by Tasha Fawkes
"Hey, Mom," I greeted her as she entered, dropping her purse on a small table by the front door. She softly closed the door, locked the deadbolt, and then turned to me with a weary smile. "You hungry?"
She shook her head. "I had something to eat at work. Did you get something to eat for dinner? What time did you get home from Britney's?"
"Around seven, and yes, I made the kids spaghetti and meatballs. I had some."
She nodded and ventured into the kitchen, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from me. Our apartment was small. The front door opened into the main living area. Directly across from the door stood our small kitchen table, opening to the small kitchen area with its white stove and refrigerator and scratched aluminum sink. It was a one bedroom, one bath apartment. Mom took the bedroom and I slept on a futon couch in the living room. It was okay, but a far cry from where I had grown up in the large house on a quarter-acre property with front and backyard, gardeners, and anything a little girl could ask for.
That reminded me. "Guess who I just filled out an application for?"
"Who?" she asked, a smile forming on her lips.
Mom was always encouraging. Always. It was a good thing we got along so well, considering that we lived in such cramped quarters. She did the best she could and she knew that I was doing the same, but life just never seemed to click in our favor after Dad's death. I shook off my somber thoughts. "It was on Craiglist—"
"Megan Bryan, you know I don't like you answering ads on Craigslist! There's too much funky stuff going on with that website. You have to be so careful."
"I know, Mom. Believe me. But when I clicked on the link to fill out the application, it took me to a legitimate application engine. I mean, I checked the grammar and everything. It wasn't some front put on by a scumbag wanting to scam me." At least I'd hoped it wasn't. "Anyway, after I filled out the application and submitted it, I got a confirmation."
"From whom?"
"The job was for the position of an assistant at the Holbrook Property Corporation—" Her gasp interrupted me. I saw the color leave her cheeks. I rushed to continue. "It’s a good paying job…" I paused. She looked like she'd seen a ghost. I frowned, concerned. "Mom, what is it? I promise that I'm not going to meet anybody in a strange place, and—"
"I don't want you working for them."
She said it quietly, but firmly. I was confused. "Mom, you know that Scott and I were good friends for years. You remember?"
She nodded. "I remember Scott. He was a good boy."
"He's a man now, same age as me. I always wondered what happened to him; if he went to work for his dad at the property company." I paused, the pained look on Mom's face not at all encouraging. "What's wrong?"
"I just don't think it's a good idea."
"Mom, the job pays five thousand dollars a month for six months! I know it's not long term, but just think of what we can do with that kind of a nest egg."
"Money isn't everything, Megan."
Flabbergasted, I leaned back in my chair. I knew something was troubling her, and I wasn't about to start playing guessing games. "Tell me what's bothering you."
"I don't… never mind, honey. It's all right."
I could tell it wasn't. "Mom, tell me. Please." This was so unusual, so unlike her. "Why don't you want me working for the Holbrook's company?"
Mom sat, silently stubborn for several moments, the look in her eyes distant, as if she had mentally gone somewhere else. I waited her out. Finally, she blinked and looked at me.
"Scott's father, Mike Holbrook… "
"What about him?"
"He's the one who sold out your dad in a property deal. Your father lost… we lost the entire investment. It was that loss that bankrupted us."
I sat stunned. Why was this the first time I was hearing about this? Then again, I sort of understood. At sixteen-years-old, it didn't much matter to me why my dad had blown his brains out. Just the fact that he had was difficult enough to deal with as it was. But this news threw me for a loop. My anticipation and excitement over even applying for the job with Scott's family now left me feeling conflicted. Did my mom's revelation make me reconsider? In some ways, yes, but I was also tired of scraping out a living. If I didn't at least take a chance, take a risk, I would never know what possibilities lay just around the corner. The job was only temporary, but the pay was extremely generous.
How could I turn it down? There were no guarantees that I would even be in the running for the job anyway. My résumé didn't meet several of the core requirements that had been posted on the application. Even being called for an interview were next to none.
