Ahh! Alone at last. I’m so used to making lists and laying out my work for the day that I’m temporarily stumped, not knowing what to do next. Maybe check out the classified ads? I turn to the tablet and go on monster.com. I type assistant and Los Angeles, and page after page of available jobs come up. This is going to take some time.
I’m checking out the job summary for an opening in Reseda when I hear a knocking on the door. I look through the peep hole and then jump to the side of the door like a child. What the hell is he doing here?
“Livie, open up. I just saw you peeping, so I know you’re there.”
I look down and note that I have on my flimsy flowered robe that’s seen better days. My hair is curly and still a little wet. I have two choices. I can just let him stand there and wait until he decides to go away. Or, I can just open the door and find out what he wants.
I tighten the sash around my robe and open the door. He strides in, stands very close to me, and fixes his gaze upon me. I say nothing, waiting for him to make the first move.
“Why aren’t you at work?” Very aggressive opening move.
“I no longer work there,” I say firmly. Right back at ya.
“Look, I’m sorry I got personal yesterday. As I said, I don’t know why I did that.” He looks contrite. He sounds sorry. But I want more.
“You were my boss. But you had absolutely no right to talk that way to me,” I say again. “Respect is a two-way street.”
“What do you want, Livie? My blood?” He is now clearly distraught.
I look at him with apathetic eyes. “We have nothing more to say to one another.” I move towards the door and open it. He forcefully shuts it closed.
“You can’t just leave!” he says loudly, like he’s talking to someone insane.
“I did. I don’t need your permission. I’m no longer afraid of losing my job. I’ll get another one, I’m sure.” I say all this with a touch of smugness. I’m so angry that I’ve lost my fear. “Oh, and yes, I don’t care if you don’t give me any references, so you can’t dangle that over my head,” I add.
“Livie, please hear me out. I was rude, unforgivably so. I don’t know why I said those things. I was upset with the way the meeting went yesterday morning. I come back to find you on the phone with another man. I just kind of…” Why does he never finish his sentences?
“I don’t care what you say. I am a good worker. I am an excellent assistant. But my personal life is off-limits. You know what, it’s not even that. The things you said were just way out of line! You made me sound like a whore.” My voice is steadily rising and I’m gesturing with my hands to drive home the point, hitting him twice on his chest.
He steadies my arm and I move back, recoiling from his touch. “Don’t touch me,” I say softly this time.
This time, he grabs my hand and holds it tight. He looks at me with an unfathomable expression and I find myself drowning in the now dark gray pools of his eyes.
“Let me go,” I plead with him.
“I will, if you promise to listen to me,” he says. I nod vigorously and he lets go of my hand. “I didn’t mean to imply you’re a …”
“Whore?” I help him out because he can’t seem to say the word.
“What I wanted to say to you was that you don’t deserve to be with an insensitive jackass who doesn’t bloody care to be in a real relationship with you.” He searches my face for a response.
“Why are you so concerned about my love life?”
“In the short time you’ve been my assistant, I’ve seen how hard you work and how well-liked and respected you are by everyone at the office. I just don’t want to see you hurt by someone who doesn’t appreciate you.”
I actually don’t know how to respond to what he’s saying.
“Thank you for caring. I don’t know how to say this, but it makes me quite uncomfortable to hear you say things like that.”
“I understand. Please, please, please come back to work. I’ll do my best not to open my mouth,” he says with a small smile. “The last thing I want is to be responsible for your resignation.”
“It’s alright. I think it would be much better this way.”
“Why?” he asks, the lines of his forehead etched with concern.
I sigh deeply and tell him, “Because we can’t move forward from where we started.”
“I strongly disagree. We were doing well as a team until I put my foot in my mouth.”
“I don’t know. I was actually quite happy with my decision before you knocked on the door. You should have just let it be,” I gently reproach him.
“I couldn’t. I can’t. Will you please reconsider your decision?”
“Tony, I’m not trying to be difficult. But, please, give me some time to think.”
He slowly nods and then walks to the door. But something makes me say, “I was having tea when you came in. Would you like some?”
“Yes, I would like some.” He seems genuinely glad I’ve offered.
I gesture toward the dining table and motion for him to sit down. “What would a Southern Californian know about making tea?” he asks.
My left eyebrow rises and I say, “Don’t be arrogant. There are a lot of things we Americans do as well as or even better than the Brits.”
“But tea is not one of them,” he insists.
“You be the judge,” I say as I pour boiling water into a cup with a teabag. I hand it to him gingerly. I slide a small plate of lemon wedges and the bottle of honey his way.
“No cream or sugar?”
“Sorry, no. Try it our way. You just might like it.” He seems hesitant, so I squeeze the lemon and put a teaspoon of honey into his cup. “Now, stir, good sir,” I instruct him.
He stirs slowly and then brings the cup close to his lips. After one or two sips, he puts the cup down on the saucer.
“Well?” I ask.
“It’s quite good. Thank you,” he says gratefully. We both continue to sip our tea, busy with our own individual thoughts and not in a hurry to make conversation.
