“Mr. Smith?” She heard Jet laughing on the other end. “Yeah, he might be. What time is it anyway?”
“It’s close to ten-thirty.”
She heard him whisper, “Shit.” Then he cleared his throat. “So who’s this?”
She smiled. “This is Emily Brinkman.”
“Ah…Ms. Emily Brinkman.” Oh, God. She loved the way he said her name. His voice wasn’t as unassuming and smooth as it had been yesterday. This morning, it was a little raspy and low. It was sexy, but she’d never say that. “You have an answer for me?”
She nodded, fully aware he couldn’t see it. “I do.” She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself calm. “If the offer still stands, I’d like to accept the position.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah?”
“My answer is yes.” She took another breath. “So when do I start?”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “When can you start?”
“I’m not sure. I have to find a place in the Denver area to move, so…maybe a week? Do you want me to keep you posted?”
“What if I need you before then?”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought he might be teasing. She didn’t want to chance pissing off her new boss, though, not after she’d finally decided to take the job. “Um…I’ll see what I can do.”
“Seriously, just let me know when you’re ready.”
“Yeah, I will.” That meant she was going to have to get on the whole moving business ASAP. Stupid. She should have looked at places yesterday afternoon after the interview. She hadn’t been in that frame of mind, though.
“Hey…I have an idea. Feel free to say no, but...I’m given to understand, from guys who already have PAs, that sometimes you might need to be at my beck and call, close by. I have a couple of extra bedrooms. You could move in here, and I wouldn’t charge you. You can still have your own life and plenty of time off, but maybe it would work out well for those times I need you for extra hours or whatever. And I know places around here aren’t cheap.” She was quiet, considering the offer. It would be convenient and alleviate any worries of finding a decent apartment for a price she could afford. Before she could answer, he said, “Or whatever. No pressure.”
She took a deep breath. “Actually, that would be pretty cool, if you really don’t mind. But, if I absolutely needed my own space, would I still be able to move out and keep the job?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Okay. Deal. Then when can I move in?”
“Whenever. Just call before you come so I’m here. I’ll get another key for you.” He paused. “Actually, maybe that can be one of your first tasks—getting a key made.” She laughed but didn’t say anything else. “You have my number.”
“This is it, right?”
“Yes. And please call me Clay. None of this mister bullshit, for fuck’s sake.”
She tried not to smile. If he thought he was going to intimidate her with strong language, he needed to think again. “All right. I think I’ll probably be ready tomorrow.” She paused. “Morning’s okay, right?”
He laughed. “Late morning. If you get here at seven, you’ll want to find a Starbucks to keep you occupied for a while.”
Considering she was pretty sure she’d awakened him just now, she asked, “Eleven okay?”
“That’ll work.”
She hung up. She thought having a boss who slept late could potentially work. She could spend her mornings either doing work he’d given her uninterrupted or she could use that time to network and position herself for a really good job later on. Once she found out what kind of workload she had, she could maybe even look into setting up an internship with a corporation somewhere in downtown Denver. She could ride the light rail to save gas and get some solid current experience that might parlay itself into full-time employment once she’d grown tired of assisting a rock star.
Because that was one thing she had no doubt about—playing PA to a spoiled rock star would get really old really fast. She only hoped she could stick it out long enough to make it an experience she could make look great on her resumé.
* * *
Might as well get up. It seemed like this young woman was going to make him regularly get up before noon. He supposed that wouldn’t always be bad, but there would be no avoiding sleeping later on tour, and she wouldn’t be able to say a damn thing about it.
He heard Mary doing something in the kitchen. She usually didn’t work today, but she’d spent the last two days helping him prepare for and conduct interviews, so her regular work was behind. He’d agreed to pay her extra that week. Hell, he was ready to pay for a vacation to Hawaii after all the additional work she’d done over the past several days.
More than anything, he appreciated that she tried to be quiet while cleaning until she couldn’t help it anymore. She might have given him rations of shit on occasion, but deep down she really was respectful and supportive of Clay. He suspected it was because she could see who he truly was. She saw straight through Jet and into Clay and knew he was a sensitive and good guy, the kind of man who’d do anything for someone he felt loyalty toward. And Mary was one of those folks.
Eventually, though, say around one in the afternoon, she’d have to get the vacuuming done. She would put off the noisy tasks for as long as she could, but if she wanted to get home to her family, she’d have to finish up at some point. Once in a while, she’d just skip doing something and save it for the next time. Clay usually had her there three days a week, and she used to have other jobs with other homes, but Clay had eventually increased her salary enough (and asked for extra work several times) that she ended her employment elsewhere. It made Clay glad, because it meant that she could help him whenever he needed it. He’d had a couple of parties and Mary had brought her kids along as well. Her two oldest helped while the youngest was cute and entertaining. Recently, though, it had afforded him the ability to ask her to help with the interviews. Even though he wound up making the final decision, Mary assisted with the process. She liked Emily too, so that helped, because the two women would have to work together on occasion. And sweet Mary had also contacted all the other folks who were scheduled to interview today and let them know that they weren’t needed. Mary was frustrated, telling Clay he didn’t know that Emily would even accept the job, and what if—in the long run—it didn’t work out? What if she was only with them a week and decided she couldn’t hack it? What then? They could have at least scouted out other possibilities.
