by Karina Halle
“It’s pretty cool,” I tell her, looking around. A few people look up at me but quickly go back to work. “Everyone looks so young.”
“Median age is twenty-nine,” she says. “Your father is the oldest, which makes sense since he started the company. The LA office is a bit older, which is probably why he’s started traveling down there more often. I think he feels like a grandpa here.”
“Well he is a grandpa,” I tell her.
“Oh that’s right,” she says, giving me a sheepish smile and briefly putting her hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, I forgot. He’s been excited to have you and your son back home. You have a little boy, right?”
“Yeah. Tyson.”
“How old is he?”
“Turned seven in November,” I tell her, waiting for the inevitable but you look so young, you must have been a baby when you had him, etc.
To Alyssa’s credit she doesn’t say that. “A Scorpio. He must be a feisty one.”
“Actually he’s pretty quiet. Just likes to read. And he’s currently obsessed with dinosaurs, so he’s a bit jealous that I’m working here now. He knows Grandpa is in charge of all the dinosaur cartoon movies.”
“Shhh,” Alyssa says sharply, putting her finger to her lips. “You call them cartoons and you immediately get tossed out the door by the artists. Animation. Always animation.”
I raise my brow. “Even if it’s not animated?”
“Yes. Just to be safe. The artists are touchy.”
“Good to know. So how does the table set-up work here? Where do I work?”
“Oh, well,” she says, gesturing to picnic tables. “A lot of people don’t have permanent desks or offices. They just work wherever they want.”
I frown, not too thrilled about it. “Where do they keep their stuff?”
“They have lockers in the back, and under the table there’s a drawer for stuff they need on hand. We just like to keep it flexible. But you have a desk right across from Will’s office. This way.”
I sigh with relief, following her along the row of offices, doors all closed. I read the names: Alyssa Martin, Darlene Birch, Bob Cantu. “This is your father’s,” Alyssa says, gesturing to a large one in the corner that says Ted Phillips, President, on a gold plate on the door, then the office right next to it that says William McAlister, Vice President. “And this is obviously Will’s. They like to both be tucked away in the corner and away from the riff-raff.”
“I’m guessing my father is the one calling them riff-raff?”
“You got that right.” She turns around and splays her palms out to the cubicle across from the offices, split into two with a partition between. “This is your desk. Patty is on the other side.”
It’s a nice sized desk, wrap around style with lots of room for folders and files, with both a MacBook and a desktop Mac as well. The partition between Patty and I is frosted, so it provides a bit of privacy too and I won’t have to feel like someone is breathing down my neck.
I’ve just put my bag on the desk and am about to ask Alyssa where the restrooms are, when she puts one hand on her hip and says in a coy voice, “And here comes the man of the hour himself. Late as usual.”
I look over to see a tall, broad-shouldered man stride into the office, briefcase in one hand, and leashes attached to two dogs in the other.
The dogs take me by surprise.
As does the man’s hulking silhouette.
Alyssa goes on, whispering to me, “There’s no excuse for him being late though, he lives just around the corner. You should see his place. Heard it costs three million. Wait, I forgot to check, you’re okay with dogs right?” she asks me quickly.
“Huh? Dogs? Yeah,” I say absently, unable to take my eyes off him—my boss—as he approaches, walking toward us with the two dogs, one a small Pitbull type, the other a scruffy thing. Both extremely cute.
I don’t really get a good look at him until he’s just a few feet away. A few feet away, stopped, and staring at me with a wry grin on his face.
Holy shit. Is this really Mr. McAlister?
The Mr. McAlister I remember from when I was a teenager was tall, dark, and handsome, his voice and furrowed brow reminding me of Gregory Peck. A total old-fashioned movie star. Now he’s all those things magnified. Age has made him one hell of a sexy beast dressed in a sharp navy blue suit, his dogs now sitting politely beside him.
“You couldn’t possibly be Jackie,” he says to me, looking me up and down with the kind of wonderment that nearly brings heat to my cheeks. His voice is stronger than I remembered, shoots some kind of electricity through me. It’s as deep as sin, smooth as scotch, the kind of voice that should do voiceovers for car commercials.
“That’s me,” I manage to say, straightening my back and trying to look professional, even though this whole exchange is unraveling me for some weird reason.
“You were just a kid when I saw you last,” he says smoothly. “You look like your mother now. Thank god because I couldn’t stomach someone else looking like your father. Getting a bit sick of his mug already.”
Alyssa breaks out into a nervous hyena-like laugh. I frown at her, wondering what her deal is.
“So,” he goes on, ignoring her, that distinctive voice drawing my attention immediately back to him, and he stares at me for a moment. I can’t help but stare right back, marveling at the color of his eyes, green-blue, like a lagoon, the bare masculinity of his wide jaw covered with a five o’ clock shadow, the dark swoop of thick black hair off his forehead.
How the hell am I supposed to work with a man—for a man—who looks like he could be the next James Bond?
It could be worse than having daily eye candy, I quickly remind myself. When I worked at Safeway, my manager had ear and nose hair you could braid.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, glancing down at the dogs. “They tie me up most mornings. This is Sprocket,” he looks at the scruffy one, then to the Pitbull. “And this is Joan of Bark.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Joan of Bark?”
