by Claire Adams
“Wonderful. We shall chat soon! Have a lovely day, Ms. Maxwell.”
“Lilah,” I insisted.
He flashed that hotter-than-sin crooked smile again. “Lilah,” he repeated and nodded. With that, he turned and walked out of the room.
Once he left, I almost collapsed. I flopped down in the nearest chair, pulled my phone out, and dialed Eddie, my oldest brother and one of my closest friends.
“Hey, sis,” the familiar voice on the other end of the line answered. “What's up?”
“That would be the question of the hour,” I replied. “The craziest thing just happened and I have to talk to someone about it. You got time for a drink after work?”
“Absolutely. Are you all right?”
“I'm fine, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. Just a little bit of insanity at work.”
“Cool. Meet you at McGinty's at 8:00?”
“Sounds perfect. I'll see you then.”
I ended the call, put my phone down, and let out a long protracted sigh. The day had certainly turned out to be quite a good deal more interesting than I’d expected.
***
“Hey, Peanut! Great to see you,” Eddie beamed as he stood up from the bar table and gave me a hug.
“Hey, Eddie, thanks for coming out tonight,” I said as we disengaged from the hug and sat down.
Even at ten years older than me, people still asked if Eddie and I were twins. Apparently, we favored enough for it, but we were also very close. Besides, even with the streaks of gray running through his full head of hair and a few fine wrinkles around his eyes, which were appearing now that he was almost 40, he didn’t remotely look his age.
Eddie had always looked out for me when I was growing up. He’d done his best to keep my other three brothers off my back—when he had been around, anyway. Eddie’s childhood was a little tougher than the rest of us had to deal with.
Our mom had died soon after I was born and it seemed like Dad worked all the time just to try to keep things together. My twin brothers David and Robert had been 3 years old when Mom died, and my other brother James had only been 4 and a half. The trauma hadn't affected the rest of us as much as it had Eddie, who had been 10 years old. He used to tell me about her. I think it helped him to remember as much as it helped me feel like I knew her.
After he graduated from high school, he put off college to play in a punk band and had sometimes disappeared for weeks or even months at a time. But he always called me when he hadn’t been around. He'd always been good to me, and there was an undeniably powerful bond between us. I often felt like he was the only person I could really trust in this world.
“So, how's life in the corporate world?” he asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“Never a dull day,” I replied. “How's the music business?”
He'd actually done pretty well with his band. Over the years, they'd gone from sleeping on people's living room floors after gigs or all crammed in a ratty van in a parking lot, to being signed to a respectable label and touring internationally. It was a good thing, too, since he’d never be happy in the “real” world.
“Oh, not bad, not bad at all. Still trying to recoup from jet lag after the Japan tour, but we're right back in the studio tomorrow working on tracks for the new album. No rest for the wicked, as they say,” he said with a chuckle.
I laughed. “I’m so happy things are going well for you guys.”
“Thanks. Me, too. I'm glad I stuck with it. But enough about me, what's going on with you, Peanut? You sounded a little frazzled when you called me earlier.”
“Oh, man, it was a crazy day, just off the charts.”
Eddie nodded as he swigged on the beer he had already drained halfway, while I'd only managed to have a few tentative sips of mine. I told him everything that had happened that day, while he listened attentively.
“So, this Asher guy—he's a real big shot, huh?”
“You could say that. He's the CEO and he owns the company, so, yeah. Oh, and he's been mentioned in Forbes more times than I can count and—”
“Yeah, all right. I get it. He's a big deal in the corporate world, but how does he strike you as a person? Leaving out all the power and prestige and all that corporate impressive stuff—is he, personally, someone you'd be comfortable spending a lot of time around and interacting with on a daily basis?
“I've been all over the place, and met all kinds of people, from millionaires to bums and everything in between, and while I can't say I have much experience in the world of suits, boardrooms, and briefcases, I can tell you that a person's character is absolutely the most important part of who they are.
“So, try to forget about what this guy has achieved and think about who he is. Is he someone you're gonna be able to spend a lot of time with and someone your gut says you can trust? Is he gonna inspire you, or is he gonna be putting you down? Is he genuinely interested in who you are and what you have to offer, or does he just want a pretty face to brighten his day? What do your instincts tell you?”
I nursed my beer and thought about it. While it did seem, on one level, that perhaps Asher was a bit fond of his status and prestige, I had felt as if he had been genuinely interested in what I had said. He seemed sincere in his opinion that I could bring something to the table. Why else would he have offered me the position after I had insulted him right to his face?
There was also that look I'd seen in his eyes that I couldn’t stop thinking about, and that mysterious something I'd noticed in his smile which seemed to have gone beyond mere friendliness. I set those things aside for the time being, though. I didn't need too many elements, too many variables clouding my judgment. Especially since there was a chance I'd just been imagining things, perhaps projecting my own secret desires onto him.
“Well, my instincts say that he’s sincere,” I finally admitted.