"Mom, I doubt if I'm going to get the job," I said, trying to calm her. "My job experience is rather limited, I don't have a degree, I don't have a long-term job reference, and it's unlikely that anything will come of it."
The color slowly returned to my mother's face. I wished I knew more about the details of the business deal that had occurred between my dad and Scott's, but I didn't feel that now was the time to ask. Was this just my mom's grief talking? I had read that sometimes, people dealing with a tragic death, no less a suicide, often needed someone to blame. Was Mike Holbrook the ultimate cause of my dad's death? He didn't actually put a gun to my dad's head and pull the trigger. That was my dad's choice.
But this was mine. This was my chance, and I had been taught that you never get anywhere if you don't try. As my mom slowly rose and headed to the bedroom to get changed, I sat, trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing. That I had to take advantage of the opportunity, because opportunities like this didn't come knocking on my door like this.
And yet, no one was more surprised than me when I received a call at eight-fifteen the following morning. A pleasant female voice told me that my application had been seen and reviewed by the CEO of Holbrook Property Corporation. If I was still interested in the job, I would be scheduled for an interview at the end of the week, two days hence.
I was interested.
Five
Scott
I spent most of the day interviewing applicants from the Craigslist ad I had posted. What a chore. Nothing against the applicants themselves, but nobody that I had spoken to so far seemed to fit the bill. For the umpteenth time, I wondered why the hell Kristin wasn't interviewing people herself, but then I shook my head, already knowing the answer.
Her moods varied constantly. I couldn’t say that she was annoying all the time, because she wasn't. Sometimes, if I caught her at just the right time, she could be pleasant, even funny. Most of the time though, I found her lording it over my house staff, her voice typically heavy with impatience of condensation. She seemed so bitter for one so young. Either bitter or entitled, maybe both. Recently, I had begun to feel sorry for her. Such pessimism, such negativity in someone who had only recently graduated from Princeton with a degree in political science.
She was intelligent, just… well, unmotivated. She told me she was thinking about creating a resume so she could start looking for work, but I had the impression that she would avoid that like the plague. She didn't have to work, she told me, but her father expected her to at least make an attempt.
Boo-hoo.
She seemed perfectly content to leave me to finding her a personal assistant. Probably as payback because I didn't fawn all over her nor jump at the opportunity to marry her. I was still concerned about the child's paternity but was considering options. Since she had moved into my Newport mansion a week ago—it seemed like a lifetime already—I was beginning to seriously wonder about her capability of being a mother.
Anyone could be a mother, but it took a special quality to be a mom. There was a big difference, at least in my book. I had always envisioned myself getting married to a girl I actually loved, and one in whom I saw a number of positive qualities. I was sure that Kristin had to have some of positive qualities, but I just hadn't found them yet. Not that I was looking that hard.
I sighed and tried to rid myself o
f the pity party I had triggered. If I had the guts, I would have told her and my dad to go fly a kite, but I wasn't ready to risk my inheritance, my lifestyle, or my cushy job at the property company just yet. Deep inside, I knew I was acting as selfish and entitled as I mentally accused Kristin of being. I had never lived without money or the shelter and security it provided. What if I chucked it all and burned bridges and then realized I'd made a mistake? What if I couldn't make it on my own? What if my near-future business venture failed? Then what would I do?
"Stop it," I grumbled. "You crumbled. Get over it."
I returned my attention to the pile of applications sitting in front of me on my desk blotter. I knew, at least to a certain degree, that whomever I chose to be Kristin’s personal assistant would have to be strong, mentally and emotionally. Kristin was a woman use to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it, and precisely how she asked for it. If not, I had learned long ago that she could make life a living hell for those around her.
I had interviewed seven women and three men so far, most of them in their thirties, one in her forties, and two in their twenties. Each offered some skills, but not to the degree that I would feel comfortable setting Kristin loose on them.
