealed to the world yet. I’m sure Mr. Boucher would be in agreement that you would be the perfect model for this dress. Don’t you think so, Dean?”

  “Yes.”

  That was it. A simple, yes, but for Dean, it was the equivalent of him jumping up and down. He wasn’t exactly one for showing any emotion that wasn’t aggravation. I also saw the slight glint of desire flash in his eyes. So he’s seen the dress, huh?

  “Don’t you need to get his permission first?” I ask.

  “Oh, honey. No. I’m Boucher’s stylist. He trusts me unconditionally to show off his collection. He will agree with me when he sees you in it.”

  “Oh, okay. I’m very excited to be introducing this line to the world.”

  “You should be. There have only been three people before you that have had the honor of this.”

  “Marion Cotillard, Princess Francesca, and Melissa Roe,” I blurt out.

  Told you I knew all things Armond Boucher. There is no bigger fan in this world than me.

  Adam gives me an impressed look. “Oh, so we have a fan in the midst, huh?”

  “Yes. He’s a wonderful designer and humanitarian. I look up to him.”

  He may be the only male—apart from my father and Chris, my sister’s husband—that I hold a level of respect for. Don’t get me wrong though, I’m not about to throw away all my inclinations just yet. He could still be a toad when it comes to women.

  “That he is. Okay, I will get going. I’ll see you on Saturday night, Tiffany.” He takes my hand and presses a light kiss on the back.

  I blush, I actually blush. Embarrassed with the reaction, my cheeks heat up even more.

  I clear my throat when he’s gone. “I’ll get back to work.”

  Dean strides over, a piece of paper in his hands. He holds it out to me and I take it. On it is a number for a Maria Alvaro and a Kate Black. My brows furrow and I look back at him quizzically.

  “Maria Alvaro is one of the best hair stylists in New York and Kate Black is a makeup artist. Both of these women are part of Boucher’s beauty team. Give them a call and provide them with your address. They will be doing your hair and makeup for the event.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Tiffany.”

  “Yes, Mr. Lukas?” I ask.

  “Re
member that you are representing LMPR, so drinking is to be kept to a minimum. I don’t need you drunk and acting like a fool. If you have a drinking problem, then you will not drink at all. You will be on your best behavior and will not do anything that will jeopardize the reputation of the company. You’re not the one they will aim their discontent to, it’ll be me. You understand?”

  “Yes, Mr. Lukas. I do.”

  “Hi, Skylah, how are you?” I ask as I sit down with my dinner on the couch. It’s been a long day of running around for Dean, and my feet have been screaming at me. There is no such thing as comfortable heels. I don’t care what anybody says. Heels are heels, and most of your weight is still supported only by the balls of your feet.

  “Hi, I’m good. How are things going with you?” she asks.

  “You weren’t joking when you said he was difficult. I’m not quite sure how you were ever involved with this man.”

  “He was nice to me. I saw the way he treated other people, but I was sure that because he was nice to me, that it was just work that made him so callous.” Her voice is laced with sadness as if it was made of it.

  “Don’t worry, I will get him back for what he did to you. You will receive the closure and satisfaction you deserve from this man. I have a question to ask you though.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been invited to escort Dean to Armond Boucher’s charity event this Saturday, and he mentioned some woman that’s a little too clingy. Do you know anything about her?”

  Silence.

  “Skylah?” I ask when she hasn’t answered in quite a few seconds.

  “Sorry about that. I’m just a little out of it this week.”

  “That’s okay,” I comfort her.

  “Um. The woman. I’m not entirely sure who he’s talking about. Must have happened after me.”

  “Hmm. I did try to ask him about her, but he shut me out.”

  “Now that sounds familiar,” Skylah grumbles.

  “It’s okay. We’re moving at a relatively good pace considering the type of man that he is. I’m going to ensure that I look the best for Saturday, so we can push our relationship up a little further. “