“We call her Joanie for short. I don’t always bring them in, but the dog-walker cancelled today. God, I hope you’re a dog person,” he says, running his long, tanned fingers over his stubble as he seems to ponder the consequences.
“And what if I wasn’t?”
He grins at me, a smile that lights up the space around him. “I’m sure Joanie would make you a believer. Maybe not Sprocket though. He can be a little dick.” He looks to Alyssa. “Are you done giving her the tour?”
“We were just getting started,” she says.
“Good, give me a bit to get ready,” he tells her before he winks at me. “See you later, kid.”
He takes the dogs into his office and shuts the door.
I look at Alyssa. Did my new boss just call me kid?
But she’s got a silly smile on her face, her cheeks pink. “So that’s Will. You’re a lucky girl you know, he’s probably the best person to work for here.” Her voice is rich with some sort of nuance I can’t place. She pauses. “I mean, your dad is really nice too, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been working for him for almost five years now and—”
I raise my palm and nod. “It’s okay. It’s my dad. You’re not going to hear me signing his praises, believe me.”
“Right, well I guess it’s good you’re helping Will then.” She leans in close. “You know he’s recently divorced,” she whispers. “Poor guy. I’m still in contact with his ex, Sasha, pretty much every day. She’s the general manager at the LA office. She’s nice and all, but I’ve heard things . . .”
I just nod, not sure at first what she wants me to say, and then remember Tiffany’s warning about her being a gossip. “The last I saw Mr. McAlister, he was with Mrs. McAlister,” I tell her, finding it neutral enough.
She laughs softly, eyes dancing. “You call him Mr. McAlister. That’s funny. Anyway, let’s get going.”
She picks up her notepad and starts walking toward the sleek white picnic tables in
the middle of the room.
I look behind me at the closed door to Mr. McAlister’s office, catching him just as he’s done opening his blinds and turning around, saying something to his dogs as they come running over.
Jeez. I’ve talked to him for a few seconds and I’m already a smitten kitten. I take a moment to admire his back side, before hurrying after Alyssa to continue the rest of the tour.
2
Will
Damn.
I was not prepared for that.
Not the fact that Elsi, my dog-walker, cancelled, because she’s done that at least twice now; usually on Monday mornings when I know she goes dancing Sunday nights. I should probably get another dog-walker, but I’m new to the city and she was recommended by someone in my building. Someone that doesn’t have a dog, mind you, so maybe that should have been my first warning.
Besides, it’s not a bother to have the pups at work, since Ted kept yammering on and on about the Vancouver office being dog-friendly, hip, and whatever the fuck, as if I would really care, as if it would make the whole move any better.
No. What I wasn’t prepared for was the fact that Ted’s daughter, Jackie, is no longer the petulant teen with big eyes and a bad attitude. That’s what I remember her as, and I have to be honest, I never gave her much thought beyond that. Why would I?
But now . . . now . . .
She does look like her mother, that wasn’t a lie. Her mother is a beautiful lady. I guess I just wasn’t prepared to see how absolutely stunning their daughter turned out to be. Those big eyes are still the same, but her lips are fuller, as is every other part of her in ways that are entirely inappropriate for me to think about.
I guess I was still expecting that teenager with her dyed jet-black hair and nose ring to be my assistant. My mind just latched onto the girl that I remembered, the one who seemed bored out of her mind every time Sasha and I were over for dinner. She couldn’t wait to leave the table so she could hang out with who knows who. I know she gave Ted an ulcer most days.
That girl is gone. Jackie Phillips is one absolutely gorgeous woman, looking as lost and adrift as I did my first day here. As I’m sure I still sometimes look.
Luckily, I’m pretty good at pushing beautiful woman out of my head, even ones I’m supposed to work with every day. Couldn’t Ted have hired some long lost aunt of his instead?
I sit back in my chair and look at Joanie and Sprocket, who have flopped down in the dog bed I have by the couch. I know they’re pleased to be spending the day with me again, but if they get to be a pain in the ass, at least now I can get Jackie to take them for a walk.
I’ve only been back in Vancouver for about a month, but I don’t feel close to having settled in, and it’s kind of strange to have an assistant. In the LA office, Sasha and I shared Megan, who was the office manager, but I still did most things on my own. Booking travel arrangements, filing expense reports—the no-brainer stuff that I could easily do myself.
The moment I came up here though, Ted was insistent that I get an executive assistant of my own. I don’t know if it’s because the workload up here is heavier, especially with the animation side of things really taking off, or he just wants me to be comfortable. I suspect it’s a little of both. Ted is still handling me with kid gloves, as if the divorce has rendered me fragile and completely incompetent.
I’m definitely not fragile. Incompetent is something that remains to be seen. Sasha officially moved out of our house two years ago to be with Ansel, but the divorce was messy and only final four months ago. I tried to stick it out in LA, tried to show her that what she did to me didn’t destroy me, that I could be the bigger person here, but . . .sometimes you know when to pack up and leave.
