As well as The Buzz was doing, Shane knew it would be doing even better if he could just talk this woman into writing a weekly column. But she hadn’t answered any letters he’d sent and all other attempts at communication had failed.
Making him one very frustrated man.
“Fine,” he said on a sigh. “Never mind. Just keep looking for her.” Then he sat down behind his desk, waved one hand at them dismissively and picked up the latest column by the mysterious Tess. He didn’t even look up when his co-workers left his office.
He read every issue of The Buzz before it was laid out for production and eventual printing. The only way to keep a handle on what his magazine was doing was for him to stay involved. From the ground up.
But reading this particular column was always a pleasure. He leaned back in the black leather chair and swung around until he was facing the snow-dusted bank of windows overlooking Manhattan. He smiled ruefully as he read.
Tess says, the secret to surviving your boss is to never let him know you understand him. The poor guy’s got to have a few illusions.
My boss thinks he’s mysterious. Right. About as mysterious as a pot of chicken soup. The man, like all others of his gender, is so very predictable.
Just last week, I set up two “first dates” for him. At the same restaurant, with the same meal, the same wine. Only the names of the women were changed. Mysterious? Hardly.
I juggle his women just like I juggle his business meetings. The man has made me a good enough juggler that I could be making twice as much money working at a circus—and hey, the co-workers wouldn’t change that much!
Shane chuckled. Tess was good, but he felt sorry for her. Working for a man like that couldn’t be easy.
When it comes to business, though, he’s at the top of his game when everything around him is falling to pieces. Which, I suppose, is why I’m still here after all this time. Despite having to run the man’s social life, I do enjoy being at the top. I like being the right hand woman—even if sometimes I feel invisible.
Invisible? Shane shook his head. How could a woman like Tess go unnoticed by anyone?
Maybe it’s the time of year that’s got me thinking about my life. Sure, you’re reading this column sometime in March, but as I write this, it’s December. Snow’s falling outside, turning Manhattan into a postcard. Wreaths are up on the shop windows, twinkling lights are everywhere and people are ice skating in Rockefeller Center.
The old year is winding down and a new one’s getting ready to roll. And I have to ask myself if I really want to maintain the status quo. Is this all there is? Do I really want to keep working for a man who treats me like a well-trained dog? Toss me a treat every now and then so I’ll keep running and fetching?
He frowned, wondering why the tone of Tess’s column had suddenly changed. Usually she was funny, lighthearted. Making jokes about her boss and underlining, apparently, how every other assistant in the country felt about his or her job.
When he read the next line, he sat up straight in his chair and scowled at the page.
Wonder what he’d do if I quit?
Quit?
She couldn’t quit. Hell, her column was too damn popular for her to quit working. If she walked away from her job, she wouldn’t be writing this column anymore and where did that leave The Buzz?
The truth is, my boss probably wouldn’t even notice I was gone until his dry cleaning went unclaimed or until he had to make his own reservations for dinner with the latest wide-eyed blonde. So why’m I still here?
I think we all know the answer to that.
I’ve let him become too important to me.
I spend more time living his life than I do living my own.
Shane really didn’t like the sound of this.
What do you readers think? Should I give it up and stop torturing myself? Should I finally realize that he’s never going to look up and notice me? The real me? Should I accept that all I’ll ever be to him is an excellent assistant?
Shane grumbled and finished reading the column with a snarl on his face.
The answer to that question is no. The time has come to leave my job and move on to something else while I still can. To all of you assistants out there—all of you who’ve written to me over the last several months, telling me your own stories—I guess this is goodbye.
Goodbye?
By the time you read this, I’ll probably be long gone. I’ll miss you guys. I’ll miss this column. Heck, I’ll miss the boss, too.
I wish you all the best of luck with your own bosses and I’ll never forget any of you.
Two
Shane hit the intercom button and when Rachel answered a second later, he snapped, “Come in here for a minute, please.”
A moment later the double doors opened and Rachel stepped in, carrying a steno pad. “What’s up?”
“Did you see the Tess Tells All column for March?”
“Yeeesss…” One word came out in four distinct syllables.
“So you know she’s thinking about quitting her job?”
Rachel took a deep breath and turned her back on him for a second. Deliberately she schooled her features into a politely interested mask. Deciding to quit her job hadn’t been an easily reached decision, but she knew it was the right one. Asking her readers for their votes had merely been a way of breaking the news about that decision.
Quietly she shut the door then walked across the thick red carpet toward his desk. “I read it. What’s the problem?”
“The problem?” Shane dropped Tess’s column onto his desktop and stood up. “She’s too popular with our readers, that’s the problem. She can’t quit her job. We need her column.”
Rachel wondered if Shane would be this concerned when she turned in her resignation. And if he were, would that change her mind? No. She had to leave EPH. Had to get out into the world and find someone else to care for. Hopefully someone who would care for her in return.
