by Claire Adams
I kept a spare change of clothes in the bottom drawer of my desk, and I pulled out a pair of olive green canvas trousers and put those on. I changed my socks and left my sneakers on the window sill to dry. The only other footwear I had here were my Timberland boots, so I put those on.
I sat down at my desk and pulled up my left pant leg and looked at my calf. The skin was a little red, but there was no blistering, no real burns. I couldn’t help but think about the time my stepfather, Pete, tried to knock a pot of boiling water onto me. I was eleven, twelve, maybe, boiling water to make spaghetti because Mom was working and Pete couldn’t be bothered to actually make any meal that didn’t involve a microwave. When Mom was around, he mostly ignored me, but when she was out, he had free rein to treat me however he wanted.
If Pete had started this shit with me when I’d been older, I’d like to at least think I’d hit him back or tell him to fuck off. But as it was, Mom met him when I was five, and he started knocking me around not long after that.
“Go ahead and be a pussy and go crying to your mother about it,” he’d sneered at me, as though daring me to rat him out. “Just like a little girl. You think that sort of shit’s going to save you? You think anyone would look at you and think you’re anything but a pathetic little fuck that no one will ever want to be around?” It was always some sort of variation of that—I was the world’s biggest pussy, no one would ever like me, there was nothing I could do about it.
I wasn’t the only kid I knew who had a stepfather—or father—that liked to treat them like a punching bag, but it’s not like it was something you’d talk about at school. Not back then, anyway. There was no after school support group for kids from abusive homes; there’d just be the kids with the black eyes, the bruised arms, the split lips, and were our gazes to ever meet as we passed in the hallway, we’d be quick to look the other way.
That night he’d tried to knock the water on me, I had stepped back at the last second. Had I not, I would have been scalded from the torso down; as it was, I still had a few tiny scars on my legs that no one would ever notice unless I pointed them out. He had tried to play it off like it’d been an accident, like it was my fault that it had happened, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes that it hadn’t turned out worse for me. That all I was going to take away from that particular incident were a few tiny scars that were barely even noticeable.
But they were there, nonetheless. No one else might have been aware of them, but I sure as hell was.
Chapter Four
Daisy
I tried to focus on what Jonathan was saying, and not think about the fact that I’d just spilled hot coffee all over Ian. So far, my first day wasn’t going that great.
“So,” Jonathan said, “I guess I’ll just start by telling you all the stuff that our previous admin used to do. I don’t think it’s going to be anything new to you.”
“You mean secretary?” I said, smiling. I felt comfortable with Jonathan in a way that I sure as hell didn’t with Ian. Maybe because I’d known him longer, or that I could just tell he was one of those guys that would go out of his way to try to be nice and accommodating, which he was doing right now, and I appreciated.
He made a face. “I can see you’ve been talking to Ian. He has some . . . outdated ideas about a few things,” he said. “I think admin sounds much better. But whatever you want to call it, your main responsibilities will be to ensure that things in the office are running smoothly. We employ a lot of people here, most of whom you will never meet.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. They’re out in the field, which could be any number of places. We do security for recurring events and one-off events, sometimes even for little things like birthday parties.”
“Birthday parties? Who would need security for a birthday party?”
Jonathan waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind any of that. They’re the sort of people you don’t want to get involved with, anyway. Come on; I’ll show you your desk.”
My desk ended up being not too far from Ian’s office, where the door was still closed.
“So, you’re our first line of defense when it comes to calls,” Jonathan said. “Pun intended. Really, though, you’ll be answering the phones, directing calls, some filing, some computer stuff. You familiar with the Microsoft Suite?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Cool. We have a wide range of clients here, from families to big corporations and everything in between, and we want to make them all feel like they’re the most important client. No one client is more important than another here.”
“Not even a billionaire from Dubai?” He looked at me in confusion. “I overheard Ian talking to someone—Dan, I think his name was—when I came in.”
“Oh, right.” The expression on Jonathan’s face tightened, making me think that he didn’t like this billionaire guy. “He’s not actually a client of ours, but he’ll be visiting somewhere that we do provide security. We do have some clients that . . . well, never mind that. We can discuss that later.”
I was about to ask him what he meant when the phone rang. He reached over and answered.
“Hard Tail Security,” he said. His eyebrows shot up. “Hey! Billy. Thanks for returning my call. Did you have a chance to talk to Seamus? You did. Okay, great. Uh . . .” He shot a glance at me. “Hold on one sec, let me just scoot over into my office. Yeah, thanks.” He pressed the hold button and set the receiver back on the cradle. “Pardon me one sec,” he said. “Important call I’ve got to take. Be right back.”
He hurried off into his office, leaving me there, not totally sure what I should be doing. He hadn’t given me enough of an explanation about anything to really get started . . . other than I was going to be answering the phones. So I checked out my new desk. The desk was an L-shape, with a cream-colored surface. There was a computer, and several letter trays, as well as a cup filled with pens. I sat down in the swivel rolling chair and looked at the phone. It was similar to the one we’d had at Shear Genius, so that made me feel a little less nervous.
