Selfish

by Shantel Tessier

  I follow her up the winding staircase as she makes small talk. “So how long have you been in New York?”

  “I just arrived yesterday.”

  “Oh, wow. How do you like it so far?”

  “It’s very overwhelming,” I say honestly, and she laughs.

  “I can understand that,” she says as we come to the top of the stairs.

  “Are you from here?” I wonder.

  “Born and raised,” she says proudly.

  I follow her down a hallway and into an office, she gestures for me to sit. “Now, I’m gonna be honest with you, Ashlyn. We would like someone who has two years of experience.”

  I straighten my back as I cross my right leg over my left. “May I ask why you agreed to meet with me then?” I ask truthfully.

  She looks surprised by my question. “Because your professor had nothing but good things to say about you. And there were a lot.”

  I smile. “Well, every teacher has a favorite student.”

  She laughs at that. “Yes, they do.” She links her hands together and rests them on her desk. “I was also told that you have connections.”

  I try to hide my smile but fail. “Connections?” I try to sound as if I’m clueless. I’m not.

  She nods. “There is an artist I’m interested in. I’ve seen the work online, and I’d love to showcase it in our gallery. I was told that you know said artist.”

  “I don’t know them personally, but I know their work.”

  She smiles as if that pleases her. “I was told that you know how to reach out. Make them an offer.”

  “I can.”

  “Excellent,” she says with a bright smile. “May I?” she asks, looking down at the resume on my lap now that I passed that test.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, handing it to her.

  She opens it up and silently reads over it. Her brows lift, and she smiles. Then she closes it. Wow. That didn’t take long. “You worked at The Fort Gallery in Seattle?”

  “I did an internship there.”

  “Very impressive,” she says with a head nod. “What all did your internship entail? Did they keep you on the computer or did you work with the art?”

  “A little bit of both,” I say honestly. “I started out at the desk. Then over time, I moved to the art.”

  She opens the resume up and scans over it again. “You were there for three years?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That’s a long time for an internship,” she says, sounding skeptical.

  “After six months, they hired me on as a full-time employee,” I inform her.

  “You went to school full time and worked full time?” she questions, and I nod. “Impressive.” I smile proudly. “Where do you see yourself in five years, Ms. Whitaker?”

  “I want to run my own gallery.”

  “Wow. Those are big plans for five years.”

  “I understand that, but I also know what I’m capable of. And I am the type of person who dreams big and does whatever it takes to make them come true.”

  She tilts her head to the side as she considers what to ask me next. “Do you have any question for me?” she finally asks.

  “Yes. I was wondering how your relationship with your artists works?” Her brows arch. “When showcasing their work, do you show their work at openings, sell a few pieces, and then pack up what is left and send them a check? Or do you represent them under contract, showcasing their art throughout the gallery until their contract is up?”

  She sits back in her seat and places her hands on her lap with a smile on her lips. “We are very versatile here. Our sole intention is to cater to the artist. And what will work for one may not work for another. Those who are interested in a contract are offered one. But it is not required, if they choose not to.”

  I nod. “What is a typical work day consist of?”

  “Well, honestly, that is hard to define. Starting out, I would have you helping Thomas at the front desk, answering phones and working on the computer. I would also have you in the back, packaging and unpacking art. If we have an event coming up, I would like your input on showcasing and marketing strategies.”

  My eyes widen. “That is a very wide variety.”

  She nods. “Yes, Ms. Whitaker. Here at Talia’s, we like all hands on deck. We are very versatile in the art industry. And that will come into play when opening your own gallery,” she says with a smile.

  ***

  An hour after my interview, I find myself walking out of a liquor store in downtown Manhattan with a smile on my face. I researched the name of the scotch that Becca told me and made a shit ton of phone calls until I found what I was looking for. Turns out, the scotch that Mr. O’Kane prefers is not sold in any given liquor store. Of course not, that would make my life too easy. But after my tenth call to local stores, I spoke to a man who was very helpful and told me of this kind that is just like it and only costs one hundred and fifty dollars. However, he did fail to mention that it was the size of one shot, but I went ahead and bought it anyway. I was running out of options, and I wasn’t gonna change my mind.

  A cab comes to a stop in front of me, and I open up the back door to get in. “Where to?” the man in the driver seat asks.

  I bite my bottom lip as I look down at my phone. Shit. I don’t know where he works at. “One sec …” I go to Google and type in. “O’Kane …”

  He stomps on the gas, making my body slam into the backseat. My phone goes flying to the floor. “Excuse me?” I growl, rubbing my head. “Where are we going?” I demand as he makes his way through traffic. Other cars honk at us, and I quickly reach for my seat belt after grabbing my phone.

  “You said O’Kane, so I’m taking you to O’Kane’s,” he answers as he swerves to the right and jumps on a new road.

  I’m about to ask him how he knows what I’m talking about, but I decide not to. Becca’s family is obviously well-known in this town. Makes sense, being that he owns half of it.

  “Learn how to drive,” I growl as I get out of the car when he finally comes to a stop.

  “New to New York, huh?” He laughs as he raises his hand and snaps his fingers. “You’ll get used to it.”