I see him examining his surroundings. He says, “You have a cute flat.”
“Cute as in small?” I tease.
“Cute as in charming.”
“I share it with a friend.”
“I know.”
“How?” I ask, surprised.
He stares at me for a few seconds, like he doesn’t want to respond. “Background check,” he says briefly.
“I see. I guess I should have realized that.” I’m a little unnerved about what else he might know about me. Not that I have anything to hide. It’s just disturbing for someone who’s not close to you to know the details of your life.
“What else do you know about me?” I ask, wanting to know and yet not know at the same time.
“You graduated with cum laude honors and a GPA of 3.65. You have no siblings. Your mother is a supervisor/manager at a sandwich shop. You’re allergic to walnuts. You’ve known your roommate, her name eludes me now, since college. Your roommate, Jen – that’s right, that’s her name – works as a web developer. Do you want more?”
“Are you trying to impress me? Because now I just find you plain creepy,” I say with a small laugh.
“Gallo’s carefully vets anyone who is assigned to finance. And, since you’re working for me…”
“Of course, Lord Avery.”
“Don’t call me that. The title belongs to my father.”
“Won’t you be a baron one day?”
“No. He’s a life peer. Those titles are not passed on.”
“Excuse my ignorance. Why is it that the British always give off this vibe of superiority?” I decide to needle him just a bit.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says smugly.
“There! That’s exactly what I’m referring to.”
“You’re not going to get a rise out of me, Livie. I’m only half-British. I grew up in Brazil.”
“And what was it like to grow up with a
famous mother?”
“She was… is… a very big celebrity in Brazil. She’s older now, but the paparazzi still trail her a lot. She knows it’s the price to be paid for the extraordinary career she’s had. She always tried to shield me from the limelight, but didn’t succeed very well. I love my mother, but I hated being the son of Ava Oliveira.” I can almost picture him as a little boy, lost in the melee of flashing cameras and screaming fans.
“Were you always on the road while she was filming?”
“No. I had a nanny, a wonderful woman. She was like a second mum. I did go to the movie sets once in a while, just to visit. I could never understand that world. I don’t know how anyone can put up with the horrible invasion of privacy.”
“How about your father? Were you close to him?”
“Not as a child. But I grew closer to him when I came to England to earn my degree.” He sighs. “So there you have it, my life story. We’re now even.”
“Not even close.” I briefly wonder how he would react if I said ‘tell me about Izabel.’ I know I would never dare, but I want to know so badly. Instead I ask, “You have a law degree, don’t you?”
“Have you been stalking me online?” he asks in jest.
“Please! Have you never googled yourself?”
“I value my time, Ms. Harris.”
“And I suppose there’s nothing more important than spending time with me in my humble kitchen?” I say, tongue-in-cheek.
“Absolutely nothing,” he says as he gives me a strange look. He stands up and says, “I hope you don’t mind. It’s quite warm in here,” he says as he takes off his suit jacket.
I watch him and I feel blood coursing through my veins. I have a vision of him, doing the exact same thing in his hotel suite. He was kissing me senseless even as he was undressing. At one point, I was helping him drag the sleeves down, impatient to feel his well-toned body with my hands. He murmured against my swollen lips, “I’m burning up and I haven’t even begun to touch you.”
“Livie?” he says with an upward inflection, rousing me from my trance. I can’t pull my gaze away from him. My eyes travel down to his mouth and then I stop caring about what’s right. I give in to my heart’s desire.
I pull myself up from the dining table and then bend down to kiss his forehead. His hand tentatively moves to my hips. I kiss his cheek and he tightens his hold on me and pulls me closer. Finally, I press my mouth to his, my hands cupping his clenched jaw. He grips my arms and, like in a dream, stands up to his full height, towering over me. Kiss me. Hold me. Touch me. Do things to me. Can you hear me plead?
“Livie,” he says my name again, this time with such heat.
I put a finger to his mouth to silence him, but he grasps my hand and plants a kiss on my inner wrist. Reluctantly, like it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do, he pushes me away from him. Immediately I shrink away, my self-possession washed away by his words. What just happened?
“Olivia, please, I want you to come back to work.” Of course, this visit was about work. I just stupidly gave in to my impulses and made a fool of myself – yet again.
If only I had the courage to say no. If only I could somehow rise above this tormenting desire to see him and touch him. But, not even the abject humiliation of being turned away can keep me from my overwhelming need to be near him. I just can’t not see him anymore. I need more time, so I make up my mind.
“If I come back to work, will I work for John again?”
He looks pained by my question. “Yes, but please help me out until the Masquerade Ball. There is so much to be done, and I can’t afford to have someone new working for me until afterwards.”
“Then, yes, I will go back to work. Tomorrow, if that’s okay with you?”
“Are you planning something special for the rest of the day?” he asks.
I find it hard not to return his disarming smile. “Not at all. Just staying at home and catching up on my favorite series.”
“And what would that be?”
“Allsopp Court. I have a thing for the British,” I say without thinking.
“Do you now?”
“I mean I like British productions.” I better stop talking now.
