Wide Awake: Part One (The Ward Family: Scott Ward Book 1)

by Miller, Jessie

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Copyright © 2015 by Jessie Miller. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or use fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or distributed in any form without the express permission of the author.

  Cover image credit: Margarita Borodina / Shutterstock

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Ms. Brandt. My office. Now.”

  I don’t get how people can want to be an executive assistant. You might think the money’s good, but at what cost are you willing to drop your ambition and personal life to live and serve someone completely? I’ve never been someone to back down when challenged, but I’ve also never been the kind of person who dreams of spending their life serving someone who cares mostly about wealth and power.

  Scott Ward, the newly named CEO of Ward Enterprises, is my boss and the bane of my existence. The reason why I never should have looked at careers in finance in the first place. I’m his second assistant, so really my job isn’t in finance, but ultimately administrative. Which can be worse. His first assistant, Molly, is older than I am and more experienced in the executive realm, so mostly I just help her help Scott.

  Lucky me.

  I applied because I thought it would be easy. A desk job where most days I could spend planning out my future and the career I really wanted, but I was wrong. What I learned is that not only is this job terrible, but I’m roped into scheduling secret meetings between Scott and the women who constantly visit him. They go in and out so often you could swear his door was revolving. Every day, I watch them go in clean and come out just a little bit disgruntled and messed up than when they went in. Which sickens me now that I think about it.

  Long story short: I hate my job.

  … Okay, hate is a strong word, but really, if you were in my position, you would hate it too. After all, this isn’t the life I wanted. Ever since I was little, I’ve wanted to be a doctor. I graduated at the top of my class from UCLA and Stanford. I thought any hospital in the United States would want to give me a great residency package if I had worked hard enough for it. I was wrong again.

  Apparently, attempting to work in the medical field in this country is next to impossible and extremely competitive nowadays. While I love traveling, watching the news and seeing countless terror attacks abroad scares me shitless. Does that make a coward? I guess it does.

  Then again, you would probably want my job. Higher floor can mean higher money. Plus all the men who walk into Scott’s office are dapper in their business suits. I’m an executive secretary to a very successful and young CEO and yet, I don’t even want to be here.

  I do nothing but get his coffee, make his appointments, and pay off his whores.

  Getting up from my desk, which is right next to his glass walled office, Molly mouths good luck as I make sure my skirt is smoothed down. My small notebook and pen are in my hands as I walk carefully to his door.

  Scott signals me to come in and close the door. He’s on the phone and his brows are creased. He pressed the button to fog up the glass, creating instant privacy between us and the rest of the office.

  “Martin, I told you, I’m not taking their excuses.” I stand awkwardly at his desk while he yells into the phone. His voice is dark, but whenever he’s stressed, I can hear the color in his voice appear. “They screwed up their own contract, so if they try to sneak in their products without my approval, they won’t have a business!” He slams down the receiver, accidentally knocking over the phone. He’s a mess. His dark blue eyes become lighter the more he relaxes. I stand still and notice how different he looks. I shouldn’t be looking at him this way, but I can’t help it. He removes his tie out of stress, throws it on the floor, and brushes his hand through his dark brown hair. This is a part of him I’ve never seen before. One that isn’t so egotistical.

  Every time I go into Scott’s office, I get scared. He has a reputation for firing assistants on the spot for mundane things. The office gossips about what his dark side could be like, but I never thought I would see it in person.

  “You can relax.” My back is still straight and at attention. This could be a trap for all I know. He cleans off the top of his desk and looks at me. “I want you to throw away the black notebook.” I feel my forehead creasing with question. “Shred it. At least, find a way to shred it.” The room is quiet except for the distant wailing of cars outside the building.

  “Certainly.” I’m the most awkward person on this planet. The prolonged silence makes this moment even awkward. He looks at me and then looks back at his desk. This is my moment to speak up. “Is there anything else, sir?”

  He looks at his aged hands as he fold them over his desk. I’ve become keenly aware of my surroundings. What this scene must look like to the people outside of the walls - who have never seen him take any of his employees into his office privately. Sure, Molly and I have gone inside his office, but the walls were never fogged, the door never closed. Every aspect of my job is public.

  “I don’t like where my life is taking me,” he says. “I need to focus more on my business and less on my dick.” I cringe. “That’s the only way I can run this business successfully. That brings me to our meeting. I have a proposition for you.” After his mini-speech, this should be interesting.

  “Proposition?”

  “If you look at my social calendar, you can tell there are many events that I attend.” I nod along. Just glancing at his calendar, you would think that he hires a clone to do his public bidding for him. No wonder he wants to cut out the damaging part of his life. “I need you to be my date for all of those events going forward.”

  My head automatically turns a little bit to the left. “I already go to those events with you.” My job is the Reminder. When he can’t remember names and reason why he socializes with them, I’m the one to debrief him.

