by Nikki Chase
I have to say I’m relieved. I was getting worried she might ask questions about rings and engagements.
I mean, I have plenty of questions myself. Like, does it count as being engaged if the paramedics found a diamond ring in the pocket of my boyfriend-slash-fiancé, but he didn't get a chance to actually pop the question?
Either way, it's not something I want to share with the office gossip, no matter how nice she is or how much she makes me laugh.
I crumple up my brown lunch bag and throw it into the trash. On the computer screen, Google Flights is still showing me the airfare options for Cole and Steffi’s trip to Seattle.
One First Class ticket for Cole and one economy ticket for Steffi. Two deluxe suites at the hotel.
If these two really turn out to be an item, they must have the strangest relationship dynamics ever. Or there may really be trouble in paradise, as Lily puts it.
I wonder if there could be any truth to what Lily says. Could Cole possibly be treating me special? There was some flirting last night, but he probably does that with many girls.
And for all the fuss people make over the interview, it can probably be explained by my having Marco on my side. Marco has always been persuasive. He probably put in a really good word for me, so good the CEO himself wanted to meet me.
I softly shake my head as I click around to see the details of the flights available. It’s crazy to suggest I’m involved with Cole in that way. Sure, he’s hot as hell, but I'd be nuts to even think about us being together in that way.
Firstly, if I want to get ahead in my career, I need my boss to take me seriously.
Secondly, yeah he's filthy rich, but so what? I make enough to support myself, and I take pride in that. I’m not going to sell my soul — and my body — just to be some guy’s arm candy and be dependent on his wealth for the rest of my life
Thirdly, Cole Foster is like the most eligible bachelor in the whole city. He’s hot, successful, and charming when he wants to be — I’ve seen him work his magic on the most difficult business clients. I’m not ready to take on half the single girls in San Fransisco as my competition.
Lastly, he probably has slept with half the single girls in San Fransisco. He keeps a lower profile these days, but the tabloids used to print pictures of him with a new girl hanging on his arm every week.
I’m not interested in just getting laid. I want a real, deep, enduring connection with someone who really gets me. And I’m not going to find that in Cole Foster.
I mean, what would we even have in common?
He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and I've had to struggle my whole life.
Sure, they say Cole has worked his ass off to make Foster Hotels the success that it is today.
But with his wealthy family and powerful network behind him, how can it possibly fail? I've come across Foster Senior at the office a few times, probably providing priceless business advice to his son.
And how much of a workaholic can he be if he goes home before I do most nights?
Wait. Where was I?
Right. Cole Foster. Rich spoiled brat. Not going to happen.
I open my email window and sigh when I still don't see Steffi's reply to my message.
Is it really so hard to quickly type out her information in an email? This is not part of my job description, so it’s bad enough she’s making me do this. Now she's deliberately turning it into a difficult task.
It's probably going to be faster if I just try asking her in person again.
I scribble the flight times available on a piece of paper and take it to Steffi's office.
I knock on her door. There's no response.
"Steffi," I say, knocking harder.
When I only hear silence from inside, I grab the door handle and slowly open it.
She's not here. Strange. I didn't see her leave the office, but then I was busy daydreaming about her hot alleged boyfriend.
There's a plain envelope on the desk. There's no writing on it, but the bulk suggests that it contains something.
I wonder if Steffi's personal details are in that envelope. Maybe she’s already written down all the information I need and left it on her desk for me to find. Perhaps Steffi is not the monster I've built her up to be in my head.
I pick up the envelope and find a folded piece of paper inside. As I read it, my hands grow shaky. It becomes harder and harder for me to read the letters.
This doesn't make any sense. I was wrong. Steffi is worse than the monster I've built her up to be in my head.
8
Emily
“Lily, Cole’s in his office, right?”
“Yes, but—“
Before she can finish, my knuckles are already rapping on the big solid wooden door. My whole body is shaking.
“What are you doing?” Lily stands up and leaves her desk to approach me. “He’s busy.”
“I don’t care how busy he is. He’s going to want to hear this,” I say without even turning my head to look at her. I raise my hand up and knock again, a little louder this time.
“Are you crazy?” Lowering her volume to a loud whisper, she says, “Foster Senior is in there!”
As if my heart weren’t already beating hard enough. Sometimes Cole’s father comes into the office and they spend some time alone. Nobody ever dares to interrupt them because if people are scared of Cole, they’re terrified of his father.
Well, it’s probably too late to back down now anyway.
Just when I’m about to knock again, the door cracks open a few inches. The part of Cole’s annoyed face that I can see through the gap tells me this is indeed a bad time. And with my hand still frozen in the air obviously about to knock again, I’m pretty much caught in the act.
“Can’t this wait?” His thick eyebrows furrow, telling me I’m not wanted.
“You’ll want to see this,” I say, offering him the piece of paper I found inside the unmarked envelope on Steffi’s desk.