“Can’t blame you. Well then, enjoy your day. Thank you for the cup of tea. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning,” Just then, my robe becomes loose and his eyes move down to my exposed neckline. I hastily tighten the sash and give an apologetic look, and I see that his face is unreadable. He walks hastily to the front door and leaves. I close the door and lean against the frame for several minutes, my mind a jumbled mess of uncertainty.
***
I go to Trader Joe’s and buy Panko Breaded Tilapia Fillets. I also buy two packs of their Caesar salad and a small bouquet of tulips. I’m planning on surprising Jen with dinner. Once I get home, I make a rice pilaf. I arrange the flowers in a vase at the center of the table. At seven, she walks in looking exhausted, but when she sees the dining area, her eyes light up in surprise.
“What’s the occasion? I thought you weren’t feeling well?”
“I got better and I thought that, since we haven’t had dinner together for so long, I may as well make an effort. It’s your favorite baked fish, my pilaf, and some salad.”
“That sounds great! Let me change into sweats and then we can start.”
Jen and I are laughing our heads off as she tells me about Rex, the new software guy they’ve hired. He’s our age, extremely smart and attractive, but a real nerd.
“I mean, really, he’s so socially impaired. What a waste! To think that he has the thickest black hair, and beneath those thick glasses, he has the most soulful blue eyes. Mandy thinks he likes me, but his idea of a move is offering me half of his tuna sandwich. Ugh! Why are men so retarded?” she asks rhetorically.
“You tell me,” I reply.
She looks thoughtfully at me and asks, “Has your boss been feeling you up while you take dictation?”
“Jen! Are you serious? Nobody does dictation anymore. Our main form of communication is through email.” I’m not really telling the truth, but I don’t want her to think there’s something going on. Because, yes, something’s definitely going on, but it’s all on my side.
“Well, did you offer to reduce his stress with a massage or a quickie?” She’s raising her eyebrows up and down.
“Grow up!”
“Nothing at all?” she asks disbelievingly.
“Sorry to disappoint you. He’s married, remember?”
“That doesn’t even count since he’s separated. It’s official. He’s an even bigger retard than Rex.”
My smile deepens into laughter. “It’s over, Jen. We work together now.”
“Is it really over, even for you?” she asks curiously.
I don’t answer for a long time.
“Liv?” she asks again.
“I don’t know how to answer you. Honestly, I’m still very much attracted to him. I can’t fight it. I’m just hoping that I’ll get over it one day soon.”
“Maybe he’s attracted to you, too, but he’s aware of how it will look. He’s your boss.”
“I don’t think it’s like that. He was here this morning and I practically offered myself.”
“What? What do you mean he was here this morning?”
“I might as well tell you the truth. I didn’t go to work because I was angry with him. I just wanted to find a new job.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Jen, are you really gonna get mad at me for that?”
The corners of her mouth tilt down. “Well, no, but you seem to be keeping secrets from me now.”
“I just wasn’t ready to tell you because you’d have been, like, all over me, and I would have felt worse.”
“Okay. So he just came to visit you?”
“Yup. He asked why I wasn’t at work and I told him I wasn’t thinking of going back.”
“Wasn’t, as in past tense? Does that mean you’ve ch
anged your mind?”
“Yes. I’m going back tomorrow.”
“What did he say to make you change your mind? Hold on, why were you even angry with him?”
“It’s a long story, Jen. I just felt insulted. Anyway, he made it clear that he values my work and he didn’t want me to quit.”
“No fair. I don’t get to hear the good part,” she says with a pout.
“Moving on…” I say.
“Didn’t you say that you offered yourself? What do you mean by that?” I’m starting to realize that telling Jen wasn’t such a great idea.
I look down, not quite knowing how to tell her. “I had another flashback, vision, whatever you want to call it. He was taking off his suit jacket because it was pretty warm and I remembered him doing the exact same thing at the hotel. I’m embarrassed to say that the whole thing… the act of remembering – it just gave rise to some feeling. I don’t know. I can’t explain it very well. All I know is that I just wanted to touch him, to kiss him.” I pause, wondering if I should even tell Jen what happened next.
“And…you kissed him, right?”
I nod.
“He didn’t kiss you back?” she asks, her tone surprised.
“I thought he was going to but then he gently pushed me away like he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Which is ironic, of course, because his lack of response had already wounded my pride and feelings.” I smile briefly, not wanting Jen to know how deep the cut was.
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“Why not? It does. The answer is staring you right in the face. He doesn’t want me that way anymore.”
“If that’s really true, why are you going back to work? Won’t it be awkward?”
“I love my job, Jen. I’ve said that a million times. I like my co-workers and I’m not ready to move. Plus, he gave me his word that after I attend to the Masquerade Ball, I’m free to go back to John. That’s a month away.”
“You’ll be okay seeing him everyday?”
“I think so. He’ll be safe from my advances, I promise.”
“Livie,” she rebukes me for my sorry attempt at humor. “He should be so lucky to have you, remember that.”
I stand up to gather the dishes and put them in the sink. Jen follows with the rest. I wash and she dries, as is our usual division of labor.
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