  “Yes, but as my assistant.” He stares and straightens himself out. “In order for me to change my reputation, I need to have a companion, not an assistant.”

  My palms are clammy and I tighten my grip around my pen. “I still have my job, right?”

  “Yes,” he laughs a little. I try my best to relax. “Consider this … a new responsibility.” He begins, “Ms. Brandt, you’re a beautiful woman and the only one of my assistants who would possibly stand as my girlfriend. Even as a pretend one.” I carefully skip the sexual-harassment worthy comments and go straight to the inevitable.

  “These people already know I work for you. How could that ever be convincing?” He obviously doesn’t know me that well to think that I can just be someone who adores him.

  “Ms. Brandt.” He’s steady. “I know that I probably intimidate you, but you really do need to have some self-esteem.” Jack-ass. I’m not “intimidated by you” and I don’t want to be the trophy woman on your arm.

  I’ve never had poor self-esteem. My curves make me unique and beautiful. When I was younger, I was self-conscious, but now, I know that it’s about what makes you happy. Ladies, if some man, woman, beast, ever s
ays that you aren’t beautiful because you decide to go your own way? Well, they aren’t very deserving of your time, now are they?

  Scott tells me more and more about the job. He even includes that I would get a raise and I wouldn’t have to pay for lodging or food. Which is a perk, I guess. Normally, I hate feeling like someone’s charity case, but in this case, he probably thinks it’s added benefits to the job. I look down at my notebook as he stops talking. I notice I haven’t written anything. “Ms. Brandt?” I look up and Scott’s relaxed in his chair. “Is everything alright?”

  I look as he licks his lips.

  I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

  But I need the money.

  “I would like this in writing.” I can’t believe I’m requesting this. “Just in case this were to blow up in our faces.”

  He nods. “Yes. Of course. One step ahead of you.” He takes out a brown tied together folio out of his briefcase and hands it to me. “I had my lawyers draw up the terms. This is your copy. I have my own.”

  “So this is a contract?” I ask.

  “Not necessarily a contact, just… terms to our agreement.” I grab the folio. Scott relaxes and stretches his arms above his head. Unlike me, he works out. Molly says it’s to relieve stress, but knowing his past with other women, it’s vanity.

  “Is that all, sir?” I want to go back to my desk and try to pretend this meeting ever happened.

  “Along with my events going forward, I need you to come with me this weekend to my parent’s estate in Michigan.” The moment he requires that of me, I laugh. “Did I say something funny?” He’s serious. The dangerous part of working for Scott is his humor. He can go from demanding to joking, and then back to threatening all within the press of a button. When he staff underestimates him, that’s when people get fired. Sometimes I wish he wasn’t this way, but sadly, I can’t wish for anything.

  “I’m sorry, excuse me,” I say, awkwardly looking down at my knees. “This weekend? As in starting today?” I carefully choose my words before saying something that would upset him.

  “Did I stutter?” Now he goes back to demanding. He doesn’t yell at me, but the way his eyes get darker make me uncomfortable. “We’re leaving at 4:30.”

  My eyes widen. “It’s 2 o’clock now.”

  “And?” He raises an eyebrow.

  I bite the inside of my lip and remember to relax, to breathe. “That would mean that I have to leave now to pack and I don’t even know what to bring.”

  “Then leave now,” he says. “I will have Molly message you what you should pack.”

  I can’t believe I’m actually getting into this. Never had I even though that I would just drop my social life (really, lack there of) just to take on a job assignment. This is how I’m viewing this. A job assignment. Not a benefit. Not a perk. An assignment.

  “Can I ask something?” I say as I stand up. He nods. “What would we be doing at your family’s estate? Anything I should know ahead of time?”

  “Dinners, parties, coffee and conversation with my father, the usual.” He waves his hand around like all of those are a given. Like going with him to the Ward estate is just a walk in the park. When, in all actuality, I’m scared. Shitless. “I’ve already told my mother that I would be bringing along my girlfriend, so she’s pretty excited to meet you.”

  “You told them I was your girlfriend?” I become increasingly aware of my surroundings after I raise my voice. I shouldn’t be speaking with him this way - he’s still my employer. By the time I think on it afterwards, he’s smiling, not taking this moment seriously. “What is something goes wrong and I’m exposed? Your father knows me. You do realize that, right?” Before Scott took over as CEO, his father Peter Ward was my boss. I was his second assistant for the last two weeks before he retired. He wanted to leave the company and focus on his family. When no one was willing to step up to take it over, Peter had no choice but to give the company over to Scott - who won the votes of the advisory board and the only other Ward to want to take over.

  Don’t ask me how I know that. Word goes around real quick here in the office. Plus, as the secretary to an executive, you overhear a lot of interesting conversation.

