by Mabie, M.
Am I going to hire him? It's starting to feel like I’ve already offered him the position and he's deciding whether or not to accept.
“I could start immediately. Tomorrow if you'd like.” There is a smile in his eyes that's brighter than the one bending his mouth. “I think this will be a wonderful working relationship.”
Now I know that he assumes the position is his. “Well, hold up just a minute. I, uh… Wait.” I shuffle my papers, trying to find the other questions I know am supposed to pose, but before I land on any, I ask, “Aren't you interested in knowing about benefits or salary?”
“No, not really. I'm sure the package you'll provide will be adequate. Why don't we just start on a trial basis?”
“Did you just hire yourself?” I inquire, half laughing and half serious.
“Well, I certainly was able to assist you in doing that. So at very least, that should say something about how well we will work together.” And then he gives me a radiant, full smile. I can't keep my own from sprouting on my face, and for the first time today, I know that he is the person I want to see every day.
Shit. Maybe I should have him sign a non-disclosure or at least a waiver of harassment.
“Ben, I work in an industry where press can be tricky. I don't get a lot of it, but my close friends do. I would require you to be very tight lipped when it comes to my private life and theirs. And since you will be wading through my private life on a daily basis, I would require your discretion.” Most of that feels like it could have been left unsaid, but I want him to know that I won't tolerate it. “Furthermore, I am really inappropriate most all of the time. It is part of why I do what I do and how I do it well. I don't filter myself much and you may not like that. Do not be mistaken—I am usually a lady when I'm in public. But in private, I can be downright vulgar and I swear like a sailor. If you are, oh, I don't know…super religious or easily offended, then you may want to fuck off right now.” Ah, here's my mouth. If he wants this job, he has to be cool with me. I wait for his reaction to my favorite four-letter word to seal our deal.
“Tatum, you can trust me to protect your privacy and I fucking love sassy women.” He chuckles a bit, saying, “As long as you understand that I may tell you things that you don't want to hear from time to time, with regards to my job, I will have your best interest in mind at all times.” He's all business again by the end of his sentence.
He's a sexy-as-hell, sassy-liking businessman. I smile at him, and his reappears.
“I can live with that.” For the next few minutes, we discuss a schedule for the next week that we both can live with. I offer him a healthy wage and tell him that I'll pay him cash for our trial period. We exchange phone numbers and that's that.
I have a new fire-ass-hot personal assistant.
“Well, I guess that's all we need to discuss today. Thank you for coming, and I'll talk to you tomorrow,” I say to Ben as I walk him to the door.
When we get to the entryway, he offers his hand to me again, and this time I don't feel as hesitant to take it. This time it feels natural to put my hand in his. So I do, and once again, his masculine hand swaddles mine.
“Thank you, Tatum. Please don't hesitate to call or text me if you think of anything else you'd like to know. I'll see you tomorrow morning.”
I open the door, and here comes Neil with his arms full of paper bags and a drink carrier. He walks up with a confused look on his face. “Sorry that took so long, Tatum,” he says to me before he turns to measure up Ben. “Hello. I don't think we know each other.”
I grab the food from his hands, seeing what he brought me, and I'm instantly famished.
“Hello. It is nice to meet you. I am Ben Harris, Tatum's new PA. I'll be seeing you. I'll let you guys get to your late lunch. Goodbye, Tatum.” And like that, he breezes past us and walks straight down the hall and around the corner.
“W—w-what the hell did he just say? He's your new PA? What the fuck did I miss? Who was that?” He face is painted with questions and his cute little eye brows cinch together.
“I don't know. I thought you knew him. I thought it was just a misunderstanding about the time. He's qualified and very nice. I like him. He's laid back and chill. I could use that. I wonder if the agency slipped him in last minute or something?”
“Yeah, I guess that is probably what happened. You hired him? Really? Is it because he looks like he stepped out of GQ? Not that I'm complaining. I will love seeing him on a regular basis.” Neil's looks confused and also like he knows something I don't. I can only imagine what he is thinking about the whole ordeal.
