by Kate Benitez
As the movie cut to its final commercial break, Anneliese checked the screen of her phone and suddenly, she sat up straighter in her pink cotton pajamas. Tucking unwashed hair behind her ears, all she could do was stare. She was surprised—shocked even. She’d been trying to get a job for months now while she watched her stash of savings dwindle with every rent check. Now, out of the blue, it appeared she was being contacted with a job request. That’s literally what the subject heading was on the email: Job Request.
She dropped the phone into her lap for a moment and let herself ponder who the heck would be contacting her after three months of unemployment. When she opened the message, Anneliese read it twice, searching between the lines for clarification. The single paragraph only mentioned that she’d been highly recommended as a personal assistant/secretary. Recommended by whom? That was what Anneliese wanted to know. None of her bridal contacts wanted to know her after she got fired from Linen and Lace. The industry was notoriously superstitious, and they felt bad luck was catching—and Anneliese was currently the definition of bad luck.
The email wasn’t personal in the slightest, both coming from and signed ‘L.M. Agency.’ However, the job description did seem to suit her well. It asked for an employee who was both discreet and a people person. One could even say those two very descriptions were the reason Anneliese was both a great hire and the cause for her getting fired! She had the ability to put customers at ease, an instant bestie to whom they spilled all their secrets and desires. Yet, she’d never spilled those secrets and instead, chose to give her best advice to her young brides. Often it was good advice that they’d use to their advantage—all the way until it had caused Jennifer to dump her fiancé.
Beyond that, L.M. Agency wanted someone well organized, task oriented, and responsible. All the requirements that were the very basis for all personal assistant / secretary positions yet none of it gave her a better idea of what exactly L.M. Agency did. Whoever had sent the email must have been an impatient person because it said the interview was in an hour and a half.
For the first time in about a month, Anneliese took stock of herself. She looked down at the wrinkled pajamas, her ragged nails, her unwashed hair and tried to calculate exactly how long it would take her to get interview-ready. Adding to that, the commute time to Beacon Hill—about twenty minutes on the T—she figured she had exactly ten minutes to do a Google search on L.M. Agency. Anneliese jumped to her laptop, set up on a desk in front of her garden-facing window, and figured that would be more than enough time.
*****
Riding in on the blue line, she thought that her time may have been better spent ironing or staring at her face in the mirror, pondering the human condition maybe, or perhaps what came first—the chicken or the egg. Anything but the frustrating task of getting background information on who L.M. was or what the agency did. Google, that all-knowing, all-seeing eye that never failed the heroines on the Hallmark Channel, had produced dismal results for her. A search on L.M. Agency had only produced a boringly beige dossier on L. MacKenzie—a man who’d been in the military and had years of tours and Special Forces training. However, in all the paragraphs and lines of the resumé, Anneliese couldn’t quite piece together what it was he did now. It was annoying, and yet, it left her impressed nonetheless.
As she watched the skyline outside the T’s window turn from the three-story residential buildings to a mixture of high-rises and old school brownstones, Anneliese felt her excitement rise. She’d always loved going into the unknown. The idea of adventure filling her with endorphins the same way running and chocolate chip cookies did. She was going to land this job—her gut was telling her so.
Her can-do attitude flagged slightly as she got off at the Beacon Hill stop. Checking her maps app and surveying the terrain, Anneliese suddenly regretted the decision to go with the high heels. L.M. was obviously a man, and Anneliese had thought to impress him with a little flair, but when she looked up the steep ascent of the cobblestone hill, she decided sneakers would have been a more practical choice. Damn Jessica Simpson and her cute shoes.
When she’d finally reached the front door of the L.M. Agency, she was surprised to find that the building was residential. It was located in one of the oldest squares in Beacon Hill. Ivy covered brownstones sat facing a square patch of grass with a fountain in the center and in the overcrowded city of Boston, she figured so much private green space must be costly.
Anxiously tugging at her H&M pencil skirt and purple patterned silk (ok, polyester) blouse, Anneliese reminded herself that she was a catch when it came to the personal assistant arena. No matter how much money the man inside had, she was at the top of her game. Straightening her shoulders, she reached out and pressed the buzzer below an aged bronze placard for L.M. Agency, and waited.
A soft mechanical sound made her look up, and she was greeted by the small red light of a recording device tucked into a corner of the brownstone’s overhang. Anneliese put on her biggest smile and waved. She tried to forget the memory of adjusting her bra just seconds earlier.
“Come in,” a deep voice rang out as the annoying buzz of the door’s electronic lock informed her that she could now step inside. When she walked into the cavernous space, Anneliese was blown away. It was old with much of the original filigree and hardwood floors intact, high ceilings and generous leaded glass windows. The decor matched the tone of the space but didn’t stray into the traditional antiques or flashy furnishings of wealth.
