by Claire Adams
After I washed my face, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed out my hair, which fell to the middle of my back. My hair was naturally blonde, but I’d let Amanda talk me into getting some lighter highlights when I first started working at the salon, and I liked how it turned out, so I kept up with it. Now, I wasn’t sure if I was going to do that, though I supposed I could go to a different salon.
I twisted my hair up and secured it with a tortoiseshell hair clip. I left the bathroom and slipped the shoes on, then looked at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. I looked decent, I thought; like someone who knew what she was doing, who had confidence in herself. That’s one of the things Caroline was always telling me: Fake it till you make it. My stomach might’ve been so full of butterflies that I wasn’t even going to attempt to have anything for breakfast, but I didn’t have to let anyone else know that. So long as I could pretend that I felt like I knew exactly what I was doing, then no one else would know any different.
I left early so I could stop and get coffee. My hand was on the car door handle, about to pull up when I heard my name. I froze.
“Daisy—Daisy, it’s me; hold up!”
I was parallel parked, so it wasn’t like I could just jump in the car and drive away. But it was broad daylight out, and there were people walking by on their way to work, and cars and taxis, so it wasn’t like I was alone. I gritted my teeth and turned just as Noah crossed the street and hurried over.
“Noah,” I said. “Um. What are you doing here? I’m on my way to work.”
“You are?” He sounded surprised. It was already quite warm, but he was wearing a blue sweatshirt, zipped all the way up. “I thought you weren’t working there anymore?”
“How do you know that?”
He gave me a sheepish look. “Well . . . I might have called there looking for you. You haven’t been answering my calls! Or responding to my texts! Have you been getting them?”
I’d blocked him, so, no, I hadn’t. “I’ve . . . I’ve been having phone issues,” I said, and immediately wished I hadn’t. What the fuck was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just tell him to fuck off? Why was there still some part of me that was worried about hurting his feelings?
“Oh,” he said, looking relieved. “Yeah. Phones can be a real pain in the ass when they don’t want to work, can’t they? It’s all fine and dandy when they ARE working, but when they’re not, boy . . .” He was talking too fast, like he thought if he stopped then I would use that as an excuse to get in my car and leave.
“Listen, Noah,” I said. “I’ve really got to get going. I don’t want to be late, and . . . I’ve just got to go. I don’t really know why you’re here right now, anyway.”
“I was just in the neighborhood,” he said, a defensive note in his voice. “Just taking a walk. That’s allowed, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is.” And I felt a sliver of doubt creep in—had I been imagining all this stuff? Was he really just out taking a walk, and we’d happened to run into each other? That sort of thing happened all the time. “I wasn’t trying to say that you couldn’t go out and take a walk. I just . . . I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that I don’t think we should hang out. I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s a good idea if you keep calling me.”
It came out in a jumbled rush, but I felt better once I’d said it. That hadn’t been so bad, had it? I’d always had a hard time sticking up for myself.
“But why not?” Noah asked, a perplexed look on his face. “Didn’t you have a good time? I did. I had a really great time. I had a better time with you than I ever had with anyone else. I mean that. And you know what else is funny? I knew that it was going to be like that. I knew from the first time I saw you—going into spin class, remember?—I knew that we were going to have this really amazing connection. A genuine connection. Not the superficial sort of crap that some people think passes for a relationship. And getting that smoothie with you, that just proved to me that I’d been right.” He beamed. It was as if he was reliving the happiest moment of his entire life. And then I realized: he was. Or at least, in his mind, he was, despite the fact that the entire time had been totally awkward.
But then another thought occurred to me: What if that really was the best time he’d ever had on a date? I was no dating expert, for sure, but even I knew that it wasn’t supposed to be like that. If it was, who would bother to go out on dates in the first place?
“And look,” he said, nodding at my shoes. I looked down at my feet.
“What?”
He pinched the front of his sweatshirt. “We’re matching! Those shoes of yours are the exact same color as my sweatshirt. I’ve never met anyone who’s had shoes that same color, and this is my favorite sweatshirt, so it’s something I’d notice.”
I smiled weakly. “Gee, that’s really something.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I’ve really got to get going,” I said.
“Where’s your new job?”
I pretended I didn’t hear him and got into my car. He went around and stood on the sidewalk, directing me as I tried to navigate my way out; the person behind me had parked way too close. I tried to ignore Noah in the side view mirror, but it was impossible because I needed to look in the mirror to make sure that I wasn’t going to clip the car. The thing was, I’d never been good at parallel parking, and I ended up watching his hand signals to help me get out of the spot.
“Thanks,” I said, putting the window down a little bit. I knew it would be better not to even acknowledge him, but he had helped me, and my good manners wouldn’t allow me to leave without saying something.
He grinned. “Don’t even mention it! Glad I could be here to help. I’ll call you!” he yelled as I drove off. Only when he was a tiny speck in my rearview mirror did I let out a sigh of relief.