He grabs the letter impatiently, glancing behind his back before he unfolds it. All I can see of his father is his back and his full head of silver hair.
“Fuck,” Cole curses. Then he looks behind him again. Is he…is he worried about cursing in front of his father? Because that would be adorable.
“Alright,” the older man says as he gets up from his chair. “What’s happening here?”
The closer he gets, the faster my heart beats. Despite his age, he’s an intimidating man. He looks like the kind of person who has seen and done a lot of things in his life, and not all of them are good things.
I know now why Lily panicked over me interfering with their precious father-son bonding time. Even the tough guys in the ghetto would think twice before messing with Foster Senior.
“It’s nothing,” Cole says.
“Let me see.” Mr. Foster takes the letter from Cole’s hands.
“Our marketing manager just quit,” Cole says while the three of us stand around by the door, which Mr. Foster has swung wide open.
“So hire another one,” Mr. Foster says.
“It’s not that simple,” Cole says. “She was supposed to deliver the presentation at the conference in Seattle next week.”
Cole suddenly glares at me. He places a hand on the door and pushes it like he’s about to shut me out.
“Let’s talk inside,” Mr. Foster says, walking back toward the desk. “And have the girl come in as well. I want to hear what she has to say.”
Cole seems irritated, but he lets me in anyway. Is he angry at me? Could he actually be blaming me for Steffi’s resignation?
Maybe the rumors are true. Perhaps they’re dating and they’re having problems because of me.
Really? Cole Foster sabotages his own relationship for me?
One can dream, of course. But there are limits to how seriously one takes that dream if one doesn’t want to be labeled completely batshit crazy.
“Thank you, Mr. Foster,” I say.
“Sit do
wn,” he says, gesturing at the empty chair beside him. “And tell me what happened.”
“Uh, there’s not much to tell, really,” I say a little too quickly. Have I mentioned I may be nervous? “I found the resignation letter on her desk when I went into her office for something else.”
“Something else?”
“I was about to book the flight tickets for the trip to Seattle and I needed her details.”
“Book the flight tickets?” Mr. Foster raises his eyebrows. They’re just as thick as Coles’ are, except they’re white. He looks across the desk at Cole, who is now sitting down in his leather chair. “You’re not taking the private jet?”
“Just trying to improve the bottom line,” Cole says. He seems calm on the surface, but the way his fingers lightly tap on the desk betrays his restlessness.
“There’s no need for this to be a big problem,” Mr. Foster says. “Can’t you do the presentation yourself?”
“I haven’t prepared anything. I don’t even know what she was planning to speak about,” Cole says.
“Um, I do.” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, both men fix their dark eyes at me, urging me to continue. I look at Cole and say, “Remember when I was staying behind to work on something?”
“Yes,” Cole says. He purses his lips, looking unhappy.
“Well, I was working on the presentation.”
“How much of it did you work on?” Mr. Foster looks at me intensely.
“I did the research and I put together the slides,” I say. “The only thing left to do is the actual presentation script.”
“That’s solved, then,” Mr. Foster clasps his hands together, as if concluding the conversation. “You can go to Seattle with Cole and I’m sure the two of you can come up with something.”
“Me?” I ask incredulously. “I’m just a junior marketer, Mr. Foster.”
“Who cares? You were the one who prepared the presentation, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Then you probably even know it better than the manager who resigned.” He has a way of talking that makes it feel more like he’s issuing orders rather than having a conversation, even though he’s perfectly polite about it.
I turn toward Cole. He’s still silently tapping his desk. What is he thinking about?
I didn’t expect this turn of events at all. I personally would love to go to Seattle and play a part in this presentation. It’s a big opportunity that can lead to bigger and better things for my career.
But in the end, it’s Cole’s decision, him being my boss and all. I have a feeling Mr. Foster is the one who actually calls the shots here, though.
“That’s settled, then,” Mr. Foster says. “Why don’t you go and book the tickets for the two of you, Miss…?”
“Webb. Emily Webb.”
“Right. Miss Webb.” Mr. Foster’s eyes dart toward Cole and I think I see a hint of anger or at least irritation in his eyes, but he quickly regains his composure. “Perhaps you can make arrangements for the trip now.”
Something has changed. Mr. Foster is not a friendly man, not by any stretch of the imagination. But he has impeccable manners that can make him seem almost warm. Now, though, it feels like the temperature has dropped by twenty degrees.
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll go and do that now.”
I hurriedly get up, almost toppling my chair in the process, but Mr. Foster manages to catch it in time before it falls loudly on the floor. His lips form a small smile as he puts the chair back in its place, but his eyes remain cold.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Webb,” Mr. Foster says.
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Foster,” I say, giving him an awkward smile.
While leaving the office, I look over my shoulder and see Cole with a strange expression on his face. He’s staring into space with his teeth gritted. His fingers are still tapping on the desk. I can’t see Mr. Foster’s face with his back to me. They’re both silent.