She shook her head as she sat down in the black leather armchair opposite his desk. Taking another deep breath, she steadied her voice. “I doubt this is a whim. She’s obviously done a lot of thinking. Probably some soul searching. People don’t just walk away from a good job without a lot of thought.”
Which she knew for a fact, since she’d spent the last five months talking herself into doing just that.
He narrowed his gaze on her. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
“Why would you think that?” Oh, good one, she told herself. Stall without actually lying.
She blew out a breath and tucked a loose strand of honey-blond hair behind her right ear. She worried her bottom lip and said, “Honestly, Shane, I don’t see how you’re going to keep her from quitting her job when you don’t even know who she is.”
“We have to find out.”
Rachel tucked her pad against her chest and folded her arms over it. “Haven’t you had people working on that for months now?”
“Yes,” he muttered, then turned toward the bank of windows. Staring down at the snow-covered street eighteen floors below, he added, “I can’t understand how she can stay so hidden. Hell, you’d think her boss would recognize himself in her articles.”
Rachel mmm-hmmed. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“How could he not?” Shane wondered, more to himself than to her.
“It’s surprising, all right,” Rachel said dryly. She knew darn well Shane had read every one of the articles she’d written as Tess. And yet, here he stood, completely clueless.
He glanced at her and Rachel caught the glint in his clear green eyes and recognized it. He’d had the same look in his eyes when this competition with his brothers and sisters was just getting started. Shane Elliott simply did not lose well. But this time, he was going to have to deal with it.
“Do you know something about Tess you haven’t told me?”
She paused just a fraction of a second, then shook her head firmly again even as she skipped around
his question. “She faxes those columns in from all over the city. No one knows where the next one’s coming from.”
He stared at her for a minute or two longer. Long enough to worry Rachel just a little. Good thing he couldn’t read her mind. Although, if he could read her mind, she wouldn’t have to quit her job, because he’d know that she loved him and then he’d either be pleased about it or fire her.
“Right,” Shane said. “Right.” Walking back to his desk, he slid Tess’s column into the manila envelope with the rest of the layout for the March issue. Handing it to her, he said, “Get these to production for me, will you, Rachel?”
“Sure.” Glad to be on safer ground, she asked, “Anything else?”
He dropped into his chair, braced both arms on his desk and said, “Just find the mysterious Tess. If she’s looking for a new job, we’ll give her one.”
Rachel turned and left the office and when she’d closed the door behind her, she leaned back against it. Hah. Shane wanted to offer Tess a job? Ironic? Oh, yeah.
She walked past her desk and on down the hall toward production. She glanced to either side of her as her heels sank deeply into the rich scarlet carpet. It was going to be hard to leave this place. It was familiar. Comfortable.
Maybe too comfortable, she reminded herself.
The gleaming glass and chrome offices on either side of the wide aisle were bustling with sound as the staff of The Buzz worked on various tasks. Phones rang, someone laughed and the scent of coffee floated on the warm air drifting from the central heating system.
Rachel smiled at Stacy, the receptionist, as she strolled through the main waiting area. The walls were a clean, pure white, and the art on the walls mostly enlarged, chrome-framed covers of The Buzz. The effect was startling, but eye catching. The idea was to make this floor look up to the minute, fresh. Exciting. And it worked.
Every floor of the EPH building had its own color scheme and was decorated according to whichever magazine it was trying to promote. Rachel was probably prejudiced, but she’d always thought the eighteenth-floor home of The Buzz was the nicest.
Rachel kept walking, tossing a glance into the small meeting rooms as she walked, smiling in at one or two of the people she passed. The photography lab door was closed and she smiled wryly. Ferria—no last name—was notoriously territorial about her office. Even Shane had a hard time getting past the lead photographer’s doorway.
At Production, Rachel stepped through the open door and handed over the manila envelope to the head man’s assistant, Christina. Fiftyish, Christina was a single mother of four boys who took no crapola off of anyone—least of all her boss. Her snow-white hair was cut into extremely short layers that hugged her head and highlighted bright blue eyes.
The older woman pushed her silver wire-framed glasses up on her nose and grinned. “I’m thinking about heading out to Lucci’s Deli for lunch. Want to join me?”
“Love it,” Rachel said, realizing that Christina was only one of so many people she’d miss when she left. “I’ll meet you at the elevator at twelve, okay?”
“Excellent.”
Walking back to her desk, she felt almost as though she were already saying goodbye. Her gaze swept over the familiar fixtures and faces and she hugged the electrical hum of activity close. She was really going to miss this place.
She loved her job. Loved working for Shane and feeling as though she were a part of something special. Working on a weekly magazine, there was always something happening. An air of excitement, urgency that she would probably never find anywhere else.
But she knew she had to go.
She couldn’t stay at The Buzz, working with Shane every day, loving him as she did. It was just too hard. Too hard to make his dates for him, to see him look at every other woman in the world with more interest than he would ever show her. So whether she liked it or not, it was time, Rachel thought, that she left EPH.
Both she and her alter ego Tess were going to quietly disappear from Shane’s life.
And there was nothing he could do to change her mind.