But my relief was short-lived because then I stopped to get coffee. I went back and forth over whether or not I should get Ian a coffee, too. On one hand, he probably had already gotten himself one (or three, he seemed like the type who probably consumed many caffeinated beverages), or he had a coffee maker there or something. I tried to recall if I had seen one when I’d been on the interview, but I’d been too nervous to really take in any of my surroundings. And if I didn’t bring coffee, and he hadn’t had one, it would look rude. I stood there in line, the cashier staring at me, waiting for my reply to his question of: “Is that all?” as the line behind me grew longer. So I got a second one, even though the second I had the hot cup in my hand, I knew that he’d already have a coffee of his own.
But whatever. I could save the second coffee to drink later (although if I did I’d be super jittery—one big cup like this was about all I could handle). Or I could just dump it down the drain, which would be wasteful, but . . .
I shook my head as I walked into the building, trying to clear my mind of these ridiculous, pinballing thoughts. I just needed to focus on doing a good job, and showing Ian that he hadn’t made a mistake in giving me a chance. I still couldn’t be sure why he had changed his mind, but I wasn’t going to question it. And I certainly didn’t want to make him question it.
So I walked into the office, clutching the two cups of coffee, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. You can handle this, I told myself. This is nothing that you haven’t done before.
He was standing right there, though, leaning against someone’s desk, talking to a guy I didn’t recognize. He looked gorgeous, was my first thought, which made me blush. The last thing I needed was to get some stupid crush on my new boss, just because he happened to be the best-looking man I could ever remember seeing. Not that it mattered if I liked him anyway; guys like him didn’t go for girls like me.
“They’ll be there this weekend,” the guy was saying to Ian, “so we’ll have to make sure we’ve got a few extra guys on.”
Ian nodded, his gaze flickering over to me. “Billionaire tech guy from Dubai; of course we’re going to have a lot
of tourists on that one; I don’t care how quiet Seamus wants to try to keep it. Thanks, Dan.”
Ian clapped him on the shoulder, and Dan turned to leave, walking past me.
“Hey,” he said.
“Dan, this is Annie’s replacement,” Ian said.
Dan turned so he walking backward down the hall. “Nice to meet you, Annie’s replacement,” he said. “Good luck keeping this one in line.”
“Ha ha, funny sonofabitch,” Ian said. He folded his arms across his chest. “Good morning, Daisy. I see you come bearing gifts. Or you’ve got an insatiable caffeine habit.”
“I . . . I got you coffee,” I said, thrusting the cup out to him. Right as I did so, I saw Jonathan turn the same corner that Dan had just disappeared around and walk toward us, a smile on his face. I let go of the coffee cup, thinking that Ian had a grasp on it, but he must not have because once I let go, the cup fell, the lid came off, and coffee exploded everywhere, a little bit getting onto me, but mostly onto Ian.
“What the fuck?!” he shouted, jumping back. “That shit’s hot!”
“Whoa,” Jonathan said, rushing over. “What happened? Everyone okay?”
“Oh my god,” I said. I looked around for a place to put my own coffee cup and set it down on the desk, next to an unwieldy stack of papers. “I’m so sorry. I thought you had it. I’m so, so sorry!”
He had a grimace on his face, and for a second, I thought he was going to tell me that I was fired. But instead, he looked at Jonathan, and he started to hobble off. “I’ve got to change these pants,” he said. “And probably go get treated for second-degree burns while I’m at it. She’s all yours, Jay. Show her the ropes.” He shot a look in my direction. “That’s quite the way to make a first impression.”
“I . . . I . . . I’m so sorry.” That’s the only thing I could seem to say. I felt mortified; I knew that my face was probably beet red and my voice sounded shaky. I wanted to say something else, but Ian was already walking off, presumably toward the bathroom. I looked at Jonathan. “He’s so mad at me, isn’t he?” I said.
Jonathan had an affable smile on his face. He didn’t look too concerned. “He’ll be fine,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Ian’s tough.”
“I know, but that coffee was so hot and . . .” I looked at the desk where my cup was still sitting. I hadn’t brought one for Jonathan. “I’m sorry—I didn’t bring one for you, too.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I already had some this morning. Really, don’t worry about Ian. He’s been through way worse. He’ll get over it. Come on, let’s get started.”
I glanced over my shoulder in the direction Ian had just stalked off in. I hoped Jonathan was right—that he really was fine and he’d get over it—but even if that was the case, I knew I wasn’t going to get any gold star in the first impressions category.
3.
Ian
For fuck’s sake.
I went back into my office and shut the door. Maybe more like slammed the door. Nothing like starting the morning with a scalding beverage spilled all over your pants, though I guess it was better that it wasn’t down my pants. Most of the coffee had splattered below the knee, and I’d been wearing jeans, so they’d done a fairly good job protecting my legs. But still. I didn’t drink the sorry excuse for coffee from Starbucks, but I thought I’d play nice and at least take the cup from her, and then dump it down the drain later. Worst, she’d put half-and-half in it, probably sugar too, which she’d probably done for hers as well, meaning she herself didn’t even like coffee—she liked coffee-flavored beverages.
There was a big floor-to-ceiling window to the right of my office door, which had blinds that I didn’t bother to pull as I took my jeans off. Let her have a nice long look at my ass; that was just the sort of thing that would make a girl like her squirm even more than she already was. Especially because she’d think I didn’t realize what I was doing.