  I throw the cash into the cab through the front window, and he peels off, tires squealing.

  I turn around and look up at a tall building that seems to reach the sky. People pass by me as if they’ve never seen something this beautiful. The glass is tinted black, and the entire structure twists as it goes up. As if the sky itself is pulling it up from the ground.

  Someone bumps into me. He doesn’t even stop his phone conversation to say he’s sorry, but it does knock me out of my trance. I straighten my back and walk to the big glass doors. A man dressed in a black and white suit bows his head to me. “Good day, ma’am.”

  “Good day, sir,” I reply as he opens the door for me. I turn and say, “Thank you,” and he nods his head to me once again.

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  I come to another stop as laughter and conversation fills my ears. I take in the black marble floor and dark gray walls along with the silver paintings that are bigger than some garage doors. It’s gorgeous. Breathtaking. I’m so entranced that it takes a few seconds for the man standing next to me to get my attention.

  “Hello,” I say, finally looking over at him.

  A man smiles softly. His dark brown eyes and dark brown hair looks familiar. “Ashlyn. Can I be of some assistance?”

  “You know my name?” I ask confused.

  “I picked you up from the airport yesterday, ma’am,” he says matter-of-factly.

  Oh, that’s why he looks familiar. He was Ryder’s driver. I was too busy paying attention to New York to take note of the driver.

  “Are you here to visit Mr. O’Kane?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like me to show you up, or would you like to wait here with me for him?” My brows pull together in confusion. “He called down minutes ago for me to w
ait for him. He will be down shortly.”

  He called down for him? Didn’t Ryder say he was his driver? Does his father use the same man? “Who exactly are you waiting for?” I decide to ask.

  “Ryder.”

  Thought so. I give him a smile. “I’m not here to see Ryder.”

  The smile drops off his face as he realizes I’m here to see Ryder’s father. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” he says quickly.

  I laugh softly. “No need to be sorry. I wasn’t very clear.” I forget that they both work together.

  “Here. Here.” He takes me by my upper arm and starts to pull me toward the elevators. “I will take you to Mr. O’Kane.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” I don’t want him to get in trouble if Ryder comes down here, and he isn’t here.

  He waves his free hand in the air. “I must,” he assures me.

  We get into an elevator, and he presses the seventy-fifth floor. “Wow. That’s really up there,” I say.

  “It doesn’t take as long as you would think,” he assures me.

  People come and go as we stop on what feels like every floor. I’m looking down at my black pencil skirt and making sure that my white blouse is tucked in neatly. “We’re here,” he announces, and I look up from my outfit just as the doors slide open.

  I walk off the elevator as I adjust my purse on my shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

  “Anytime, ma’am.”

  I smile. So proper. “Please, call me Ashlyn.”

  He nods. “Ashlyn.”

  “Mr. …?”

  “Milton.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Milton.”

  He shakes his head as he steps off the elevator. “Just Milton.”

  I reach out my right hand, and he places his in mine. “It was nice to officially meet you, Milton. And again, thank you.”

  “My pleasure, Ashlyn.”

  I release his hand and turn around. All of a sudden, I realize I still have no clue where I am going. A pretty blonde sits at a desk to my right, but she has a headset on along with a desk phone in her hand as she speaks quickly and authoritatively. I probably came at a bad time. It’s a little after five now, and I’m sure everyone is trying to get out of here for the day.

  “Do you know where his office is?”

  I spin around to see that Milton is still standing outside the elevator. “I do not,” I admit with a shaky smile. “I’m afraid I’m very unprepared today.”

  He laughs at that. “It happens. Follow me.” I follow him as he leads me past the desk of the pretty blonde. She doesn’t even bother to look up at us as she lays down the desk phone and then tells the person on her headset to hold for Mr. O’Kane. And I instantly feel awkward. I should have never come to his workplace. I should have had Becca just take me to her parents’ house tonight. A man who has this much money and this big of a business doesn’t have time for a visit from me. He probably has to turn people away all the time.

  Milton comes to a stop and knocks on a black door that reads Timothy O’Kane, CEO. “Come in,” I hear a deep voice respond from the other side of it.

  Milton opens the door and clears his throat. “Mr. O’Kane.”

  “Milton. What can I do for you?” I hear him ask.

  “I have brought you a visitor,” he announces and then steps to the side.

  I watch as Mr. O’Kane stands from his chair. He buttons the button on his dark gray suit jacket and comes around his desk as a warm smile spreads across his face. “Ashlyn, what a surprise. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  In the four years I have known Becca, I have only met her father once. That was two weeks ago at our college graduation. And it was very brief. From what Becca has told me, he is married to his work. He eats, breathes, and lives this company. But hey, who else is gonna make him a billionaire? All that money must be addicting. I’ve met her mother five times. She came to Seattle every year on Becca’s birthday and then for graduation. Every time she left, Becca was in tears. Not because she missed her but because her mother would remind her every day that she was making a mistake by living her life how Becca wanted instead of how she wanted. She’s a bitch. “Hello, sir. I hope I’m not bothering you. I should have called first,” I say, feeling stupid now that I think of it. I just interrupted his workday to give him a fucking shot of scotch. So stupid.