It started to ring.
The light for line 1 was still lit up, so that meant Jonathan was still on his call, and wouldn’t, presumably, be answering this call. I glanced toward Ian’s office, where the door was still firmly shut. He’d gone in there after the whole coffee fiasco and hadn’t come out yet, though I did happen to catch sight of his behind when he’d been changing. I’d looked away before I really had a chance to process what I’d seen, and hadn’t said anything to Jonathan about it because he’d been in the middle of speaking.
The phone was still ringing. I leaned forward a little, trying to get a glimpse into Ian’s office to see if he was still in there. Of course he was, because I hadn’t seen him leave, but the most I could see was the corner of his formidable desk.
The phone rang a third time.
What was I waiting for? That’s what I was hired to do here, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that part of my job description? This was probably some sort of test; maybe it was Ian who had called Jonathan, just so they could see what I would do if the phone rang and no one was out here to tell me what to do. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat.
I picked up the phone.
“Hard Tail Security, this is Daisy,” I said.
There was static on the line, like whoever was calling was doing so from a car moving at high speed, with all of the windows rolled down.
“Hello?” I said. “I’m sorry—could you repeat that? I can’t understand you very well. The call is breaking up.”
It was a woman, I could tell that much, and it sounded like she was asking for Ian.
The static died down a bit. “Is Ian there?”
“Um . . .” I looked back toward his door. “He’s not available at the moment. Could I take your name and number and I’ll have him give you a call back a little later?”
“No,” she said, and hung up.
I looked at the receiver for a second before I set
the phone back down on the cradle. Well, that hadn’t gone as stellar as I had hoped. But, I had answered the call, and not let it keep ringing.
Just then, Ian’s office door opened. He stepped out, wearing a completely different outfit than he had before. Except the shirt—that was the same.
He seemed surprised to see me there. “Oh,” he said. “Where’s Jonathan?”
“He’s in his office. He had to take a call.”
“Did you just answer the phone?”
“I did. I wasn’t sure if you were going to get it or not—”
“I wasn’t. Which is why we hired you.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And how did you answer the phone?”
I looked at him. “How did I answer it? What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I just said. What did you say when you answered the phone?”
“Oh. Well, Jonathan didn’t tell me what to say, but I think I said something along the lines of, Hello, Hard Tail Security, this is Daisy.”
He nodded. “That works. You don’t need to identify yourself, though. In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ve always done so in the past because it makes it a little more personable, but I don’t have to keep doing it.”
“The secretary doesn’t need to get personable with the clients,” he said. “Unless I decide she does, at which point, I will let you know. What else did Jonathan go over with you?”
“Um . . . not too much yet. I think he’s going to do more when he gets done with the phone call. I’m really sorry about spilling the coffee like that, by the way. Are your pants okay?” I had meant to ask if he was okay, but ended up saying that instead.
He gave me a funny look. “Uh, yeah, they’re great,” he said. “They were really hoping to go for that antiquated look that only spilled coffee can seem to achieve.”
I smiled; he didn’t. Great. I snuck a glance toward Jonathan’s office, though he showed no signs of reappearing. Ian followed my gaze, a bemused expression on his face.
“The main things we’d like you to do here are answer the phones, make sure the place stays neat, so that means filing any paperwork, restocking supplies as necessary, emptying the trash. Jonathan and I will periodically have a list of things for you to do aside from what I just mentioned, but I think it’d be good for you to start with the basics.”
“Sure,” I said. “I can definitely handle all of that.”
He nodded. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
Chapter Five
Ian
I spent the rest of the day in my office with the door open, so I could overhear everything that Jonathan and Daisy talked about. It was quaint, really, sort of like listening to “How Not To Get A Girl Interested In You.” It was almost unbelievable how badly he sucked at flirting. I mean, it was painful for me, and I was just eavesdropping.
It got so bad that at four-thirty, I made my way out of the office and told Daisy she could take off early. She was sitting at the desk, pen in hand, file folders separated into different piles in front of her.
“Oh,” she said. “I was just going to file these, and then I’ll go. Does the day usually end now?”
“Not usually,” I said. “So tomorrow you can expect to be here longer. But for your first day, I think it’s good if you ease into it. If you want to file those before you go, you can.”
“Okay, I’ll do that first.”
She got up, smoothing her skirt down, even though it wasn’t rumpled, and took the files.
“You’re doing great, Daisy,” Jonathan said, as though he were her life coach or something.
He was trying not to hover, but he only lasted about two seconds before he made his way over to the filing cabinet.
“Thanks so much for coming in today,” he said as she dropped the last file in and closed the door. “I—we, I mean, think you did great.”
“You already said that,” I said. “But you did, Daisy. Great job.” Did I sound sarcastic? I wasn’t meaning to be, but it was hard not to make fun of Jonathan a little bit.