The tense atmosphere makes me want to leave this office and get back to the normal world out there, where I don’t have to deal with my boss’ family affairs.
The door creaks when I open it. I didn’t notice the noise when I first entered Cole’s office for the interview, but now it’s so loud I feel like it’s drawing all the attention to me. Without looking back, I slip out and close the door behind me.
9
Cole
“Have you gone soft in the head, boy?”
I hate it when my father calls me “boy.” Sometimes I think he uses it only to irritate me, but then I quickly tell myself that’s ridiculous. I know he probably just doesn’t care.
“I wasn’t the one who asked her to go to Seattle,” I say, trying to sound unaffected.
“That is not the fucking point,” he says.
You have to hand it to the old man. He’s obviously furious, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he’s still speaking calmly. The only difference is his choice of words. He doesn’t usually curse.
“What were you thinking?” He stares directly into my eyes, challenging me.
I shrug. I’m not taking his bait.
Most people would cower and give him what he wants, but over the years I’ve learned that’s not the right way to deal with him, not if you want to get back at him in some little, petty way.
I know staying quiet and unconcerned gets him all riled up and he doesn’t like that. It makes him realize he’s not in full control of everybody at all times.
"What, did you think you were saving her or something?"
It's working. He's starting to get agitated. I can tell from the way he talks. He's going to continue asking questions now. Robert Foster's patented interrogation technique.
"You think you're doing her a favor to make up for what happened?"
He's trying to goad me into a big reaction, the kind that makes most people spill their secrets. But I'm not most people. I've dealt with him my whole life.
“You think she's going to forgive and forget just because you gave her a job? 'Oh, it's such a privilege to work with you I don't even care about the past.’ Is that what you think she'll say?"
Under different circumstances, I would've laughed at Robert Foster speaking in a feminine high-pitched voice to imitate Emily — poorly. But despite my outer nonchalance, I know this is not the time for fun and games.
"Please. Spare me the pop psychology," I say.
"Pop psyc—" He stops talking mid-sentence to take a deep, angry breath. He tries a different tack. "Then tell me. Help me understand."
"There's nothing to understand," I insist. "I needed a junior marketer and she needed a job. Voilà. Capitalism at its finest."
“Do you take me as a fool, boy?” He takes another deep breath.
I wonder if that's something his new shrink taught him. Count to ten to make all your problems go away. The thought of him lying down on the sofa and talking with some therapist about his feelings… For fuck’s sake. He probably thinks he’s Tony Soprano.
“Why can't you stick with the rules, at least sometimes?”
“Sorry I'm not Caine,” I say.
My brother has always been his favorite. I made my peace with that a long time ago, but in moments like these I enjoy the flash of pain in my father’s eyes, the subtle wincing that deepens the lines around them.
People say we look alike. I can see where they’re coming from. I have to look at this mug in the mirror every morning after all. Sometimes it feels so much like having my father look at me I can almost feel the disapproval and disappointment. It’s a daily reminder of all the things I’ve failed to do.
But all things considered, it’s not the worst thing in the world to look like Robert Foster. After Mom died, ladies started throwing themselves at him. If nothing else, I guess I can count on having a full head of hair in my old age.
“This is not about Caine,” he says, as if anything with him is ever not about Caine. “This is about you. You and your chr
onic hero complex.”
Come on, I can’t be expected to hear that and maintain a straight face.
“Is that something your shrink mentioned?” I snort at the mental image of the powerful, ultra-masculine man in front of me whining about how his son is being mean to him. “Do you talk about me with your shrink, Pop? Do you tell him how I keep hurting your feelings?”
“Would you stop trying to change the subject?” He throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. Ah, that’s a rare reaction. It’s truly beautiful to watch.
He lets out an angry sigh, and then another one. In the middle of the next sigh, he starts talking again, as if he’s realizing the take-ten-deep-breaths trick isn’t working.
“We did the right thing for now,” he says. “It would’ve looked more suspicious if we didn’t ask her to go to Seattle.”
“Oh, so it’s ‘we’ now, huh?”
“Yes, because you’ve just dragged me into it. This is a family matter now. It’s not just about you anymore. It was never just about you in the first place.”
“Right. Everything is about the family with you. Because you’re such a family man,” I say.
That’s all he talks about. The family. As if the things he does are all for our benefit. But in reality, he just wants to be in control of everything because he thinks he knows what’s best for everybody. Such arrogance.
For the good of the family. I don’t know how many times he has justified his actions with this little phrase. I fucking hate it.
“Don’t mock me, boy,” he says, a hint of threat in his voice.
“Come on, Pop,” I say. It’s my turn to take a deep breath now. “You think that’s going to work on me? I’m sure it works on most people, but I’m not scared of you.”
He shoots me a sharp glare. I have to admit it is a little scary. Just a little. It’s like there’s some kind of razor steel in his eyes that can cut my skin and slash into my flesh.
“You should be,” he says.