by Gemma Hart
Gloria screamed as she slapped her daughter across the face. It was clear Gloria held nothing back as she let her hand fly. The strength of the blow snapped her daughter’s head back, making a short burst of spit spew out of her mouth. Except it wasn’t just spit. Julian could see the tinge of red.
Patrick Denton tried to hold back his second wife but Gloria was having none of it. “Don’t tell me how to raise my child, Patrick!” Gloria screamed hysterically as she threw another blow towards her daughter. But this time, thrown off balance by Patrick’s restraining arms, her hand only grazed across her daughter’s cheeks, leaving bright red scratches.
“She’s my daughter too now!” Patrick said, desperately trying to raise his voice above her strangled cries. As he wrestled with the half-crazed, half-hysterical woman, he looked towards his sixteen-year-old son who was already crouched over his stepsister, gathering her into his arms.
“Julian, take Karen upstairs, please,” he said as he wrapped his arms tightly around his wife’s middle. Gloria threw her head back and gave out a loud wail as if she had been the one who had been viciously struck and beaten.
Julian didn’t need his father to tell him what to do. He had been the first one to run into the living room as soon as he had heard Gloria’s voice. He had quickly learned his stepmother’s vocal inflections so he could know when to anticipate her moods. The high-pitched tones were indicative of an emotional explosion.
And the one she always targeted with these explosions was Karen.
Gently picking up the little ten-year-old girl, he carried her up to his room. Once inside, he shut his door then strode over to his window. Putting Karen down, he opened the window and stepped out onto the roof. He turned around and reached for the little girl. The roof was the only place where they could drown out the cries of Gloria.
Karen’s little hand grabbed onto Julian’s as she carefully stepped out to join him. Her face was swollen and red but dry. Karen rarely cried.
Although Karen had only been in his life for only a little over a year, Julian felt incredibly protective over her. How could he not? Looking at the little girl as she stepped over a loose shingle, Julian felt his heart constrict at seeing her battered cheek.
Small for her age, Julian had never seen such a child before. Quiet, sweet, and absolutely angelic, she had the timid personality of a mouse. Her dark honey colored hair reached nearly to her elbows. Her round face was soft and fair (when not marred with bruises or scratches).
But it was her eyes that always elicited the biggest response from strangers. Large green eyes with flecks of gold—they made her look like a life-sized doll. But instead of imbuing her with a childlike innocence, her eyes exuded a sadness that seemed much too heavy for someone of her years.
“Come sit by me,” Julian said, opening his arms to her. Karen nestled herself next to him, moving silently.
“It’s because you always forget to give her her lunch money, sweetheart! She wasn’t stealing!” Patrick’s voice could be heard echoing through the house. God only knew what the neighbors thought of them. “She was hungry! She was getting money for lunch!”
“Thieving bitch!” Gloria screamed.
Anger boiled within Julian. Gloria hadn’t forgotten to give Karen her lunch money. She purposely had withheld it. It was as if Gloria waited until Karen became so desperate that she would have to sneak money so that Gloria could finally have her temper tantrum.
“What did you do at school today?” Julian asked, more to distract Karen from the shouting than anything else.
His arms wrapped around her fragile shoulders, he could feel her shake her head noncommittally. “Anything fun?” he pressed, wanting to get her mind off of the evening’s drama.
Julian waited patiently, wanting to give Karen a chance to speak. She was so quiet. With such a loud and dramatic mother, it seemed as if Karen’s own voice had never gotten a chance to develop.
“I drew a tree,” Karen whispered.
“You drew a tree?” Julian asked encouragingly. “What kind of a tree?”
“A big one. Big ones can’t be moved.”
Julian paused at that. What a strange response. “And little trees can be moved?”
Karen gave a small nod. “Principal Avery moved a bunch of small trees to the front of the school last week.”
Oh I see, he thought, suddenly realizing what she was talking about. The school had planted a row of small saplings at the back of the playground when the principal had a change of heart and had them uprooted and moved to the front of the school. To a ten year old, that must’ve looked like quite a feat—to move a tree.
“Why did you draw a big tree then?” Julian asked.
There was a silence before Karen softly whispered, “I want to be a big tree.”
It was so soft, Julian wasn’t sure if he had heard her at all.
But Karen continued, a little louder, “If I was a big tree, I couldn’t be moved. I’d get to stay where I wanted and would be too big for someone to push me.” Wrapping her arms around her knobby knees, she tucked her head down. “I want to be a big tree.”
Six weeks later, Gloria disappeared with Karen, leaving no trace of their whereabouts, save the trail of broken and confused hearts.
Julian looked up at the high ceilings of his office. It was getting harder and harder to bring forth Karen’s memory.
It had been so many years now. All his memories of the little girl were now just faint impressions—flash of golden hair, a brush of her knobby knees. He could barely remember her features or her voice.