Much like the Google search results, the L.M. Agency seemed to be defined by the modernist decor in tones of white, gray, and organic blacks and browns. While it was pleasing and impressive, she thought it was devoid of any personality. Searching for the phantom voice, Anneliese walked forward and looked for the man who’d asked her in. She followed the entryway into the front parlor, a room lined with a few large pieces of abstract art as well as a sleek arrangement of chairs and couches.
On the back wall of the room stood a large printer’s desk. It was the one item that looked to be a proper antique, though it’s utilitarian design fitted right in with the Ikea vibe the rest of the place had. From the outside, Anneliese figured the space probably looked much like any other formal parlor in an old brownstone and it wasn’t until she was stood in the middle of it that it took on the feeling of a waiting room.
Before she could get too anxious, alone in the room, Anneliese heard footsteps coming down the large, wooden staircase. She saw the shit-kickers come into view first—large black boots with steel tips, the laces disappearing under a pair of slim-fit dark jeans. Those pants fit like a second skin and Anneliese felt a shiver move up her body as she saw the clearly defined quad muscles flex under the denim. An untucked white button-down, also slim-fit, was paired with the flash of a silver watch and no wedding ring to be seen.
The man’s face, though. Damn, that was harder than the tips of those kick ass boots. The lines were masculine and sharp with a jawline that could cut glass and when his blue eyes flashed to Anneliese, she saw no warmth there. Though his expression did soften slightly when he found her ready for him in the waiting room.
As he hit the bottom landing, he strode toward her with his arm extended. “Hello, Ms. Nottingham. Thank you for coming so promptly.”
Anneliese shifted her red leather work bag from one hand to the other and took his hand which was large and surprisingly gentle.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr.…” Anneliese smiled and waited calmly, letting the pause grow awkwardly until he felt forced to give her his name.
At one point, Anneliese thought her trick had failed when the pause extended into an almost comical length, but then he simply smiled and said, “Leo, Leo MacKenzie. Please have a seat.”
Leo motioned to the gray couches that faced each other. Anneliese chose one, perching herself on the edge of the seat and waited. This time, it was Leo who made her wait. She knew the trick and sat still, resisting the urge to shift her hem down slightly even though sh
e felt it riding up. He had almost certainly seen her boobage get adjusted while she was outside so she wasn’t going to pull at the hem of her skirt now.
She seemed to have passed the test and Leo began, reaching into his back pocket for a small leather notebook. He clicked open a pen and asked, “I’m aware that you have an extensive history as a secretary.”
“And personal assistant,” Anneliese added, reaching into her bag before pulling out a heavy piece of paper and handing it over to Leo. “I consider myself flexible when it comes to working directly with an individual, or more widely with the public.”
Leo nodded and accepted the Crane stationery. Anneliese tilted her head and noticed that the mid-afternoon sun highlighted the beginnings of a blonde five o’clock shadow as he read his way through her resumé. She wondered if he was the type of man who needed to shave every day, or if he was one of those types that needed days to cultivate facial hair. Judging by the plethora of muscle hiding under his clothing, she was willing to bet he was a daily shaver, though one never knew…
“Are you ready to move on, Ms. Nottingham?”
Anneliese blinked. “I’m sorry?”
His mouth curved into a smile, and Anneliese was momentarily blindsided. The change that overcame his features was astounding.
“You just seem a little distracted. How do you think you’ll transition from the world of wedding dresses to this position?”
Anneliese blinked then asked, “I’m sorry, but I tried to research which area the L.M. Agency is classified in before I arrived but I couldn’t find anything.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. This is a private detective agency.”
“Oh,” was all Anneliese could manage. Art dealer or eccentric millionaire were among her top choices after entering the brownstone, but private detective made total sense after viewing the website.
“Yes, I’m sorry. The discretion has become a knee jerk reaction. I cater to high-end clients and generally find that staying vague about the purpose of the agency helps me with my cases. Which brings me to my first question. It’s a well-known fact that you were fired after a situation involving a high-end client where discretion was, shall we say, questionable. Can you tell me what led to that?”
Anneliese sat up straighter in anger. “Discretion was never an issue in my work in bridal. I was approached many times by media and magazines and offered quite a bit of money to supply information on celebrity weddings. Never once did I do that. My firing came after I offered what I thought was a friendly ear to a client.”
Leo quirked an eyebrow. “Your only involvement with the Tate wedding situation was the lending of a friendly ear? If so, I would hate to see what you look like as an enemy.”
Anneliese felt her teeth grind together. She shifted, so she was looking at Leo straight on, and ready to go toe-to-toe with yet another person who thought she had more to do with Jennifer’s decision than she did. Apparently, no one could understand that it was possible for a smart woman like Jennifer to realize she was about to marry an asshole on her own.
“Jennifer Tate was obviously already uncomfortable with marrying Robert Blackstone. All I did was give her permission to say what she was really thinking. I was simply the first person to ask her if she was actually happy instead of brushing over her fears and feelings.”
Anneliese watched as Leo paused for a moment. A flicker of something ran across his eyes, but it was too quick for her to name. Surprise, maybe? Relief?