I decided to call it a day and was thinking to just leave my office and give it another go tomorrow. While I hadn't yet found the person I was looking for, I wasn't really surprised. This job required a unique skill set. Not just in potential talent, but of strong character. The poor unfortunate would have to not only be creative, but a meticulous planner, detail-oriented, and perhaps even have some experience as an event coordinator. And strong. No crybabies would do.
Maybe I should've been less vague in my wording of the ad and more specific in regard to the skills needed, most especially as an event coordinator. However, I had decided not to, figuring that if I interviewed the applicants and determined that their temperament wasn't capable of handling Kristin's demands, erratic mood swings, and occasional tantrums, it wouldn't matter how skilled they were.
I organized a stack of remaining applications, rolled my eyes, and tossed the already rejected applicant files into the trash. What I would do if none of these applicants turned out to be suitable, I didn't know yet, but I certainly wasn't going to get stuck with the job of helping Kristin plan our farce of a marriage, that was for certain.
"One more applicant for you to wrap the day, Mister Holbrook." Melanie's voice came over my small office communication system.
I leaned back and sighed. I supposed I could get through one more. It was hard looking at all these eager faces, and many of them did have some of the qualities I was looking for. Nevertheless, the combination of characteristics I needed was—so far—absent. I didn't hold out much hope for this last one of the day.
"Let her in," I said, thumbing through the stack, already tired and sporting a somewhat negative attitude. The door opened and I glanced up, then did a double take. The woman seemed familiar: tall, with a willowy figure, sable-colored hair worn in a bun. But it was the almond shaped light green eyes that captured my interest, followed shortly by the slim profile, the perfectly shaped eyebrows, the short, pert nose and a pair of lips that were, in my own words, exquisite.
A jolt of recognition flared, but I couldn't place her. She hesitated in the doorway, eyes widening slightly as she hovered there, staring at me, those eyebrows lowering slightly as if in confusion. Had we met somewhere? If we had, I couldn't remember. I focused again on the papers while gesturing her in and with a flick of my hand, asking her to close the door behind her. By the time she settled in the chair in front of my desk, I was thumbing through the list of applicants.
"Name?" I asked.
"Scott, don't you recognize me?
I looked up, dumbfounded. Slowly, the fog lifted and my heart skipped a beat.
"It's Megan… Megan Bryan."
Oh my God, it was her, but… she was… she was beautiful. The Megan I had known in high school had been a teenager; one caught between the youthful look of a teenager and an adult. The woman who sat down in the chair across my desk was pure woman. Composed, gaze direct and lips smiling. Her facial features had sharpened into its adult form, her high cheekbones and oval jawline perfectly accenting those wide green eyes, staring back at me with amusement. Could it really be her? She looked… hot. Gone was the downward glances of shyness that I remembered so well of her younger years, one of the most endearing I remembered from our high school years. No, the woman sitting before me was poised, looking at me in a straightforward way that garnered my full attention.
"Megan… is it really you?" I couldn't help but grin, my heart racing now, excited, no, thrilled at seeing her again. So many years… I often wondered what had happened to her: where she was, how she was doing. "Oh my God, how have you been? What have you been doing? I—" I laughed softly. "Excuse me," I apologized. "This is a surprise. A pleasant surprise, but I'm a bit dumbfounded."
"I am too," she admitted, her smile broadening. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Memories came rushing to the forefront when I saw that smile. That was one thing about her that hadn't changed. I still couldn't believe it. I quickly thumbed through the last half of the applications and there it was. I pulled it out of the stack, placed it on top, and then just looked at her, shaking my head in wonder. I felt giddy as a… well, as a schoolboy.
She appeared somewhat nervous now, one hand rising to fiddle with the necklace chain at her neck. She wore a sea foam green silk blouse tucked into a pair of black, pinstriped slacks. The color of the blouse perfectly amplified the color of her eyes. She had opted for casual, which pleased me. If what I remembered of Megan held true, she was a "what you see is what you get" kind of person. She didn't put on airs for anyone.