And the family had hardly been together long enough to take any decent photographs. That had been especially hard for his father since Patrick had nothing to show the police when filing a missing person’s report.
She would be twenty five years old now. Would he even recognize her if he saw her? Julian sat up as he looked across his desk. Trisha had left the folders of potential new assistants. Inside were six neatly printed resumes.
One thing was for sure: if Karen saw him today, she would not recognize the man he had become at all.
Four
Cora Rámon quickly stepped out of the subway and shoved her way through the crowd of people streaming against her. She gripped her jacket tightly, covering her white blouse. The last time she had carelessly shoved through the subway like this, a man had spilled his coffee down the front of her blouse. Today, of all days, she could not risk such an accident.
As she skipped up the steps of the subway exit, she tried to breathe through her rising nerves. Today was her final interview with JB Enterprises, the international business empire. The company had fingers in seemingly every industry. From shipping to technology, there seemed to be nothing JB Enterprises didn’t do. And if that wasn’t intimidating enough, Cora was about to interview for a position as the CEO’s own personal assistant.
Street level now, Cora ran a quick hand through her short brown hair. It was a funny thing. She’d notice most women in corporate America had either long hair that was always pulled back into an elegant chignon or bun or they had very short, almost androgynous, haircuts. Cora, with her chin length bob and errant wavy strands, had a lived in look about her hair and it was often frowned upon.
Cora knew she should’ve changed her hair immediately once she had learned which way the corporate dress wind blew but by that point she had given up or altered so much of herself already. She just wanted to keep one thing, no matter how silly or small, to herself.
Pulling out the tiny yet chic business card for JB Enterprises, Cora reoriented herself with the target address before briskly walking down Fifth Avenue.
Down Fifth Avenue, she passed by the beautiful manicured nature of Central Park. She watched Upper West Side moms in expensive yoga pants jogging through the wooded trails. Children laughed as they played around the rim of a fountain. She saw one little girl petting a dog walker’s many clients.
No matter how long she lived in New York, Cora didn’t thin
k she’d ever get used to such a city. It was just so different from the way she grew up. She had never even heard of yoga until she had come into the city four years ago. The first time she was introduced to the idea of dog walkers, Cora laughed. The idea was so ludicrous. She was used to strays and vicious mutts roaming alleyways, half starved and sometimes rabid.
But then again, southern Mexico was quite a different place than New York City. And poverty in Mexico was a completely different beast than poverty in New York.
Cora still had vivid recollections of living in a room the size of a coffin with walls made entirely out of scavenged corrugated steel. When it rained, the sound would be deafening as the drops echoed across the metal. She would never forget the taste of sour cheese or stale bread. And the sounds of empty clinking beer bottles which meant her mother had spent whatever money they had scrounged on alcohol would echo in her mind forever.
Once she had saved enough money to find her way to the border, Cora had had to figure out how to deal with the guilt of leaving her mother. Although she had never been a nurturing figure, her mother was still her mother. But it was actually her mother who made the decision for her by leaving suddenly with nothing but a few pesos and a note saying that Cora was now old enough to take care of herself. And at nineteen, Cora agreed.
It hadn’t been easy crossing the border but thanks to the kind of underworld life her mother had lived, Cora had been introduced to a number of dubious characters. But dubious or not, some of them had legitimate contacts. Cora had not only crossed the border but she had been able to cross with fake papers in hand. She had a new ID and passport that helped her refresh and start anew in the country of opportunities.
Cora crossed on 58th Street and found herself staring up at an enormously impressive building. It certainly wasn’t the tallest building in New York but it was beautifully constructed with simple, clean lines that spoke of refined taste.
This was it. If she got this job, she would finally be able to take in her first true breath since arriving stateside. This job would offer her a future, a sense of stability, and opportunities for the future. This could be the moment she could truly leave that impoverished little girl from Mexico behind.
Stepping into the cool marbled lobby, she headed towards the front desk. A stylishly dressed woman looked up at her expectantly.
Cora cleared her throat before saying, “I’m here to see Mr. Julian Benedict.”
Five
It was her hair that caught his eye. It was too youthful. A spunky short mahogany bob with strands of lighter gold peeping through. It perfectly framed her heart-shaped face but it was still highly irregular of a look. Why would Trisha, the woman who had worn a Chanel scarf to work every day for the past seven years, give the okay on such a girl?
The slim little pixie took the seat across his desk. Without saying a word, Julian took his time in assessing her. His dark eyes roved across her face and body.
He usually was quite good at assessing a person from their body language alone. Knees tightly pressed together. Nervousness. That was natural. Most everyone felt nervous meeting him, especially when he spent the first minute silently assessing them.
Hands placed over each other but with relaxed fingers. So she had a cool head even when stressed. That was a plus in an assistant to a major CEO. Shoulders slightly slumped forward. Unease. Again, that was understandable. The girl looked like she was barely out of high school. She hardly looked old enough to be in the work force, let alone in the high flying field of international corporations.
