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

by Heather C. Myers

  “We have more than a professional relationship,” he says, cutting me off and getting that enigmatic look on his face once again. How I wish I had the knowledge to be able to read that look! “To be honest, Maddy, I consider you–”

  “Robert, let’s not even go there, okay?” I’m not sure why I stop him. I know he’s not going to confess his undying love for me or anything. But sometimes, it’s just easier for things to be left unexplained and unsaid. “I know what we have. I’m not worried about it. But we need to focus, right? You have a very important meeting in five minutes and it needs your full attention. You and I are fine. You and I will probably always be fine. There’s no need to worry on that front, okay?”

  He looks at me and I could swear he’s going to say something else, to finish his thought, but he decides not to. Thank God. Instead, he gives me that lopsided grin and throws his arm over my shoulders.

  “You’re right,” he tells me.

  “I know,” I say, grabbing my papers that I would need for the meeting I had set down on his desk. “Now, go and do what you’re good at. Kick butt and take names.”

  He looks down at me, and I can instantly tell that he’s amused now. “You can say ass, you know,” he says, then stops abruptly, and places a hand on my shoulder so I’m forced to stop as well. Then he leans really close to my ear and whispers, “Oh God, is Brick Scott going to be in there?”

  “Of course Brick Scott is going to be there,” I reply. “You know, I don’t get what’s going on between you two. Just because you’re the same age and both have control over your fathers’ rival companies doesn’t mean you’re mortal enemies. Swift Enterprise stock is only going up, and Mr. Scott has expressed an interest in possibly investing in the company. I thought this was good news.”

  “It would be, if Scott wasn’t the biggest dick ever,” Robert murmurs. “I don’t trust that guy.”

  “Maybe it’s because both of you are the biggest business playboys since Donald Trump,” I suggest, an innocent smile on my face. “If it’s any consolation, I prefer you to Mr. Scott.”

  “Really?” he asks, trying to keep the curiosity from his voice. “You have to say that, don’t you, Maddy? Then again, it’s not like Scott is on the cover of GQ or anything.”

  Once we’re out of his office, I shrug his arm off my shoulder and head into the conference room with Robert right behind me. I already have everything he needs set up, and the potential investors are already there. I see Jewel has already served them beverages and snacks so unless one of them has to go to the bathroom, I think the meeting is ready to begin. I take a seat at the far end of the long, oval-shaped table everyone is sitting around and put down the paperwork I have with me. Even though it isn’t a necessity, I always take my own notes at all of Robert’s meetings, but I never speak up or add anything. This is Robert’s thing, and he can do this on his own, even with Brick Scott in the meeting.

  Secretly, I always love watching Robert take command of whatever meeting he has to be in. When it’s something serious like this, his eyes harden and his lips curl down and his hands gesture somewhat excessively in order to get whatever point he’s trying to make across. He always makes eye contact and his voice is always firm and clear. And Robert always knows what he’s talking about. Plus, his charm is like some kind of toxin that not even stuffy suits are immune to. A half an hour into the meeting and I can already see them start to nod. Even Brick Scott, who I know feels exactly the same way about Robert that Robert feels about him, seems to be swayed. In fact, when no one’s looking, Robert shoots me a wink – a sign that he believes everything is in the bag.

  When the meeting finishes, I stay in my seat in order to watch the businessmen leave. Robert and I always have a five-minute wrap-up session after meetings which consist of anything he may have forgotten, what I overheard and observed since no one really pays attention to me, and anything else we feel we need to share.

  But Brick Scott stays behind, waiting until everyone else – besides me, of course – has left and the doors have closed. I can already feel the tension between the two men thickening and my body straightens. My hand is on my cell phone just in case I need to call security.

  You never know with Brick Scott. While Robert is known for being a charming Casanova in the media, Brick is known for getting into fights with the paparazzi.

  “I have to hand it to you, Swift,” Brick says, shifting his eyes from my face to Robert’s. “You sure do know how to win people over, don’t you? And I suppose it helps that you’re really hands-on with your company.”