  “Everything will be fine. All you have to do is grab my arm, laugh at my jokes, looking at me longingly. It’s your normal job, just with some added perks. I’ll take care of my father.”

  I’m careful to not say something I would regret later. The more he looks at me, the more I reluctantly begin to relax. The affect he has on me is frightening. He gives me a few moments to look over the paper work - which is only three pages long. After a silent moment and with hesitation, I agree to the terms. It’s only a weekend and according to the paperwork, if he were to use my services for other events, he has to have my permission and signature. I sign his copy and my copy of the paperwork and hand his copy back to him. My copy is burning in my hand. I can already feel myself regretting my choice.

  “Good.” He claps his hands together. “I’ll see to it that Molly handles the rest of your duties for the weekend. You are dismissed.” And just like that, our conversation is over.

  I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

  That’s going to be my mantra this weekend.

  “Yes, sir.” I get up from the desk, open the door, and walk out. Molly looks at me with worry, but I wave her off. “He’s giving me the rest of the day off. I’ll be back on Monday.”

  “You mean Tuesday,” she says with a smirk.

  Of course. I forgot. Monday’s Labor Day.

  Happy fucking Labor Day.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I take the blue line from the Water Tower Place to Wicker Park, where I live with my mother in a two bedroom apartment. Yes, I’m 25 and I live with my mother. We’ve been living in this building since I could remember. When I returned home from college, she wanted someone to stay with her so that she wouldn’t turn into the lonely cat lady. We already have one in the building, she didn’t want to turn into a statistic.

  When I arrive at the building, I climb the stairs to the sixth floor. The entirety of the situation hits me. I grip the railing of the stairs and steady myself, wondering why this is affecting me physically. What is it about Scott Ward that makes me insane? He’s an asshole who doesn’t know how to treat women, and I’m beginning to learn he thinks his employees will just do anything for him. Yes, he’s good looking, and I’m a woman who hasn’t had sex since she was an undergraduate, but the sheer stupidity of the contract I signed should steer me away from being physically attracted to him. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if this is me guilting myself. I could’ve said no. Could’ve said I was uncomfortable with everything, why don’t you ask Molly or one of your model friends, who look more than willing to assist you, Mr. Ward? Yet here I am, trying to figure my shit out and not get fired at the same time. If I keep thinking about it and stressing, all I’m going to do is make the weekend worse for me. What I really needed was a break.

  “Mom, I’m back!” I yell out when I open the door. I place my purse on the floor and close the door, locking the deadbolt. In the distance, I hear my mother talking to her daytime soaps on TV as they go to commercial. “What are you doing?”

  My mother, Pat, instead of sitting on her bright red arm chair, is bent over trying her version of crackpot yoga. All around the living room are her packed bags. Ever since she retired, Mom would travel every Labor Day weekend to California, where her sisters lived. This weekend would be no different. She tried to get me to go with her and I was even going to say yes, but once again, Scott Ward ruins my plans.

  She looks up, smiles, and almost collapses to the floor. I rush over, but realize she’s okay. “Just doing some stretches during commercial.” Mom has always been oblivious to the world around her. She had this mantra that she would say every day: “This is happening around me, not to me.” Because of that, she’s able to remain happy in a world that’s increasingly unhappy day i
n and day out. “Short day?”

  I shake my head and relax on the floor. I should be packing, but I need some moment to breathe. Looking at the clock, it’s 2:45 - not much time left. “No, actually,” I don’t even know how I’m going to say this to my mother. “Scott gave me a new assignment for this weekend.” I take my blonde curly hair and throw it into a loose bun. My skirt is gripping my thighs tighter and tighter. My palms begin to sweat. This is a sign that all of this is a panic attack waiting to happen. “Instead of being home for the weekend, I have to go on a business trip.”

  “That’s nice, honey,” she says.

  “No, Mom,” I shake my head while walking to the linen closet in the hallway for my suitcase. “It’s not. My boss wants me to pretend to be his girlfriend to get his rich family off his back.” I throw the suitcase on the floor - partly out of anger and it being heavy.

  “Well, you’re getting paid for it right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I don’t see what the issue is,” she says. “You never know, it might be exciting to see how the other half lives.” Unlike me, my mother has a very positive outlook on life, compared to where she started her life and the life she lives now. When we first moved into our building, I would spy on her and her girlfriends when they came over to drink and play cards. In one of their conversations, I heard my mom admit that she wishes she had another life. One where she could give me everything I wanted and she didn’t have to worry about rent and the scary men who lived on the corner. The rest of her girlfriends felt the same way, but I knew my mom felt it deep inside. After all, her friends had men to look after them and keep them afloat. Since I was born, it’s always been her and I.

  “You might meet someone there,” she says. Patricia Brandt has always been the sort of mother to want her daughter to marry a rich man and become a trophy wife.