  “Oh, no problem at all. Please”—he points at the high back white studded chair that sits in front of his desk—“have a seat. I have a few minutes to spare.”

  “I will leave you two to it,” Milton says as he starts to walk to the door.

  “Thanks again, Milton,” I say to him.

  He nods. “Ryder will be a few more minutes, Milton,” Mr. O’Kane tells him. “He is in a meeting at the moment.”

  Milton nods his head and then walks out, shutting the door behind him.

  “What can I do for you, Ashlyn?” he asks as he undoes the button on his jacket and sits back down.

  I take a deep, calming breath. “I’m new to all of this,” I say honestly.

  “Yes. Becca told me that you have never been to New York before. What do you think so far?”

  “Well, the cab drivers are a death trap. And every building I see makes me feel smaller and smaller.”

  He laughs at those statements. “You get used to it.”

  That’s what the cab driver told me. “But that’s not what I was referring to when I said I’m not used to all of this.”

  He leans back in his chair and places his right ankle on top of his left knee. “What are you referring to then?”

  I raise my hands out to my sides, gesturing to his office. He has artifacts that hang from the wall and diplomas that sit above a large red leather couch. Floor-to-ceiling windows make up the back wall, allowing me to see over Manhattan. Buildings for miles and beautiful blue water that I’m guessing is the Hudson River from where his office sits. To the right of those buildings, you can see Central Park. “It’s beautiful. But too much.” I look down at my purse and sigh that I’m here to give the man scotch that isn’t even gonna be worth drinking. “I didn’t know I would be living in such an extravagant place,” I admit.

  “Becca didn’t tell you?” he asks confused.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Mr. O’Kane.” He doesn’t correct me to call him Timothy. “I can’t even afford the key card for the elevator, let alone—”

  He holds up his hand, and I immediately stop talking. “Ashlyn, I assure you, you have nothing to worry about when it comes to finances.”

  “I won’t live off someone else. I was not raised that way.” I shake my head. “I Googled as much info about the apartment building last night, and it was way more than I’ll ever make in a lifetime.”

  He smiles thoughtfully. “You are a lot like me.”

  I raise my right eyebrow. Did he not hear what I just said? “How is that?” It seems like he built the kingdom, and I’m the peasant begging for a scrap of bread.

  “Just like you, I also did some research myself.”

  “You Googled … what?”

  “Your parents,” he admits shamelessly.

  I softly laugh. “I’m sorry, Mr. O’Kane, but you will not find their financial status on the web.”

  “That may be true, but that’s not what I was looking for.” I frown. “Every time I spoke to my only daughter, she would go on and on about her best friend and how much her parents did for her. You know I spoke to them last week.”

  “My parents?” I ask as my mouth dropped open.

  He nods. “Yes. They called me. They wanted to know what they owed me for offering to let you stay with Becca, and I told them nothing. They insisted to the point it became offensive.” He chuckles. “They are very good people.”

  I smile with pride. “They are.”

  He drops his foot and stands from his chair. He comes to sit in the matching chair beside mine. “I didn’t get to where I am today without being a ruthless shark, but when it comes to family, I do my best
to help in any way I can. And you and your parents are like family to me.” That surprises me.

  I place a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry if this sounds ungrateful, but talking to them one time doesn’t mean that you know them, sir.”

  He doesn’t take offense; he just smiles bigger. “It wasn’t talking to them that made them family. It was talking to Becca. I didn’t want my little girl to go to school in Seattle, but I kept my mouth shut. It was my wife who tried to keep her here.” He sighs. “But she was an adult, and I had to let her make her own decisions. I remember the first call I made to her like it was yesterday. She was crying. She had been there for maybe a week, and Conner had upset her. She sounded like she was at a bar, and it was loud. I told her she was coming home immediately. That if she didn’t put her ass on a plane, then I was sending a private jet to bring her home. She calmed down and talked me into giving her one more week.

  When I spoke to her that following week, she sounded like a different person. She didn’t mention Conner once. All she could talk about was her new best friend and how she spent the week with her and her family.” He pats my hand as it sits on my knee. “You guys took her in like she was one of you, and I will do the same for you here.” He stands abruptly and walks back to his desk. He sits down. “Don’t worry about money. All you need to worry about is what you plan on doing next with your life. You’re fresh out of college. Have some fun.”

  I run a hand through my hair. “I just don’t want you to think that I’m taking advantage of my situation. Becca is my best friend and …”

  “And that’s all that matters.”

  His desk phone rings, and he reaches over and presses a button, turning on the speaker, and then I hear a woman’s voice. “Mr. O’Kane. William’s on line three.”

  “Thank you, Jessica,” he says and then looks at me. “I’m sorry, but I must take this.”

  I stand. “Sure,” I say quickly. I was lucky to get this amount of time with him. I dig through my purse. “I wanted to get you something for your gratitude.” I pull out the little bottle and place it on his desk. He looks down at it and smiles brightly as if it’s the forty-thousand-dollar scotch that he actually drinks. “I know it’s not much …”