In light of everything I'd just considered, it really did seem as if taking the position would be the best thing to do. In fact, it seemed almost foolish not to accept it, even though I wasn’t fully aware of what the position would involve. Asher Sinclair himself had called it a promotion. I didn't know why I'd had such doubts about it before. Maybe I'd just been too flustered after criticizing the man and then having the true identity bomb dropped on me.
“Sincerity is good,” Eddie added. “Now, do you feel like he’s someone you could work with? You aren’t going to want to chuck him from the top of the building after a few days?”
I smiled as I finished off my beer. “Yeah. I think so,” I said slowly. “I think he genuinely believes that I'll be a beneficial addition to his team.”
Eddie smiled and finished his second beer. “Then, take that bull right by the horns, lil' sis! When opportunity comes knockin', you know what you need to do.”
I nodded just as my phone buzzed in my purse. I pulled it out to check my email. As if right on cue, there was a message from Asher Sinclair in my inbox. I opened it and began to read with more than a little nervousness rushing through my veins.
Good evening, Lilah!
Thanks so much for the awesome presentation earlier today. I hope you’ll accept my sincerest apologies for not revealing who I am as soon as we started talking. It's just useful at times for a man in my position to understand what his employees really think about him and his ideas. People tend to be more open and honest with someone other than the boss. I hope you understand.
Anyway, I hope you are seriously considering my offer. I’ve attached a document that gives you a detailed view of what you can expect if you accept it. No rush, of course. As I said, you've got a week to mull it over. I do hope, though, that you don't need that long to make the decision. Feel free to reply when you have made that choice.
Looking forward to hearing from you and working with you!
Kindest regards,
Asher
I opened the attachment and did a quick scan through the job description. It was better than I had expected. I didn't need a we
ek to think about it—I'd made my decision. With my heart in my throat, I typed out a quick reply, proofread it, breathed in deeply, and hit send.
Chapter Three
Asher
For the first time in years, I had to force myself not to stray from my routine. I've learned over the years how important discipline is and how integral to success having a firmly-set routine is. Like everything else I've committed to in life, I've stuck with my routine no matter how I feel when I wake up—and it's paid off for me.
I'm in better shape now at age 32 than I was at 18, and I feel more focused and motivated than I ever have at any point in my life. I generally start my days at 5:00 a.m. with a green smoothie and a bowl of raw organic fruit and vegetables. I then work out in my gym with my personal trainer for an hour. I have a protein shake and a long shower at 6:00, and then I check my email.
Except that a little something—or someone—seemed to have upset my focus somewhat. My first thought when I awoke had been to check my email. I had even reached for my phone once before I got dressed. But I managed to refrain.
It was, however, still in the back of my mind when I opened my messages on the projector screen of my dining room as I settled down to sip on my protein shake. My eyes were immediately drawn to one message in particular, and my finger went straight for the name: Lilah Maxwell.
Good evening, Asher.
Thank you so much for offering me the position on your personal team. I appreciate your promptness in sending the job description. After some careful consideration, I've decided to take the job. I feel there's a lot I can learn from someone like you. I hope, in turn, I'm able to live up to the expectations you have for me. I assure you I'll do everything in my power to do exactly that!
Let me know how to proceed.
Sincerely,
Lilah Maxwell
I drank the last of my protein shake, skimmed over the message one more time, and smiled.
“You've made the right decision, Ms. Maxwell,” I said to myself. “You've definitely made the right decision.”
I dictated a quick reply, which my speech-to-text program converted to type.
Lilah!
So glad you've decided to accept the offer. I suspected you wouldn't actually need that week. I'll email your supervisor regarding the situation and will personally arrange the transfer. Wrap up whatever you need to in your current department; three days should be enough to take care of that. If anything's left unfinished or simply can't be done in that time, no worries. I'll have your supervisor complete it himself, or have your replacement take it over depending on the urgency of the task.
I'll arrange an office for you on my floor. It will be ready shortly. Tell me, would you prefer a city view from your window or an ocean view? I've got vacant offices on both sides, so the choice is yours. You should be moved into your new office by the time I return and we will then have a chat about your new responsibilities and projects. Your primary focus for the time being will be the Harry Winston campaign, of course, which you have fantastic ideas for. We'll get those in motion ASAP.
I look forward to having you on my team!
See you in three days.
Asher
I stood and stretched, still feeling the morning's workout, which had been particularly intense. It wouldn't be the only workout for the day, though. Between board meetings, I had a private Thai kickboxing session booked with a master instructor. If things went really well with my sessions, I planned to be fighting in a ring in a month's time in a local league—under a fake name and identity, of course. I'd always valued my privacy immensely, just as my grandfather had taught me to do, and headlines about a business mogul fighting in a brutal Thai kickboxing league would not do. Marketing was my business, and I knew that wouldn’t be an effective way to market myself or my company.
The cuts and bruises from the ring would be easy enough to explain. Most people who knew anything about me already knew I had a penchant for extreme sports, but publicity was another thing altogether. I'd always avoided it at all costs, and I wasn't about to start getting into it now.