Clay had pulled rank then. He’d told Mary he didn’t want to do the other interviews. He’d decided Emily was perfect for the job, and he wouldn’t settle for less. “I’m trusting my gut, Mary. It’s what got me here to where I am today, and I’m not going to ignore it now.” She sighed but nodded. He didn’t know if she’d told the other interviewees that they’d already filled the position or if she just told them the position was no longer available, but he supposed it didn’t matter. She’d done what he’d asked and cancelled them. It was bad enough that he’d had to endure the remainder of interviews yesterday, knowing in his heart he’d already made up his mind. Actually, it wasn’t too bad, because even though all the candidates seemed competent enough, they just reinforced Clay’s belief that Emily was already his PA.
So he got out of bed and, after taking a piss, threw on the first pair of jeans he found and walked out to the kitchen. Ah, Mary was a goddess. He’d never cared much about coffee either way until Mary had come into his life. He’d been nursing a horrible hangover not long after she’d started working for him. It just so happened he also had a phone interview with a radio station on the east coast later that day. Mary ran to Walmart and returned with a coffee maker and all the accoutrements—creamer and a sweet liquid vanilla flavoring, along with coffee cups. Clay’s mom had always done black, and he hadn’t cared for it, even with spoonfuls of sugar stirred in, but Mary’s concoction had pulled him out of a hangover abyss and into the land of the living. He’d survived the int
erview and discovered he liked coffee when done right. He’d even ventured into the occasional latte. He could still live without it, but some days, especially when he had to get up earlier than he’d liked to, he relished it.
Today was one of those days, and goddamn did it smell good.
He poured himself a cup and Mary walked back through the room. “What? Sleeping Beauty is up already? Did you have a nightmare or something?”
He smiled and looked up from stirring the creamer in. “No, but I have some news.” She paused, resting her hand on the counter, and looked at him. “Ms. Emily Brinkman called to say she’s taking the job.”
Mary nodded. “Well, I’ll be damned. I thought she’d be smart and run.”
Clay gave her a fake laugh. “Ha ha. No, she actually seemed pretty eager.” She gave him a look. “No, not like a fucking groupie. It’s cool.” Mary started walking toward the doorway to the basement. He imagined she was in the middle of doing laundry and now that he was out of bed, she could put his clothes away. “How are the two extra bedrooms, by the way?”
She took her hand off the doorknob. Why was she taking so long to turn around? “Oh, no. You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“She talked you into letting her board here, didn’t she? And you just couldn’t resist.”
Jet—yes, Jet—smirked. “Actually, it was my idea. She’s getting ready to move down here from Boulder, and it sounds like she hasn’t even started looking for a place to live. I just thought if I wind up being as demanding as I think I might be that it could be easier having her nearby.”
Mary shook her head. “Bad idea, Clay.”
“Why’s it such a bad idea?” He took his first swallow of coffee. Mmm. He’d needed that.
She frowned. “You know why just as well as I do.”
As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew she was partially right. He was already feeling feverish for Emily. That woman had in such a short time stirred his loins in a major way. He didn’t just have an itch; he had a smoldering fire that had been growing since he’d first laid eyes on the woman. But he wasn’t going to act on it. She was going to be his employee, and he needed her trust and loyalty, and so—even though deep down he wanted her badly—he was going to keep his mitts off. So, even though he could admit it to himself, he wasn’t about to say it to Mary. “Have some faith in me, Mary. Yeah, she’s hot, but didn’t you see she’s wearing a ring on her left hand?”
Mary took a deep breath. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed that. Is she married?”
Clay shrugged and walked over to the table. “Hell if I know, but I’m pretty sure she’s in some kind of committed relationship. Hands off, Mary. I swear.” She nodded. “But…if I can get her here sooner, I can make her pay all those goddamned bills she stacked on the desk.”
Mary laughed and shook her head, grabbing the doorknob again. “That’s what I like to hear.” Clay smiled as he heard her continuing to laugh as she made her way down the stairs.
Chapter Seven
IT HAD ONLY been a week, but Emily already felt like she’d learned most of what she’d needed to playing Personal Assistant to Clay “Jet” Smith, guitarist of acclaimed heavy metal band Last Five Seconds.
Actually, she knew there would be more for her to learn, but she had the basics down. She’d also won her first battle. She’d convinced him to get a landline. She didn’t want to answer his personal cell phone when it came to matters of business. It was unprofessional. He kept insisting he didn’t mind, so she asked his permission to borrow his phone. She immediately went to contacts and started swiping down the list, naming names. When she got to the Hs, he gave in to her request. What else could he say when she asked how she should answer the phone when Hot Chick who offrd the bj called? She couldn’t figure out if he looked sheepish because he felt bad that she’d found it or if he felt awful that he’d been piggish in the first place.