I kept a spare change of clothes in the bottom drawer of my desk, and I pulled out a pair of olive green canvas trousers and put those on. I changed my socks and left my sneakers on the window sill to dry. The only other footwear I had here were my Timberland boots, so I put those on.
I sat down at my desk and pulled up my left pant leg and looked at my calf. The skin was a little red, but there was no blistering, no real burns. I couldn’t help but think about the time my stepfather, Pete, tried to knock a pot of boiling water onto me. I was eleven, twelve, maybe, boiling water to make spaghetti because Mom was working and Pete couldn’t be bothered to actually make any meal that didn’t involve a microwave. When Mom was around, he mostly ignored me, but when she was out, he had free rein to treat me however he wanted.
If Pete had started this shit with me when I’d been older, I’d like to at least think I’d hit him back or tell him to fuck off. But as it was, Mom met him when I was five, and he started knocking me around not long after that.
“Go ahead and be a pussy and go crying to your mother about it,” he’d sneered at me, as though daring me to rat him out. “Just like a little girl. You think that sort of shit’s going to save you? You think anyone would look at you and think you’re anything but a pathetic little fuck that no one will ever want to be around?” It was always some sort of variation of that—I was the world’s biggest pussy, no one would ever like me, there was nothing I could do about it.
I wasn’t the only kid I knew who had a stepfather—or father—that liked to treat them like a punching bag, but it’s not like it was something you’d talk about at school. Not back then, anyway. There was no after school support group for kids from abusive homes; there’d just be the kids with the black eyes, the bruised arms, the split lips, and were our gazes to ever meet as we passed in the hallway, we’d be quick to look the other way.
That night he’d tried to knock the water on me, I had stepped back at the last second. Had I not, I would have been scalded from the torso down; as it was, I still had a few tiny scars on my legs that no one would ever notice unless I pointed them out. He had tried to play it off like it’d been an accident, like it was my fault that it had happened, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes that it hadn’t turned out worse for me. That all I was going to take away from that particular incident were a few tiny scars that were barely even noticeable.
But they were there, nonetheless. No one else might have been aware of them, but I sure as hell was.
4.
Daisy
I tried to focus on what Jonathan was saying, and not think about the fact that I’d just spilled hot coffee all over Ian. So far, my first day wasn’t going that great.
“So,” Jonathan said, “I guess I’ll just start by telling you all the stuff that our previous admin used to do. I don’t think it’s going to be anything new to you.”
“You mean secretary?” I said, smiling. I felt comfortable with Jonathan in a way that I sure as hell didn’t with Ian. Maybe because I’d known him longer, or that I could just tell he was one of those guys that would go out of his way to try to be nice and accommodating, which he was doing right now, and I appreciated.
He made a face. “I can see you’ve been talking to Ian. He has some . . . outdated ideas about a few things,” he said. “I think admin sounds much better. But whatever you want to call it, your main responsibilities will be to ensure that things in the office are running smoothly. We employ a lot of people here, most of whom you will never meet.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. They’re out in the field, which could be any number of places. We do security for recurring events and one-off events, sometimes even for little things like birthday parties.”
“Birthday parties? Who would need security for a birthday party?”
Jonathan waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind any of that. They’re the sort of people you don’t want to get involved with, anyway. Come on; I’ll show you your desk.”
My desk ended up being not too far from Ian’s office, where
the door was still closed.
“So, you’re our first line of defense when it comes to calls,” Jonathan said. “Pun intended. Really, though, you’ll be answering the phones, directing calls, some filing, some computer stuff. You familiar with the Microsoft Suite?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Cool. We have a wide range of clients here, from families to big corporations and everything in between, and we want to make them all feel like they’re the most important client. No one client is more important than another here.”
“Not even a billionaire from Dubai?” He looked at me in confusion. “I overheard Ian talking to someone—Dan, I think his name was—when I came in.”
“Oh, right.” The expression on Jonathan’s face tightened, making me think that he didn’t like this billionaire guy. “He’s not actually a client of ours, but he’ll be visiting somewhere that we do provide security. We do have some clients that . . . well, never mind that. We can discuss that later.”
I was about to ask him what he meant when the phone rang. He reached over and answered.
“Hard Tail Security,” he said. His eyebrows shot up. “Hey! Billy. Thanks for returning my call. Did you have a chance to talk to Seamus? You did. Okay, great. Uh . . .” He shot a glance at me. “Hold on one sec, let me just scoot over into my office. Yeah, thanks.” He pressed the hold button and set the receiver back on the cradle. “Pardon me one sec,” he said. “Important call I’ve got to take. Be right back.”
He hurried off into his office, leaving me there, not totally sure what I should be doing. He hadn’t given me enough of an explanation about anything to really get started . . . other than I was going to be answering the phones. So I checked out my new desk. The desk was an L-shape, with a cream-colored surface. There was a computer, and several letter trays, as well as a cup filled with pens. I sat down in the swivel rolling chair and looked at the phone. It was similar to the one we’d had at Shear Genius, so that made me feel a little less nervous.