As I stretched, I looked down the long dining table—at which I was, as usual, the only person—and my gaze fixed on the painting perched above the antique fireplace. It was a heavy, somber oil painting of my late grandfather, founder of the Sinclair Agency. He had been the one to purchase this home in Hong Kong. I had fond memories of having breakfast with him at the table that was now so empty.
And, as I always did, I gave those severe eyes a respectful nod. My granddad had been my hero, my pillar of strength growing up. He'd been a hard man and, in addition to his success with the Sinclair Agency, he'd been a war hero. Despite his tough exterior, he had always been a fair and just man. Most only saw his cool, intense demeanor, but he’d had a warm and affectionate side as well. Everything I had grown up to be was almost entirely due to his influence, and not a day went by that I didn't miss him.
“I hope you're proud of me, Gramps,” I said to the painting. “I really do.”
With that, I headed off to take a shower and begin what was set to be a very busy three days in Hong Kong.
***
I stood in front of the mirror in my private bathroom, checking my hair and straightening my tie. I wasn't sure why, but the thought of interacting with Lilah Maxwell had me a little off balance.
“Come on, Ash,” I said to my reflection as I pushed a hand through my hair to calm myself. “Yes, she's pretty. Yes, she's fiery . . . and yes, you do like those things, you really do. But, come on. You're the CEO of one of the most powerful PR firms on the continent. What are you feeling weird about? Get it together.”
I adjusted my tie and ran a finger over the deep cut across my right cheek—a souvenir of the previous morning's sparring session with the kickboxing master. For a 55-year-old, he could still move as fast as a teenager and I suspected his punches, kicks, knees, and elbows were just as devastatingly powerful as they had been when he'd been a younger man.
“Okay, let's do this,” I encouraged my reflection and, with that, I turned and headed to the office three doors down from mine and knocked on the door.
“Just a moment,” came a voice from inside: Lilah's voice.
“Sure,” I replied.
The door opened, and there she was, dressed in a pale-blue business suit that more than complemented her striking eyes. Her hair was pulled back, but in a softer style than the day I’d met her. She beamed a warm smile at me and extended a hand, which I shook firmly, but pulled away the moment I was sure I felt a tingle pass between us.
“Good morning, Mr. —Asher,” she corrected herself as our eyes met briefly. “How was your trip to Hong Kong?” she asked politely.
“Good morning, Lilah. It was productive. Thank you for asking. So, how do you like the new office?” I asked, stepping inside.
“Oh, it's beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I wouldn't have imagined that I'd be in an office this amazing so quickly. I was prepared for it to take me a few years to work my way to an office view like this.”
“When you've got talent and drive, sometimes things happen faster than you think they will. But, of course, you’ve got a lot to prove in order to keep the view.”
My grandfather always said you had to keep a decent amount of pressure on your staff to keep them on their toes; nothing excessive, but enough to remind them that nothing was set in stone. Complacency doesn’t move a company forward; hard work and ambition does. I could not—and would not—tolerate complacency in my firm. Lilah, like every member of my staff, needed to realize this.
“I understand completely,” she replied, “and I intend to do just that. My goal is to see to it that you have no doubt you made the right decision by offering me this position. But more than that, I want to prove to myself that I can not only do this job, but that I can do it brilliantly.”
I smiled. “Excellent. Ultimately, the only person you should ever need to prove anything to or compete with is yourself. A
s long as you're bettering yourself every day, you're winning the race. That's my philosophy, at least.”
“It's a good philosophy.”
I walked over to her desk and immediately noticed a picture of her with a handsome, rugged-looking man staring at me from next to her computer. It was completely irrational, but a sudden stab of jealousy shot sharply through me.
“Is this your boyfriend?” I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth. It was a stupid thing to ask, but what could I do? It had already been said.
“No, no,” she answered hastily, and I couldn’t help feel a sliver or relief at her quick insistence. “He's my oldest brother, Eddie,” she added. “He's also my best friend.”
I stared at the man in the picture, and it began to make sense. Once I looked closer, the physical resemblance between the two was undeniable.
“I see it now. You two favor quite a bit.”
“Yeah. We get that all the time. He and I both have our mother's looks, while my other brothers all look like my dad.”
“How come you don't have pictures of the rest of them on your desk?” I asked and immediately could tell that I probably shouldn't have. She looked noticeably uncomfortable. There were obviously some family issues there.
“It's just that I'm closer to Eddie than my other brothers,” she replied softly.
“Oh, I see,” I responded, not wishing to press the issue. “Well, tell me a bit more about Eddie then. He looks like an interesting guy.”
She smiled, seeming relieved to have gotten away from the topic of her other brothers.
“Eddie’s great. He's a rather unconventional guy—he was a college dropout, but he's worked hard and is quite a success in his field.”
“And, what field might that be?”
“He's a musician—the lead guitarist for The Razor's Edge.”