“Well, thank you, both of you,” she said. “Should I come in earlier tomorrow?”
“That’s fine. Nine o’clock is good. Don’t worry about bringing me a coffee.”
I watched as she got her stuff, said goodbye to us two more times, and then finally left.
“So,” I said, once Daisy’s behind had disappeared from view. I glanced at Jonathan, who was also looking after her, puppy dog eyes on full display. For fuck’s sake. “How did the little bloom’s first day go?”
“Huh?” Jonathan said when he was finally able to yank his gaze away from the door she just exited. “Bloom?”
“Yeah . . . her name’s Daisy . . . flowers . . .” I waved my hand. “Never mind. How’d it go?”
Jonathan nodded enthusiastically. “She’s great, man. You didn’t make a mistake giving her the job. I mean, yeah, Lynn probably would’ve done fine, too, but she was kind of . . . I don’t know . . . prickly? That’s the vibe I got from her.”
“And you definitely don’t get that from Daisy.”
“No! She’s really enthusiastic. She wants to please.” He frowned. “That came out sounding wrong. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You should get your mind out of the gutter,” I said, which was laughable because Jonathan was about as Boy Scout as you could get.
“I wasn’t . . .” He let his voice trail off. “She was definitely a better choice than Lynn was. I know that for sure.”
“If she’s not, we can just fire her and go with number three on my list, who I believe was Charlotte.”
Jonathan blanched. Christ, he really was whipped.
Daisy’s second day on the job. Let’s see, what was she wearing today? Was that a wool skirt? A wool skirt that went past the knees? Why, yes, yes it was. And a blouse that was buttoned all the way up to the top button? Christ. I leaned against the door frame of my office and watched as she struggled with one of those five-gallon Poland Springs bottles. I could change one of those one-handed, but Daisy was obviously going to have much more of a challenge. She wasn’t completely devoid of muscle; underneath those clothes, I could tell there was a slender figure wrapped up in toned muscles—she probably did yoga or pilates—but she still wasn’t going to be strong enough to be able to easily get that thing on the cooler.
Her back was to me, and she was contorting herself over the bottle, trying to figure out the best way to heft it up without spilling it all over herself. That gray wool skirt made her ass look like a shapeless lump. Really? Freak in bed? What the fuck was Jonathan smoking? Unless it was like some sort of purposeful deception, like underneath that shapeless skirt she was actually wearing crotchless panties and a garter belt, which, even I had to admit was hot.
Her calves, though. They were shapely, tapering down to rather delicate looking ankles.
I cleared my throat. “You need to bend your knees,” I said, “or you’re going to pull a back muscle.”
She jumped and turned, smoothing her skirt down as she did so. “Oh!” she said, her face reddening. “I didn’t realize you were there.”
“Need some help?”
“No, no, I’ve got it under control . . .” She looked at the water bottle disdainfully.
“Uh-huh,” I said dryly. “Look, it’s okay if you need to ask for help once in a while. I know this is technically your job and everything, but it’d be better to get one of the guys to do it instead of throwing your back out and not being able to come in for a month.”
She made a face when I said “one of the guys” and yanked at her skirt, set her jaw, and shook her head. “I’ve got it,” she said.
I held my hands up. “By all means, then.” She had a look of determination on her face that wavered slightly when she looked back at the five-gallon bottle she was going to have to wrangle onto the dispenser.
“My offer still stands,” I said.
“I can handle it.
I’ve got it.”
I stood back and watched. She didn’t “have it” by any stretch of the imagination, but it sure as hell was fun to watch. She grunted, she gritted her teeth, she wrapped her arms around the bottle in a bear hug, started to lift it up, made it halfway, but then realized there was no way she was going to be able to flip the jug over and get it onto the dispenser properly with her arms around it like that. So she lowered it back down, shooting a look in my direction to see if I was still watching. Which I was, of course. So far, this was the most exciting thing of the day.
“You don’t have to stand there, you know,” she said, brushing wisps of hair back from her forehead. Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that . . . You’re the boss here . . . you can do whatever you want, obviously. I just . . . I just think that I might have an easier time doing this if I didn’t have an audience.”
“You’d have an easier time with it if you just let me do it.”
She’d obviously been brainwashed by the credo that anything a man could do, a woman could do (better).
“Just pretend that I’m not even here then,” I said.
Now, if I were Jonathan, I would’ve worded things in such a way that would make her feel as though accepting my help wouldn’t be an affront to her feminism. If I were Jonathan, the water would’ve been on the dispenser five minutes ago and we’d have filled our cups with a nice cold drink and be standing around, talking.
And just like that, as though all I needed to do was think about him, he materialized. “Oh, hey,” he said. He looked at Daisy, who had resumed her struggle, and then to me, and then back at Daisy. “You need a hand there, Daisy?”
If I weren’t there, she’d say yes. She was tempted to say yes anyway, but she shook her head. “I can do it.”