  For whatever reason, the hair on the back of my neck stands up at his tone when he says that. It’s almost as if he’s suggesting –

  “See, the only problem I have with you and Swift Enterprises is why the fuck would I want to invest my money when I can’t take you seriously?” He shrugs his shoulders and gives Robert a look. “Everyone knows you’re fucking your assistant, and while she has legs to die for and perfect tits, it’s not very professional.”

  I want to be offended – and I am – but I’ve heard worse come out of Brick Scott’s mouth. Luckily, never around Robert or else poo would certainly hit the fan. And there’s no way in hell I’d ever tell Robert because he doesn’t need to worry about someone as immature as Brick Scott.

  The depressing thing about Brick Scott is that he’s smart – though not as smart as Robert – and good-looking and I think he genuinely cares about his fiancée. He’s just such a jerk when it comes to business, especially when it comes to Robert. I still have no clue how their feud started, but I know it was before my time. I’ve asked Robert about it, but he’s pretty mum about the subject. Not that he doesn’t trust me, but he really doesn’t like talking about Brick Scott.

  And before I even realize what’s about to happen, poo really does hit the fan when Robert, without even thinking, I assume, because Robert’s normally very rational when conducting business in a business environment, socks Brick Scott in the face. The whole scene, to me, is in slow motion, and I watch as Brick grunts and staggers back, but manages to catch his balance before falling on his face. My eyes immediately go to the windows encasing the conference room, but luckily they’re reflective. Occupants inside can see out, but no one can look in. Robert’s father was pretty concerned about leaking any secrets, apparently.

  “If you ever talk about her that way again, I’ll run you into the ground,” Robert says in a voice I’ve never heard come out of his mouth before.

  And, when I turn to look at my boss, I’m shocked that Robert looks mad. I know it’s silly because he sure sounds mad and he sure acted mad by punching – punching! – Brick Scott, but I’ve never seen him look mad, and it causes me to unconsciously flinch.

  “I don’t need your investment,” he says, wiping off his hands. “Now get out before I throw you out myself.”

  Like Brick Scott needs to be told twice. But he too looks pissed, and I’m already calling Robert’s lawyer to explain the situation because I’m afraid Brick’s going to press charges and the media is somehow going to find out about this and lots of other things.

  Robert grabs the phone from me and hangs it up before I can speak to Michelle.

  “He won’t press charges,” he assures me. “Brick is the biggest dick in all of Los Angeles and as such, he’s been socked in the face before. He’s not the type of guy to press charges.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t sock you back,” I say and then I give him a look. “Gosh, Robert, was that even necessary? Was your masculinity challenged or something? Jeez, let me see your hand.” Without waiting for a response, I take his hand in mine and realize that it will definitely swell. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself. All right, I’m going to get some ice. Can I leave you alone or will you get into a fight with Bill from HR? Maybe Crysler from the Board?”

  “Well, I’ve been wanting to punch Crysler in the face for a while, so no promises,” he drawls.

  I roll my eyes and start to hea
d out of the conference room and into the kitchen but Robert pulls me back. I push my brows up expectantly, waiting for whatever it is he wants to say to me.

  “Are you okay?” he asks in a soft voice.

  “I think maybe I should be asking you that question,” I say with a teasing grin, but he doesn’t smile in response.

  “What he said –”

  “Robert,” I say, cutting him off. I really don’t like talking about people’s colorful opinions of me and my relationship with Robert, least of all with Robert. “Really. You didn’t need to punch the guy. I’ve heard worse. I’ve read worse.”

  “You’ve heard worse? Who? I want names.”

  “You can’t just go around punching out every guy who says something ridiculous. It isn’t professional. I’ve been with you for three years and I don’t plan on quitting just because some prick insinuated we were sleeping together.” I pause, noticing a smile crawl onto his face. “What?”

  “You said prick,” he tells me.