“You're right. I should probably start saving money for my sexual harassment defense fund now, huh? Come on. I am as hungry as a hostage.” I am, and I want to tell Neil all about the mysterious Ben Harris, Personal Assistant at large.
I got a text from Ben a few minutes ago asking if there was anything he could grab for me on his way over and I all too eagerly told him about my coffee preference. There isn't much use in being coy.
I dressed up this morning a little more than I would have on a normal Wednesday. There is no point in pretending that he isn't hot. I know I'm his boss, but I can't have him showing me up on the first day. He wore some nice clothes yesterday, and I need to be prepared.
My yellow jumper dress and blue heels will give him a run for his money. I even gave myself a blow-out.
Just as I thought. Ben arrives wearing dark brown pants and a fitted ivory button-up. I almost want to tell him he is fired and attack him.
I must suffer from major morning horniness and resign to the idea that I am just victim to a very potent version of female morning wood.
I need to get use to this.
“I have a list of things that I need done, including: finding a cleaning service, some scheduling things that I need you to rearrange so I can spend more time with Winnie on wedding stuff, and picking up my dry cleaning and a few groceries that I need for the house. Are you sure you really want to do all of this?” I ask, wondering if this is as stupid as it feels.
He's so hot for Pete's sake. Why in the hell would he want to do this?
But as I explained the tasks I need him to take care of for me, he only listened intently and smiled. “Relax, Tatum. You don't have to worry about this stuff today. I've got this. Just go to work and do your thing. I'll be here, well, I guess…doing your other things. Really, this is under control.”
His simple words make me feel like it really might be fine.
I give him a key to the door, and he offers to walk me down to continue our conversation. I tell him how to contact my new car service, the one that Cooper and I settled on the night before, and I ask him to contact Neil about synchronizing our schedules.
None of the tasks seem that difficult or time consuming, so I let him know him that, if he doesn't have any issue with it, after those things are finished he can leave for the day.
“If you have any questions, don't feel weird about calling me at work. If I can answer, I will. If I can't, I will call or text you back.”
“Got it.”
He ushers me out the revolving doors in the lobby of my building with his great big man hand in the middle of my back. It isn't exactly sexual though, being a little too high to be the small of my back, but I like it. It's nice and comforting having his capable hands guiding me.
Capable. I bet they are. Focus, Tatum.
“I'll forward you all of the changes I make to your agenda and I will update you when necessary. Have a good day today. Is this your car?”
“Good morning, Ms. Elliot? I'm Ray, your driver. It's very nice to meet you,” says the giant of a man walking towards us. He looks like a linebacker. He's good-looking but way too beefy for my tastes.
“Hello, Ray. This is Ben, my assistant. Thank you for starting so soon. I've never had a driver before. It feels a bit weird.”
“Don't worry about that. You'll get use to it.” His big, warm smile is easy to like. “Nice to meet you too, Ben.” Then Ray goe
s back around to the driver’s side, seeing that Ben is already making a play for my door.
“You too,” Ben says, giving Ray a friendly smile. “I'm sure we will be seeing each other.” He walks the quick step to get to the handle of the black town car and opens it for me.
I brush my hair behind me ear, running my hand over the tender bruise that is starting to fade. “Thank you, Ben. See ya later.”
“You're welcome, Tatum.” He smiles at me kindly and then his face sours when he sees my bruise. He looks at it for just a second before his eyes soften again.
He shuts the door and gives the top a few taps to notify Ray that I'm all in. It is a different experience, but one that I can definitely get used to.
I look behind the car see him standing there. Overwhelmed by all of the new things I've already experienced this morning, I watch him as we pull away. Standing on the side of the street, he looks so strong and confident.
As I watch him get smaller and smaller, the urge inside me to call in sick, just to learn more about him, gets bigger and bigger. There's something special about him.
This is going to be a mess.
