Four Sides of a Triangle: An Austen & Cufflinks Novel (The Austen & Cufflinks Series Book 1)

by Heather C. Myers

  “See? I told you she absolutely hates when I call her Maddy, but I like the name.” Robert, I can tell, is having difficulty looking at only one of the three scantily-clad models that surround him – a trifecta, actually, consisting of a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead – so he plasters on his charming smile reserved for this particular audience, and rests his eyes on me. “Hey, Maddy. Whoa, you look upset.”

  “I’m not upset,” I say in the same tight voice. “What do you want?”

  “Of course you’re upset,” Robert says and then points a long finger at my nose. “You get that cute wrinkle over the bridge of your nose whenever you’re mad. Do you see it?” The question is directed to the redhead, but it’s open to them all. “See the wrinkle?”

  I clear my throat before they can answer, catching Robert’s attention once again. It’s more difficult now that he has beautiful women around him he hopes to impress. Not that that will take much, by the looks of things…

  “Right,” Robert says. “I was just talking with my new friends – Bella, Lindsay, and Kay, so you know – and they haven’t seen the sights that LA has to offer. Can you believe that? What a waste, to come all the way out here from New York and not see the –“

  “Mr. Swift,” I interrupt him, my impatience getting the better of me. “You’re in the middle of a very important photo shoot. How can I help you?”

  “What’s the rest of today look like?” he asks me, finally cutting to the chase. “Actually, doesn’t matter. Cancel everything. I’m going – well.” He winks at me. “You know.”

  I do know, and I can’t stop the look of disgust touching my face as I turn and head to my place backstage. Apparently, Robert can amuse himself with his own version of love just like I can.

  Chapter 2

  The next day is Tuesday and I’m freaking the eff out. Okay, maybe that’s a little blunt, but I’m serious. Friday is Robert’s charity event for Homeless Assistance, a nonprofit organization that helps the homeless by providing them food or shelter or even certain medical help, and only half the people we’ve invited have RSVP’d which means I can order food now but if we end up with more than needed, I think that might send the wrong message. Like, people across the nation are starving but this benefit that wants to raise money for them can totally order too much food that will go to waste. Unless, of course, we give the food to the homeless, which would be pretty cool. Hmm.

  I think I’m freaking out more than normal because I have so much on my plate. These past two months haven’t been the easiest on me, and Homeless Assistance is a cause that’s been close to me, since I volunteered there in order to fulfill my high school graduation requirements. I mean, not only did I just finish helping orchestrate a wedding – which, I might add, might have never happened if I hadn’t set Harold and Melinda up in the first place (not that I’m claiming sole credit or anything) – but I have to organize this charity event, and I have to reschedule all of Robert’s business appointments that he canceled yesterday without warning just so he could get laid; speaking of the Casanova, I have to make sure his latest trio of extracurricular activities don’t file a sexual harassment claim against him, don’t go to any papers with a story about him, and, worst of all, don’t cling to him.

  My first stop is to Robert’s place because my hangover remedy is the only thing that seems to work for him and I also need to get rid of his company. I walk into the house after typing in an ever-changing key code and scanning my fingerprints and right iris – Robert’s pretty stingy about privacy – before I walk in. I’ve been in Robert’s home as many times as I’ve been in my apartment, and I’ve had my apartment at least a year before I became Robert’s PA. I probably know his house better than I know my apartment, which is nothing short of sad.

  I know that Robert, if he’s up, is probably in his basement workshop, working on another one of his mind-boggling, technology-advancing inventions. See, Robert is crazy-smart. Like ridiculously smart. He graduated from MIT at twenty – twenty! – with two degrees. A lot of the technology mass-produced by Swift Enterprises is some form of Robert’s creation. Before him, his father invented a lot of the technology the company sold. Swift Enterprises is a very hands-on company. Obviously.