  I flush. “Well, it was in a moment of weakness,” I say. “Now I’m going to get you some ice, and then I’m off to lunch with Jewel.”

  “You put up with a lot for me, don’t you?”

  I don’t have an answer to that because I’m not sure how and I don’t think I need to. We both know I put up with a lot in order to work for him, but it suddenly becomes clear to me that while Robert’s aware that such things occur and has read the media’s portrayal of our relationship, labeling it in so many different ways I didn’t know half were actually possible, he’s never been confronted with it. I can’t say for sure that that’s why he went off, but it makes sense. He just needs to get over it and move on like I have. It’s much easier.

  I give him one last smile and head out, proceeding to get him some ice wrapped in a damp towel. When I walk back into the conference room, I see Robert sitting in a lush chair, seemingly deep in thought. About what, I can’t say. But I’ve always wanted to know because Robert really doesn’t sit and think. He’s a talented multi-tasker, and that’s all he really knows. So seeing him just sitting there thinking catches me off-guard.

  He looks up when he hears me come in and I hand him the ice.

  “I didn’t know that if I injured myself, you would actually take care of me,” he says, taking the ice and putting it over his damaged hand. “Maybe I should get hurt more often.”

  “Oh God, am I going to have to write Bill from HR in order to get some psychological help for you?” I ask. “And just so you know, I’ve been taking care of you from the moment I met you, if you remember. Whenever you’re sick, or hungover, or throwing up either from being sick or drunk, or whenever you injure yourself down in your workshop and –”

  He holds up a hand. “I think I get it, thanks.”

  “Yeah, so you should probably try to stop injuring yourself so much,” I point out. “Now, is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?”

  “Oh, right. You’re going to lunch.” He frowns, looking out the reflective windows before shifting his eyes onto me once again. “Where are the two of you going?”

  “Well, we were originally going to Johnny Rockets, but she’s getting sick even though she’s totally in denial about it, you know? We have so much to discuss, what with the Christmas Eve Ball at St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital coming up soon, and the outfit you’re going to wear, and the toys we have to get for the kids, and…” I wave a dismissing hand. “Well, we’re going to try and be more health-conscious in hopes that Jewel will get over her impending sickness and get some Jamba Juice. Why? Do you want me to pick you up something?”

  And there he goes again, looking at me in such a way and I can’t figure out just what it means. The more he shoots that look at me – and now it’s becoming more and more frequent – the more I start thinking that maybe I should know what it means. But I don’t. I can’t, for the life of me, figure this out.

  “You’re so young, you know that?” he says, and interestingly enough, I don’t think he’s teasing me about my youth.

  “Well, I do whenever I’m around you,” I say because I have to crack a joke. It’s like a defense mechanism or something. “But I’m serious, Robert. I know how much you love Strawberry Wild. Do you want me to get you one or not?”

  His face crinkles with his smile as he says, “Totally.”

  Chapter 7

  No matter how much you might plan and organize and schedule, something outside the plan is bound to happen. I’m not a pessimist or anything – the cup is definitely half-full in my book – but I swear that’s just the way of the universe. I finished organizing everything for Robert tonight so that I could focus solely on the upcoming Christmas Eve party. Jewel helped, until I sent her home early because our Jamba Juice remedy did not, in fact, cure her of the cold she’s coming down with, but it didn’t take me too long.

  It’s about six thirty when I leave the office, and I decide to swing by Robert’s place in order to give him a copy of his new calendar, remind him he has to go shopping for something festive for the party even though he’s Jewish and has already celebrated Hanukah with children at a nearby orphanage – he literally gave each child eight presents to open for all eight days of Hanukah, which I felt was really sweet – and finally, to tell him that because of his little debacle with Brick Scott a few days ago, I would need to renew Jewel’s contract for another couple of months just in case the investors heard about Robert’s action and are thinking about pulling out last minute. I just want to be prepared for the worst.

  But again, I am hoping for the best.