The day is going on and on, but without incident. All the plans we laid out on Monday are falling perfectly into place. That's a bit unnerving. You know that feeling when everything seems to be working the way you plan, only to be blindsided by an unexpected catastrophe? It sort of feels like that.
My phone goes off and I'm pleased to see that it is my new personal assistant. I get a rush of adrenaline as I read his message.
Ben: Sorry to bother you, but do you use a fork to eat ice cream? And would you like me to get you more at the market?
Me: Yes, I eat it with a fork. I don't know why. And I never turn down ice cream.
He sure doesn't miss much.
Ben: Same flavor? Do you mind if I do some organizing in your kitchen?
Me: Same flavor is fine. Organize away. Is it really that bad? I left the fork in the carton. Right?
Ben: Bingo.
Bingo?
My imagination vaults into overdrive. What if he's going through my whole house looking for things to organize? He found my ice cream fork. What else is he finding? What if he goes into my bedroom?
I type to him, hoping I wasn't too late.
Me: Just organize the kitchen.
Ben: Your sock drawer is a mess.
Oh. Shit. My sock drawer, the quiet upstairs neighbor to Mr. Right. In case you are wondering, Mr. Right is my vibrator. No use in getting all bent out of shape about it. It isn't like you don't have one hidden somewhere, too.
He finally sends another message.
Ben: Just kidding.
I quickly fire off a reply.
Me: We need some rules. Rule 1: My bedroom and bathroom are holy. Thou shall NOT pass.
I shouldn't have been that blunt though. It makes it seem like I have something to hide even more.
Ben: Religious? I was just teasing.
Me: Hardly. I'm just certain I need no personal assisting in there.
Yeah.
A minute or two goes by and I get nothing in response. Good thing my dress is sleeveless or I'd have pit stains. My phone vibrates in my hand while I'm still looking at it and waiting for something back from him.
Ben: No assistance in the bedroom. LOL. Noted.
I'll let it end there. I'm trying not to flirt with him. It's a challenge. He is so sexy. But it's not like I'm going to start our working relationship off like that and it's not like he gave me the impression that it would even be welcome.
He is my employee. I am his boss. Isn't that the premise of a porno? Yeah, I've seen that one—Naughty Boss-Woman and the Off-Limits Assistant. My juvenile thoughts litter my mind. I can't help myself.
The rest of the day goes about like a well-oiled machine. I go through all of the motions effortlessly. I nail down the week’s segments and send some emails. I'm functioning stress free.
Maybe there is something to this simplifying thing?
Around five thirty, I check out and head home. On my way, I have Ray stop for me at the market so I can grab a six-pack and all the newest gossip mags. I didn't ask Ben to by my alcohol on the first day. It felt too soon.
Ray doesn't even shake his head when I emerge from the store with an armload of scandalous reading material and beer.
I know. I know. Wild life.
I walk though my door and see that Ben is still here. And he's singing—not well, but singing nonetheless. The song is familiar, but really old. Otis Redding maybe?
He likes the oldies. That's hot.
There are boxes and tools on the counter in my kitchen, and it smells like heaven. Where am I?
“Um, hello?” I round the wall to see the rest of my kitchen. “Whoa, you are quite the overachiever. What's all of this?”
“No ‘Honey, I'm home’?” Ben asks, wiping his forehead with a hand holding a screwdriver. So much for getting to know each other. Here I am, worried about flirting, and I walk in to a modern-day version of I Love Lucy or the Twilight Zone—I can't decide.
Should I mention that his ivory shirt from this morning is balled up on the floor next to him? Because it is, and his undershirt is like a second skin. I can see his tall, lean frame, and it is mouthwatering.
He probably notices that I'm not chiming in on the domestic banter and clarifies, “I'm just making some adjustments.”
“Like what? Those are brand new.” I put my beer and literature—okay, beer and celebrity trash—on my cluttered counter. “I don't remember my contractor explaining the need for yearly ‘adjustments’ to my cabinets.” I actually did air quotes to recite “adjustments” back to him sarcastically.