  I walk up the grand staircase and down the west wing of the second floor. Robert’s bedroom is the size of my apartment, not including his elaborate attached bathroom with a Jacuzzi bathtub and a removable stainless steel shower head. Okay, I can admit it. I have bathroom envy.

  I open the door without the pretext of knocking and I’m not surprised to see the three models still asleep. For whatever reason, I’m in a state of annoyance meshed with frustration. I mean, I still have no idea why this is my job – getting rid of Robert’s floozies, who I’m sure are very nice – but Robert’s always been immature when it comes to tying up loose ends concerning the matters of the heart. In this case, matters of the – Well, you know.

  They must have heard my heavy sigh because one by one, they start to wake up.

  “Who are you?”

  Yes, one of them has the gall to actually ask me that. And to look gorgeous seconds after waking up.

  “Bella, are you an idiot? That’s Madeline Perkins, the girl Robbie teased about the wrinkle on her nose.”

  “Who?” Obviously Bella is not a morning person.

  “Duh, Bella. That’s Robbie’s personal assistant.”

  Robbie? Twice before nine in the morning? Okay, this has got to stop. Because it’s too early for me to deal with the sorority house that Robert’s bedroom is becoming.

  “Jeez, Kay. Calm down. How am I supposed to know that? She’s his assistant, not his sister. And what’s she doing here? And where’s Robbie?”

  “Maybe he’s getting us coffee.” This idea seems to delight Kay and she smiles her megawatt smile that lights up her whole face, but it’s kind of weird to see, because she’s so well-known for pouting that smiling on her seems unnatural. “Wouldn’t that be sweet?”

  “Why would Robbie get us coffee when he has, like, four butlers?” the third woman asks in a knowing manner.

  “Actually, Robert doesn’t have any butlers,” I say, my voice acquiring a firmness that signals my delicate patience is about to be throttled. “And his name is Robert, not Robbie. He’s actually never been called Robbie and hates it when people address him as such.” Hmm. Maybe I should try the whole Robbie thing whenever he starts throwing Maddy my way. Only if the environment isn’t professional, of course. But I’m getting off track. “Now that you’re all up, I’m sorry to inform you that you will need to leave now. There’s coffee downstairs if you need it, and I’m sure you can collect the clothes that are scattered across the room, differentiate which thong belongs to which woman, and once you’re ready, there’s a car downstairs waiting to take you anywhere you want to go.”

  “Where’s Robbie?” Bella asks.

  “And who do you think you are?” Kay finishes.

  “Bitch,” the blonde mutters.

  “As you’ve been discussing in front of me,” I answer slowly, “I am Robert’s PA. Robert’s.” I shoot a glance at Bella. “Which means I know him much better than his sister, if he had one. I’m going to leave you now, but if you’re not off the premises in fifteen minutes, I will get a slew of security guards here in a manner of seconds.”

  “Slew?” Kay asks.

  “It means a lot,” Bella snaps, taking me by surprise; there’s a possibility that her vocabulary is more extensive than I originally believed.

  They begin to get up, not ashamed in the least that they’re all naked in one form or another. But then again, they have what the media deems we mere mortals all desire – a perfect body – so they really have nothing to be ashamed about. However, as I watch them from the corner of my eye to ensure they don’t try to swipe anything from Robert’s room in order to show proof of their conquest, I realize two things: 1) my size six frame is much more sensual than I give it credit for and I should probably start appreciat
ing my body more and 2) even models have cellulite.

  “You know,” the blonde drawls as she slides on the shiny, slinky number she had on at the shoot. “It really must say something about the relationship you have with Robbie if you’ve been working for him for three years as his assistant and he still has you getting rid of his sexual partners instead of doing it himself.”

  I really want to retort something witty in return to her enlightening remark, but I can’t because she’s absolutely right. Miss Blonde Supermodel is correct in her assessment of Robert and me. Robert doesn’t like confrontation and tears and proclamations of love so instead of dealing with them – especially if he knows that such things will happen given the fact that he sleeps with everyone with breasts – he shifts the work onto me, which isn’t actually part of my job description. Although, half the things I do for Robert aren’t part of my job description, really.