She hoped it was the latter, because Clay actually seemed like a pretty nice guy. He had been nothing but respectful to her. But that didn’t change the fact that she’d caught him looking at her once or twice, and those looks…holy shit. They gave her shivers. And, aside from the fact that she wasn’t sure if he was a lady killer or a woman lover, she couldn’t help feeling the same way. It sucked for many reasons. One was, of course, Bryce. On some level, she loved the guy and thought she might even be missing him. She felt guilty even thinking Clay was good looking. Another reason, though, was that she didn’t know if she liked Clay as a person. She wasn’t quite sure what to think of the guy. On the one hand, he seemed to have a great relationship with Mary. They got along well and she seemed to keep him in line on some level. On the other hand, every time she started to think he was all right, she’d find something like the denigrating description of the woman on his phone or a picture on his computer of a girl flashing her tits for him. Uh, yeah, just another reason she didn’t want to even touch his phone. The final reason, though? She knew how she was deep down. Clay was definitely the kind of guy she’d love to romp with. Everything about the guy did it for her, from his cocky attitude to his toned torso complete with pierced nipples (that too sucked—he walked around the house shirtless…a lot), to his long, flowing hair and tattoos. She loved the way his jeans hung around his hips—not baggy or too loose but not tight—but they were just right on his ass, accentuating how cute it was.
Yeah, she hadn’t been able to get him out of her head, and that sucked. Living in his house didn’t help. She couldn’t get away for fresh air. She was surrounded by him. And there would be days when she’d be going through his emails and she’d hear him in his music room working out riffs. That part was pretty cool, actually. Over the past week, she’d heard him developing a song. Well, she imagined it would become one. He’d gone in that room on Monday and played a few chords over and over again. It was catchy. And over the next few hours, she could hear it progressing until it became what she imagined would be the chorus to a song.
He spent a lot of time on the phone too, mostly talking to bandmates and friends, she imagined. He wasn’t too demanding of her time. After she’d settled in, they came up with a list of daily and weekly to dos, but it would all start with getting him on track. Emily had told him she would need, at the very least, a planner and a desk calendar. He gave her a handful of cash and told her to “Go to town.” He didn’t even want to go shopping with her, and he apparently didn’t care what she spent the money on. As she was making purchases that day, she realized that any supplies she bought to help her perform her duties would probably be tax deductible, and so she broached the subject later that afternoon. Of course, Clay didn’t monitor any of that stuff. Again, that would become her job—keeping receipts for the tax guy.
That was the funniest part of it all, that as she settled in and got Clay organized in a way he’d never been before, she realized additional things she needed to do to help him, things he hadn’t even thought of.
Part of her wondered if she was inventing ways to made herself invaluable. Maybe she was, but she also realized that Clay hadn’t been joking when he said he needed someone to “organize his shit.” She wondered how he’d gotten along without an assistant for this long, and she figured it was mostly thanks to Mary.
Mary was amazing. Emily already loved the woman. She was good at her job, but more than that, she was patient and kind and she kept Clay’s house from falling in disarray. It didn’t take long for Emily to realize how disgusting Clay’s house would be if not for Mary. That was another thing that drove her crazy, but she’d get past it.
Clay had already thanked her too. His bills were now caught up and all his paperwork organized. His email was almost caught up as well, and he had mentioned that maybe next week he would have her help him out with Facebook and Twitter. His bandmates had kept telling him he needed to participate online at least semi-regularly. Fans liked to reach out and they would think he was stuck up if he didn’t post at least occasionally. He told Emily he was pretty su
re he hadn’t ever tweeted—at least not sober—and the last time he’d been on Facebook had been around New Year’s. Brian was also a regular Instagram addict, often posting semi-nude selfies and getting five-hundred likes from what they assumed were rabid teenage girls in less than an hour.
She’d also bought a Rolodex and started organizing the contacts she knew about, and she’d put most of his computer files in order to make sure what she needed would be easier to find. There wasn’t much. There was more porn on the computer than anything else. She’d almost deleted it and had decided against it. It didn’t stop her from filing it away in its own folder, though, and she’d marked it PORN in big letters so she wouldn’t accidentally open it later.
She didn’t get guys and their porn fascination. She didn’t hold it against him, but she didn’t want to see it.
The hardest part was settling into her own room. She didn’t plan to be here forever, so she didn’t want to get used to it. Instead of setting up her room like she would have if she’d been a student again, she treated it like a hotel room. She unpacked her clothes and everything she’d need for day-to-day living, but decorative things and other items like most of her books stayed in boxes, tucked away in her closet. Fortunately, having been a student for the past several years, she didn’t have much to her name. Most of her keepsakes were still in her father’s house. The plan was to someday move it all out, but she wasn’t ready yet. She wanted someplace permanent before she fully extracted herself from her dad’s house. As it was, she was afraid it would kill him when she’d have to. She’d been his whole life for way too long.
That first night was strange. Clay was definitely a night owl…and she wasn’t. She’d heard him being all hyper as he often was, watching fifteen minutes of some CSI rerun and then going back to the music room and strumming some chords. Then he’d come back out and get on the phone, microwave some popcorn, put in a movie, and after a bit, go back to play more music. She had a hell of a time going to sleep.
Feverish (Bullet #3) Page 6