“I changed the hinges. These close on their own if they're left open.” He opens a cabinet door and looks at me like I'm not getting it. “After a few seconds, if you don't close them, then they close themselves. Voila. No bumping into open cabinets.” He is quite proud of himself.
Initially, I'm taken aback that someone thought to do that for me. I'm also embarrassed. When did I bump into something around him? I just met the guy. I haven't tripped over the bastard barstool left out too far yet or missed the cupboard shelf with a glass in front of him. Am I that obviously awkward and clumsy?
“Why? Why did you do this?” I'm totally confused about what to think about it. It's nice and practical. It's also a little pathetic.
“It's helpful,” he points out, demonstrating how they work.
“Yes. I understand that, but it is your first day. Did it seem that urgent or something?”
Pride. I've whacked my head against every one of those cabinets. It never hurt as much my as my pride does right now.
Ben looks at me empathetically, and he can tell I'm upset.
I'm not an actress. I can't believably hide my emotions. Like, at all. I'm lousy at poker, and don't bother telling me a secret you don't want told. It's in my nature to tell...everyone.
He has to go. I'm not really sure if just for the night or permanently.
“Maybe it's time for you to call it a day, Bob Vila. I can clean up. I'm still getting use to all of this,” I say, standing in front of him, feeling like a fool.
“I'm sorry, Tatum.”
I notice the apology in his expression when I hurriedly glance by it. Then I quickly scan around for anything else to look at. Something to distract me from the infiltrating stare he's giving me.
“I wasn't trying to imply...” Ben says, looking down and blowing out a fat breath. He stands up to his full height first before he leans down to me so that we're eye to eye in my kitchen.
He's not letting me avoid him like I want.
“Look... This is new. To both of us. You're used to not relying on someone else to recognize something you need because you're capable of doing things yourself. And I'm a man who doesn't hesitate to attend to something that needs attention. Maybe I moved too quickly, and I'm sorry that you're offended, but the truth of it is”—I follow his ey
es over to my goose egg and small cut that peek out from under my bangs—”you hit your head. I can see that. I just want to make sure that you don't do it again.”
As much as I want to scream, I want to cry. I wanted to lunge at him, still not sure if to smack him or shove my tongue down his throat.
He sees me as a defenseless weakling. He thinks I'm more broken that I think I am.
“Oh, this?” I brushed back my bangs, thinking that I'll show him I'm not weak. Sweeping my hair back and tilting my head as if proud of the wound, I volunteer my best faux laugh. “No, silly. This is from my, uh, headboard. You're not the only man I know who gets carried away.” I laugh again, pretending that it is at him. “This was no accident, just a little rough...you know. And you should wait to make adjustments to my home until I ask for them. I'll call you tomorrow.”
His jade eyes are blank of emotion. He doesn't even react. It was a bitchy thing to say. Though I can't see an ounce of rebuttal. Did I speak or not?
Without a hint of chiding in his calm low voice, he says, “There's chili on the stove, and your revised schedule is ready to sync to your phone.” Ben leans down to pick his shirt up and his head is right in front of me. Like, the lower me.
He doesn't move. He just hangs there for a second. I can't look down. I know he's down there, and without moving my head quite visibly, he is out of my sight.
I feel his finger lightly touch my leg. His thumb actually. I know it has to be his thumb when the other four fingers wrap around the top of my calf muscle and it rubs a tender spot.
The hair on my legs threatens to shoot out as I can predict a shiver coming on. My spine is like a jump rope that's been whipped on one end and the ripple races all the way up the back of my neck.
A breath escapes my mouth like I am trying to fog up a window to write my name on it. Too soon—or not soon enough—he's back up and leaning over to grab his keys from the counter, only millimeters from my ear.
I stay frozen.
Ben whispers like he's telling me a secret, “That must have been some show. Did you get those bruises on your legs from the headboard too?”