  So why do I do them? Why do I allow Robert to continue to be immature and irresponsible? I’m his enabler, I realize, and the more I let him refuse dealing with the consequences of his actions, the more he’s going to expect me to deal with them and it won’t change. Ever.

  Before I can ponder any solutions to this problem, I shake myself out of my thoughts in order to focus on getting the supermodels out of the house. Luckily, security isn’t needed this morning. There have only ever been two times when security was needed. The second time had me in the hospital because the up-and-coming starlet thought I was Robert’s other woman and threw her very pointy pump at me. Robert was, suffice it to say, extremely pissed, and I got three stitches and a small, crescent-shaped scar on my hairline. The woman never got work in Hollywood again because of Robert, and interestingly enough, he didn’t leave the hospital until the doctors released me.

  But I’m getting off-track.

  I really shouldn’t be thinking of that Robert when I needed to be mad at him. Not to mention the huge workload that is starting to seriously pile up.

  I head down to the basement, type in another key code before a bulletproof, soundproof glass door pops open for me. Iron Maiden is blasting from the speakers so loudly I can’t hear myself think. Immediately, I turn off the music which causes the hidden Robert to stand from his crouched position. He’s in jeans that fit him just right and a black wife beater that reveals his broad shoulders and nicely toned arms. His hair is messier than normal. It’s in moments like these where I think Robert looks best; sure, he’s gorgeous in expensive, tailor-made suits, but I like him best when he’s working with his hands - which are heavily callused by the way - a little dirty, greasy, grungy, but still sophisticated.

  “Do I have to remind you, yet again, about the rule regarding my music?” he asks as he slides off his goggles.

  “Only if I get to remind you that dismissing supermodels from the premises isn’t in my job description,” I reply and push up my brow, a silent challenge.

  He gives me a long look before breaking eye contact and resting his hands on the worktable in front of him. “I don’t see any blood on your face,” he points out.

  “Yeah, I don’t think they were scrappy or anything. There were three of them, however.” I sigh, reaching up to push the stray strands of hair out of my face. “Listen Robert, there are so many things I need to do today in regards to, you know, the Homeless Assistance party, the meetings I now have to reschedule –“

  Before I can continue, Robert reaches over and clamps his hand over my mouth. “I’ve taken care of it,” he tells me.

  He releases me after a moment too long, but I don’t pay any attention to that. Instead, I’m more intent on trying to decipher his cryptic words.

  “You’ve taken care of it?” I ask. “And just how did you do that?”

  “Between the Chinese Theatre and Walk of Fame, I made a call to the temp agency and hired you an assistant,” he says and then wipes his hands together. As if he could somehow get rid of the grime currently occupying his hands without the aid of bleach. “There’s too much coming up, what with Christmas, New Year’s, charity events, business meetings, and I wanted to make sure you have it all covered. Not to say that you can’t handle it,” he adds quickly, and he’s lucky he does, because if he can read the look on my face, he should discover that I’m not too pleased by his insinuation at my lack of balance. “But for the past three years you’ve been working constantly, through the holidays. As much as it’s going to kill me, I want you to take a few days off. Go visit family. You know.”

  “Robert, as much as I appreciate you thinking about me and my workload, I’d appreciate it if you refrain from attempting to think you know what’s best for me.” I give him another look. “I can do my job, but you make it extremely difficult, what with canceling everything at the drop of a hat, or should I say, drop of panties, with no notice, and since you don’t like dealing with anyone, everyone gets mad at me, including your fantasy femme fatales and the Board and everyone else you come in contact with. And it’s going to take long for me to redo everything that you’ve undone.”

  I only stop because I need to breathe but Robert’s giving me this weird, enigmatic look through his heavy brown eyes that it’s hard to acquire breath in the first place. And suddenly I realize that I’m complaining about a job anyone else would be lucky to have. I shut my mouth and sigh, breathing as deeply as I can.