"My God," I exclaimed softly. "It's been, what, almost ten years? Where have you been?" I repeated.
"I live in Irvine with my mom. You?"
"I've got a place in Newport Beach." Again, I shook my head. "I remembered you as being pretty, Megan, but now you're just… you're just stunning." I meant every word of it. I was delighted to see her cheeks darken with color. That hadn't changed either.
"I didn't realize until I submitted the application that it was your company that had placed the ad," she said, her voice slightly breathy.
I noted the pulse in her throat. She was really nervous, though her face didn't betray the emotion. Was she as pleased to see me as I was to see her? I still didn't understand her abrupt disappearance from the private high school we'd attended, but now wasn’t the time to bring that up. I decided to get one major question out of the way. "Have you changed your mind, now that you know?"
"To be honest, I thought about it when I realized the ad had been placed by the Holbrook Corporation," she admitted. "I had no idea you were still in Southern California."
I nodded. We were keeping our chitchat non-personal. I recognized that and decided it was for the best. "Remember in high school that I had a feeling I'd end up working at my dad's company?"
She nodded.
"Well, I came on board just after graduation. Just another year or so, and I'm outta here, planning on striking out on my own and starting my own company."
"That's good to hear," she said, her voice soft.
"And what about you? What have you been doing?"
She waved a hand. "A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Nothing long-term as of yet, but I'm working on it. In fact, that's one of the things that I noticed about the ad on Craigslist. Six-month duration? Can you tell me a little bit about what the job entails?" She paused, again fingering the necklace nervously. "I'm not sure I meet all of the qualifications."
Small talk over, I got down to business. Leaning back in my chair, I explained, "I recently got engaged." I paused, waiting for a reaction. Other than a slightly lifted eyebrow, she remained expressionless, listening intently. I continued. "She's also expecting. She's going to need an assistant for the duration of her pregnancy, as well as someone
to help her with the wedding preparations."
Megan didn't say anything for a moment, and then nodded in understanding. "First, let me congratulate you on your engagement and your impending fatherhood."
I nodded but said nothing. She continued to watch me. I had a feeling I knew what she was thinking, especially since she'd known me quite well for so many years. She more than likely wondered how a man like me, who'd just announced his upcoming nuptials and the birth of a child, could appear any less excited.
I shrugged. "Things happened a little faster than I expected, but that's neither here nor there." I gestured with my hand, much as she had done moments ago. "At any rate, I know nothing about wedding planning, and I'm putting it out there up front that my… my fiancée, Kristin, can be quite challenging, temperamentally."
Again, Megan nodded. I quickly glanced down at her resume, hiding my surprise when I realized that it was quite sparse. I also knew something that wasn't in the resume. I knew that Megan Bryan was strong. At least she had been. In the past, she'd had a habit of rooting for the underdog, wasn’t one to back down from intimidation, but wasn’t aggressive nor a bully. But she could hold her ground. And for this job, temperament and attitude won out over skills.
"I've done a lot of organizing over the years," she said. "Mom and I often cater to some smaller businesses and business openings in Orange County—"
"You're a caterer?"
"Not exactly," she smiled. "We're most known for our desserts and pastries, although as you know, or may not remember, I very much enjoy cooking and experimenting with food."
I nodded, smiling with the memory.
"I've also worked with many different people, some from different cultures, in planning reunions, and I've even done some babysitting."
She smiled at that and saw the twinkle in her eye and chuckled. She had understood what I meant to convey in regard to Kristin being a bit challenging. Well, if Megan was experienced dealing with spoiled brats, I guess the transition from a small spoiled brat to an adult spoiled brat weren't much different. Besides, I was so thrilled to see her again that the thought of telling her that she wasn't qualified was disheartening. Not only that, but I wanted to catch up with her. What better way to do that than if she was working for Kristin? I looked forward to the opportunity to see her more often, at least for a few months.