  I pull up to Robert’s gate, enter the code, and go through Robert’s entire screening process before the gate lets me in. As I drive, I see a somewhat familiar black Jeep, and I wonder if Robert’s entertaining company he’s kept before, which would be surprising. Not that it’s any of my business, of course. But as his assistant, sometimes it’s best to know what’s up, just in case poo hits the fan and I have to clean up the mess. Which is usually the case with Robert, but I digress.

  I park in my usual place underneath a tall tree and head to the door. Robert gave me a key a couple of months into our professional relationship, but I choose to knock instead. If he is entertaining company, I don’t want to interrupt – or worse – walk in on anything I don’t want to see.

  I don’t have to wait long before Robert opens the door to see me. He looks somewhat surprised, and I can’t say I blame him. I probably look really gross, considering I haven’t had time to wash my hair the past three days, my pantsuit has wrinkles, and my hair has no doubt gone flat, even in the ponytail I’ve placed it in. My makeup is nonexistent and I think I can feel a pimple start to grow underneath my lips. Maybe Robert will let me use his Jacuzzi bathtub, but then again, he might have some stipulations that go with that permission, such as his joining in.

  Yeah, right.

  But then he smiles and steps aside, giving me space to enter.

  “Hey Maddy,” he says by way of greeting. “What’s up? Did you miss me already?”

  “I just wanted to remind you to –”

  But I’m cut off by a distinctly familiar voice.

  “Is that Madeline Perkins?”

  “Oh my goodness, Christopher Debrees?” I ask, completely forgetting why I’m here in the first place in order to give Robert’s old MIT roommate a gigantic hug.

  Christopher Debrees is one of the smartest men I’ve ever met in my entire life, second only to Robert. He’s good-looking in a geeky sort of way – tall and scrawny, sharp facial bone structure, and blue eyes that let you know without words just how much smarter he is than you – and besides Robert’s driver Sam and me, he’s the only other person to know Robert Swift as a whole, rather than one of the many sides of him. He is also married to a beautiful supermodel. Patricia Moncleaf is originally from France – where the couple lives today – and has a lucrative modeling career there. She’s also one hell of a business woman, which is how she and Christopher met.
With dark, curly hair and almond-colored eyes, it’s easy to see why she was last year’s Cover Girl Paris spokesperson. Even as she gets older, the job offers just keep pouring in. I guess you could say she’s France’s Heidi Klum.

  “What’s up, Madeline?” Christopher asks in his somewhat nasally voice. It used to really grate on my nerves, but now I’m used to it so it doesn’t bother me. That much. “Still keeping Robert in line, I see.”

  “Well, who else is going to do it?” I ask as I turn my attention to Patricia. “And he barely listens to me as it is.”

  “Yes, but you’re the only person I listen to,” Robert says, coming to stand beside me. “Maddy, they showed up on a whim – as the Debreeses do – and we were just about to sit down for dinner. Will you join us? I tried calling, but your phone was off. Speaking of which, how am I supposed to get a hold of you if you have your phone off? That doesn’t make sense. As your boss, I should be able to get a hold of you –”

  “You know,” Patricia says, cutting Robert off. “Madeline, you must realize that you are Robert’s longest relationship with a woman, do you not? Listen to how he speaks to you; I swear, if Christopher and I did not know the relationship between you two, I could almost swear you are married.”

  “Trust me, I keep asking and she keeps refusing,” Robert says. He claps his hands together and inclines his head towards the dining room. “So, dinner?”

  “When have you ever asked me to marry you?” I ask him in a quiet voice as we follow Christopher and Patricia to the table.

  “If I did, would you even say yes?” Robert asks, pushing his brow up as though he’s just proven a point. A point I am still struggling to understand.

  “No, because you wouldn’t mean it, and the only reason you would ask me in the first place is to protect your assets from the multitude of women you keep in your little black book, to shut said women up about marriage with you, to justify having me work for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, or to throw fuel onto an ever-burning media fire.”