  Sometimes, Robert makes me so mad that I just want to walk out, quit, and have him solve everything because he doesn’t solve anything, except science and technology questions. But other times, Robert makes me feel… taken care of. Which, when you haven’t had a family in fifteen years, feels refreshing, and nice, and scary because you don’t know how long that feeling’s going to last.

  “Are you done?” he asks after a moment.

  I don’t respond. I don’t say anything. I do look at him though.

  “As self-absorbed as you think I am, I do think about you occasionally,” he says. “More than occasionally, actually, especially when you wear those high heels with that skirt, but that’s neither here nor there. Maddy, I get that you’re upset with me and that you can handle what’s on your plate no matter how much it is. There’s a reason why I’ve kept you around for three years and it’s not just because you’re gorgeous. I trust you, Maddy, a lot more than you realize. But I can also see just how stressed you are, and this new hire will help with that. So how about you start taking your own advice and stop being so stubborn?” He pushes his brow up and gives me that disarming grin. “So what do you say? I’m sure she’s at the office now, waiting for your direction.”

  I swallow and let his words sink in. You know, my own assistant might be nice to have. Especially now, with the holidays and the parties that have tripled since last year. And plus, it’ll only be temporary. Loathe as I am to admit it, he’s right. About my pride.

  I guess I’m just used to handling everything on my own. It might be nice to share the load. Just this once.

  “And you?” I ask. “Are you coming in today?”

  “Yeah, later this afternoon,” he tells me with a nod. “I’m halfway done with this – Well, I’ll explain it to you later.”

  “Right.” I breathe in again and turn, heading for the door.

  “Maddy.”

  His voice stops me and as I spin around, I give him an expectant stare. But the teasing look has disappeared from his face.

  “Thanks for what you did for me this morning. I appreciate it.”

  And just like that, I’m not so mad at him about the whole supermodel, lack of confrontation thing. Which just makes me even more frustrated with him.

  Jewel Baker is a twenty-six-year-old temp worker who specializes in filing, taking calls, and organization. Basically, my old job when I was working for Dick. But there’s a sweetness about her, whether that’s because of her calm, pale blue eyes or the smile that shows the small gap between her teeth or that the shoes on her feet are more for comfort than fashion, I’m not sure. But I know I like her from the moment I see h
er waiting in the lobby of the fifth floor.

  “Miss Baker?” I say as I head over to her, straight from the elevators. Robert’s secretary Leigh sent over Jewel’s resume via Blackberry so I know everything important about Jewel Baker before I even set foot in the building.

  She stands and I smile. “Hi, I’m Madeline Perkins, Robert’s PA.” We shake hands. “Thank you so much for coming in on such short notice.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem,” she says in a soft-spoken voice as she follows me into Robert’s office. No one goes in there if Robert’s not in, except, of course, me. “In fact, I should be thanking you. I never expected whatsoever to get called in by Swift Enterprises. Target, maybe. Or Best Buy. You know, the corporate office. But not Swift Enterprises.”

  “It’s not a problem.” I open the door and wait for her to go in before I follow, letting the door close gently behind us. I quickly inform her of her job requirements – helping me handle everything that needs to be done in terms of setting up meetings, organizing events, and even simpler, taking messages and scheduling meetings. “Now, here’s a contract for you to look over and sign. It basically says what I’ve just told you, and gives the duration of your stay, which I’m assuming won’t be longer than January fifth of next year. So you’d be working roughly two and a half months. But if we need you longer, this contract requires me to draw up a new one. Make sure you take in your wages, the proper protocol, you know.

  “The next thing I’m about to give you is a confidentiality agreement. If you speak of Mr. Swift’s personal business to anyone besides those who are in the need-to-know circle, the contract is terminated and you’ll be fired immediately.”

  I watch as she looks over everything. It’s about a half an hour before she’s read and signed the paperwork. I take the sheets and head over to his desk where I file them.