My alarm beeps, reminding me of a conference call with Ted. Again, it’s strange to do these things in reverse. It used to be me down in LA, calling him up here.
But Ted is Ted, and always gets right to the point with these calls. Half an hour later, after Ted has assured me that everything in on track, he asks, “So how is she doing?”
“I assume you mean your daughter.”
“How does she look? Is she presentable?”
I smile into the phone. “She’s more than presentable, Ted. You never told me she’d grown up to be quite the beautiful young lady.”
“Easy now, Will. Don’t be getting any wrong ideas.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not. I’m just saying, she looks . . . very sweet. I’ll be meeting with her in a bit to go over everything, and I’ll have more of an idea then.” I pause. “Are you sure I need an assistant?”
“Who the hell is going to tie your shoes?”
“Right. But I did just fine in LA without one.”
“Because you had Sasha.”
I can’t help the bitter laugh. “Sasha only looked out for number one. And that was the company.”
Ted gives a long sigh. “Look, you know Jackie and I aren’t exactly close. To be honest, I’m not even sure how to talk to her anymore. When she was up north . . . well, I’m overjoyed she’s back here. Diane is too, but I don’t know what to expect. I just know that she needs this job and you could use the help, and why not help the two most important people to me?”
“Sentimental? At this hour of the morning?”
“I haven’t had my medication yet,” he says dryly. “Don’t get used to it. I better go, we have another meeting here with the new VFX production coordinator. You know, you have a nice crew down here. How did you manage to leave them?”
“I wonder that myself.”
“It was your choice, Will.”
I exhale slowly through my nose. “Yes. It was.”
“No regrets?”
“We’ll see.”
I’m about to hang up when I hear him say, “Take it easy on my girl. She’s had it rough lately.”
“I promise not to ride her too hard,” I smirk.
“Will . . .”
“Ted.”
He sighs and hangs up.
I wait a few moments, getting my bearings, before I stand up and head to the door, the dogs watching my every move. I open the door and poke my head out.
The office is bustling, though not as frantically as one would think. That’s the difference I’ve found so far between the animators here and the visual effects crew in LA. The animators are lazy as fuck, half of them looking stoned at all hours of the day. They get the work done, but not as quick as I would like, or Warner Brothers would like, and unfortunately I’m the one who hears about it.
Jackie is sitting across from me at her desk, her side to me, frowning at the desktop computer and repeatedly clicking on the mouse.
“Never used a Mac before?” I ask her, leaning against the doorway.
She looks over at me, her lips twisting together sheepishly. “How can you tell?”
“Just a guess. How was the tour? Alyssa being good to you?”
She nods. “It was informative.”
“Did she tell you the astrological signs of everyone, their salary, and how much they weigh?”
She smiles, close-lipped. Damn. Her cheeks are something else. “Pretty much. She may have told me how often they use the bathroom too.”
I stare at her for a moment.
“I’m so sorry,” she says quickly, going a shade of red. “I should probably avoid toilet humor first day on the job. I keep forgetting you’re my boss.”
“If it makes you feel better, I keep forgetting you’re my assistant.”
I meant it as a joke but I can see the lines appearing on her smooth forehead. What Ted said runs through my mind. The last thing I want is for her to feel insecure here.
“Well,” I say, “since you’ve had the grand tour, how about we go over the job. I have to admit, I’m not used to having an assistant so I’m not really sure if I’m doing the right thing or not . . . what that even is. So, with that in mind, how about I get you up to speed . . . while we walk the dogs.”
Her eyes brighten. “Sure. Wh
atever you like.” She gets up and I glance down at her shoes, grey kitten heels that only add an inch to her height, making her 5’4” at most.
“Are you going to be okay to walk in those?” Granted, Sasha used to wear ones that would put her at 6’2”—my height—with complete ease. She would have slept in them if she could have. All the better for jabbing me in the middle of the night, preferably near the heart.
She shrugs. “I’m more at home in a pair of boots, but I can handle it.” While she grabs her jacket, I get the dogs on their leashes, making sure I grab a spare umbrella from reception on the way out.
Tiffany, the receptionist, gives me one of her patented withering looks as I do so, and I open the door for Jackie as we step out onto the street.
“What was with that look?” Jackie asks me as I hand her Sprocket’s leash. She takes it without second thought. Good girl.
“She finds it amusing that I grab an umbrella every time I step outside.”
She glances up at the sky, wrinkles her nose. “It could rain at any minute.”
“She would give me the look even if it were a torrential downpour. A true Vancouverite doesn’t use an umbrella. They’re like ducks. The water just rolls right off them.”
“But you used to live here,” she says to me as we start walking down the street, Sprocket pulling her slightly ahead of me and Joanie. “Right?”
“Technically I was born on Vancouver Island, grew up in Victoria,” I tell her, realizing that just because she’s Ted’s daughter doesn’t mean she knows jack shit about me. That’s probably for the best. “But being in LA changes you. Did you know that back when The X-Files were filmed here, David Duchovny made production pack up and move to LA because of the rain? After eight seasons he just couldn’t handle it. Honestly, now that I’ve lived in LA, I don’t blame him. It’s nice to know what you’re going to get every day.”