But as Julian’s eyes slowly moved up, he was surprised to see the girl raise her chin a bit, lifting her eyes defiantly at him. A low boil of anger and judgment simmered in her face as she haughtily raised a brow, asking, “Seen your fill?”
Julian felt surprise and anger shoot through him, along with a hefty urge to laugh.
Why that little brat.
“Yes, of what there is to see,” he replied coolly. He saw her shrink back a little at the coldness of his voice. But her face still remained stubbornly defiant.
“Of what there is to see?” she repeated.
Julian picked up her resume. Cora Rámon.
Interesting name. “Yes,” he replied. “There isn’t much, is there?” He didn’t know why he felt such a need to needle this girl. He could see her eyebrows nearly hit her hairline at his response.
He waved the piece of paper. “You have less than five years of corporate experience. Granted, the experience you do have is quite impressive but regardless, it’s a very short work history.”
Putting the resume back down, he steepled his fingers. “How did you happen to get the assistant position for Harold Grayson? Grayson Tech is a Fortune 500 company, after all.”
Cora pulled back her shoulders. “I know it’s a Fortune 500 company, Mr. Benedict,” she said evenly. He could see she was bristling at his tone. “I was an assistant to the CEO of the company, after all.” The deliberate match in his tone and words nearly made Julian’s lips twitch.
Cora sighed quietly before continuing, “I got the job because of Mr. Grayson’s dog.”
Now it was Julian’s turn to raise his brows. “Pardon me?”
“Mr. Grayson’s dog. I rescued him,” she said, slowly enunciating each word as if speaking to a deaf-mute. Julian knew she was paying him in kind for his condescension earlier and he was not enjoying it. His eyes narrowed.
“And how did you rescue him, Miss Rámon?”
“Mr. Grayson likes to bring his dog into the office every so often. I happened to be there that day inquiring about a different position,” Cora coughed quietly. It was a janitorial position but no need to give this aloof and rude man more ammo. “His dog broke free from the leash and dashed towards the street. Luckily I was right at the edge of the block so as he passed me, I grabbed him by the collar just as a cab drove past us.” They had been so close, Cora’s nose had nearly brushed the taxi door.
Julian looked at her with an expression of disbelief. “And because of that, you became personal assistant to a Fortune 500 CEO?”
“Rescuing his dog gave me the opportunity to speak with him,” Cora said, stifling an irritable sigh. Why did this man make her feel so defensive? “And he must’ve seen how determined I was because he gave me the opportunity to take over for one of his assistants who was leaving for maternity leave. I was supposed to be there for eight weeks but I ended up staying for over four years.”
Cora took a deep breath, trying to remember why she was here. “I’ve learned a lot during my time at Grayson Tech. I’ve gained innumerable skills that I think could serve JB Enterprises well.”
“It sounds like you were quite well-established at Grayson. Why are you leaving then?” Julian asked. Although it seemed like a stroke of luck for this girl to land such a high profile job, it was obviously her shrewd intelligence and motivation that kept her there for four years.
Cora looked down at her hands. “Mr. Grayson, although extremely kind, is very old fashioned. He doesn’t like personal change and so keeps his employees in the same position for years. He had two other assistants and they have been working for him for over fifteen years. They know that they have reached their career ceiling with Grayson Tech and Mr. Grayson himself.” Cora tucked back a loose strand of hair. “But that’s not what I want. I want to work for an employer who values internal growth.”
“And you think I’m such a person?”
“I think JB Enterprises is such an employer,” Cora said, markedly making a point on separating Julian from JB Enterprises. Damn if this girl didn’t infuriate and amuse him at the same time.
“And what are you founding this opinion on?”
“Archie Morgan was an assistant in accounting for JB Enterprises. When he created a new program to streamline multiple revenue sources into one cloud-based reporting site, JB Enterprises funded his program, promoted him, and even created a software division based on his accounting programs. JB Enterprises seems lik
e they value good employees,” Cora finished conclusively.
And the girl knows to research. Julian couldn’t help but feel the reluctant bloom of admiration for her. But still. Grayson Tech was a Fortune 500 company. JB Enterprises is a Fortune 100 company. A Fortune 5, really, if they ever made such a list. It might not seem like it to her, but the two companies and their associated workloads were worlds apart.
“You say Mr. Grayson had two other assistants along with you. So three total,” he said, raising a brow for confirmation. Cora nodded hesitantly, unsure where the conversation was going. “JB Enterprises brings in about a hundred fifty times more in profit than Grayson Tech and as CEO, I prefer having only one assistant. You can imagine then the kind of work this assistant would be doing.”
Cora swallowed. She nodded. She remembered Trisha explaining this during her first round of interviews. She couldn’t believe such a man as Julian Benedict would only use one assistant. Even with three, Mr. Grayson’s office ran at a frenetic pace. Trisha hardly looked ruffled.