By seven o’clock, most of the magazine’s employees were gone. Shane walked through the empty office and listened to the sound of his own footsteps on the carpet. Only a few of the overhead lights were on, splashing the shadows with occasional bursts of light. The reflected lights shone against the black expanse of windows and mirrored Shane as he walked toward the elevator.
During the day, this office thundered with the noise of productivity. People laughing, talking, computer keys clicking, phones ringing. But at night…it was like a house emptied of its children.
Quiet to the point of spooky.
He passed reception, where an acre of desk sat dead center of a waiting area. Twin couches in matching shades of white faced each other across the expanse and on the far wall, the elevator gleamed dully in the overhead light.
Sighing, Shane stabbed the up call button and waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive. If he hadn’t answered that phone call from his father a few minutes ago, he’d have been pushing the down button and heading for home to get ready for his date with…He frowned. What the hell was that woman’s name?
Shaking his head, he pushed that question away to concentrate on another one. Why did his father want to see him? And why now, after the business day?
Patrick Elliott was a hard man. Always had been. More focused on building an empire than a family, over the years he’d become a stranger to his own children. Shane’s mother, Maeve, was the glue that held the Elliott family together. Hell, she was the only reason he and his siblings were still speaking to Patrick.
The elevator opened in front of him and he stepped inside with all the enthusiasm of a man heading to a tax audit. Generic Muzak filtered down all around him, but he did his best to ignore it. He punched the appropriate floor button, and as the doors slid shut again, Shane let his mind drift back over the years.
In all the memories he had of growing up, Patrick was no more than a blurred image on the fringes of his mind. Until one memorable year.
He and his twin, Finola, were the youngest of the Elliott children. And, since they’d been born nine years after their brother Daniel, Shane and Fin were even closer than twins usually were. Growing up, they’d been each other’s best friend. They’d fought each other’s battles, celebrated each other’s victories, and shared the hurts and pains that came along.
And maybe, Shane told himself, that was the main reason he just couldn’t bring himself to get close to his father now. Patrick was trying to make up for his failures as a parent and slowly, each of the Elliott kids was coming around. But Shane held back—because he’d never been able to forgive the old man for what he’d put Fin through when she was just a kid.
He leaned back against the cool, slick chrome of the elevator wall and closed his eyes, remembering. Shane could see Fin as she’d been at fifteen, beautiful, trusting, with bright green eyes filled with anticipation. Until she’d made the mistake that Patrick wouldn’t countenance.
She’d become pregnant by the son of another wealthy family, and neither side wanted their children getting married for the sake of a child they hadn’t planned.
Though their mother had cried and sided with Fin—something none of the children knew until recently—Patrick had been adamant about saving the family’s “good name.” He’d shipped Fin off to a convent in Canada with as much feeling as a man who dropped off an unwanted puppy at the pound. No one had been able to reach Patrick. The old man never backed down from a damn thing if he believed he was right—and he always believed he was right.
Fin was forced to give up her daughter at birth and Shane would never be able to forget her pain, her misery. Just as he was pretty sure he’d never be able to completely forgive Patrick for causing it.
The elevator dinged as it reached the executive level of the EPH building and the doors slid open with a whoosh.
“Might as well get this over with,” Shane muttered and walk
ed into a very different atmosphere than the one found on the eighteenth floor. On the twenty-third, the carpeting was subdued, the walls a soft beige with cream trim and the furniture was elegant antiques. Even the air smelled different up here, he thought, more…rarified, he supposed.
But then, that’s what Patrick had always been concerned about. How things looked. The perception of the Elliott family. Which was why it had taken Fin too many years to reconnect with her long lost daughter.
At least that had come around and turned out well. Now that Jessie was finally where she’d always belonged—with them—Patrick had at last accepted and welcomed the girl. And the pain Shane had seen in Fin’s eyes for too many years was finally gone.
Knowing Fin was so happy had made dealing with Patrick easier than it used to be.
Shaking his head, he wondered where all the philosophical thoughts were coming from. Hell, he was wasting time. He still had to get home and change for his date with…what was her name?
Grumbling, he knocked briefly on the closed door to Patrick’s office and waited.
“Come on in.”
Opening the door, he stepped into an elegantly appointed office and looked directly at his father, seated behind a mahogany desk fit for a king.
At seventy-seven, Patrick Elliott looked at least ten years younger than his age. Still had most of his hair, though it was completely gray now. Tall, with squared shoulders and a defiant tilt to his chin, the old man continued to look like he’d be able to take on the world, if necessary.
Shane walked across the office and dropped into a burgundy leather club chair opposite his father’s desk. Absently he noted that the chair was built to be lower than Patrick’s desk, leaving whoever sat in it at a disadvantage. That was his father, though. Never miss a trick. “What can I do for you, Dad?”
Patrick leaned back in his chair, braced his elbows on the padded arms and steepled his fingers. “In a hurry, are you?”
Dynasties:The Elliots, Books 7-12 Page 73