“Why were you the only one to give her this chance? Surely someone like Jennifer Tate has more than enough friends to confide in—her mother seems fairly involved.”
Anneliese’s eyes narrowed, but before she could filter through her feelings to find what was bothering her, Leo asked yet another question.
“Were you close to Robert Blackstone as well? Is that how you knew he wasn’t compatible with Jennifer?”
Anneliese sat back, shocked. “No! I’ve never met him. What I know of him is only through his political work that’s often mentioned on the news. And what I know of Jennifer and Robert’s relationship is only through conversations with Jennifer at Linen and Lace. Yes, she was always surrounded by her mother and a varying entourage, but it never seemed like any of them were actually paying attention to her. I guess I just wanted her to be comfortable; to enjoy the experience of being a bride. It’s all I wanted for any of my brides, thank you very much,” Anneliese finished, crossing her arms. The realization that this may not be an interview, after all, was starting to hit her. At least not a job interview.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a question. Why is it you’re so interested in the Tate Wedding, Mr. MacKenzie?”
“It’s the only blemish on your record. From my point of view, the blemish is exactly the type of thing I need to avoid to keep my reputation beyond reproach. Public opinion is just as important as closed cases in the private detective industry.”
Anneliese stood up quickly and planted her hands on her hips as she narrowed her eyes at Leo. “I came here for a job interview that you invited me to, not to be badgered about a onetime situation in which I happened to be the only person who called it as I saw it. Your email indicated that you were looking for a personable, discrete secretary and I am both of those things as well as prompt, organized, and creative. I am not going to say anything more if you’ve only invited me here to poke into Jennifer Tate’s love life.” Anneliese was angry, and she showed it.
Leo looked up at her and then back down at her resumé, which Anneliese knew was impressive. He dropped the page on the wood and iron coffee table, then Leo stood as well. Damn if the man wasn’t tall. Craning her head to look up at him, Anneliese refused to be the first to break eye contact.
Leo nodded. “Good, I believe you—your loyalty lies with Jennifer Tate. That holds true with others’ opinions of you and the situation. The issue now is Robert Blackstone—if he had a hand in anything, and if he did, why he drove Jennifer away.”
Anneliese watched in disbelief as Leo walked away from her. “Hang on. Forgive me, but I’m a little lost here. This isn’t a job interview then? You’re just investigating the wedding that never was?”
Leo turned to face her again and shook his head sharply. “No, or at least, not exactly. Mrs. Tate believes that Blackstone had a hand in stealing some of the family’s assets. It’s just that she’s not sure what, or even if he stole anything.”
This was getting more twisted by the minute. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mackenzie, but for a man as obsessed with discretion as you are, why are you telling me all this?”
“Because I’m hiring you. Welcome to L.M. Agency, Ms. Nottingham. You’ll need to sign a non-disclosure agreement before you go, but first, I’m going to ask you to start your duties by writing down all the conversations you had with Jennifer regarding the wedding and her relationship with Robert Blackstone. Nothing is too trivial. Do you think you can handle that?”
While happiness flared in Anneliese’s chest that she’d got the job, she still couldn’t stand how high-handed and presumptuous Leo had been with her. “And what if I don’t want the job? Have you thought about that? Haven’t you just jeopardized your case?”
He looked her straight in the eyes and said, “First, you’re desperate, and there’s no one else in greater Boston who’s going to hire you. Second, you’re hardwired to protect, and at some point along the line, you decided to protect Jennifer Tate. You won’t be sharing this information with anyone.”
Anneliese snapped her mouth shut and nodded. She was pissed that he had her over a barrel, but it was all so starkly true. With nothing else left to say, she walked to the printer’s desk, sat down at the laptop and opened a blank document.
“Okay, but I want a salary…” she said without looking up from the screen, “with benefits… and overtime… and whatever else I can get.”
“On a conditional contract,” he replied curtly.
Anneliese’s eyes flicked up to Leo who was now standing by
the desk, and she silently nodded her agreement. With that, Leo turned and walked out of the room and further back into the brownstone. Setting to type the document, Anneliese became aware that she’d only gleaned a few extra facts about Leo and the L.M. Agency. She bit her lip and decided that next time she would push for more information. For now, however, it was time to begin earning her spot. Leo wasn’t wrong, she needed this job.
Chapter 4
A month later, all Anneliese knew about Leo Mackenzie was that he owned a plethora of dark jeans, equally boring button-down shirts and that he took his coffee with cream and sugar like every other person in America. In fact, it had become a game for Anneliese to keep track of Leo’s habits and then compare them to the data she found online that quantified what the average American chose.
Leo was dead on for every choice.
Anneliese had to wonder if it was curated, or if the man really was that predictable. So far her job had been to keep track of the hours Leo spent on each client. There was a fair amount of spying on spouses, which seemed cliché, but Leo explained that it paid the bills. It wasn’t every day that an interesting case walked through the door plus, Leo added, people cheated and according to him, monogamy was a popular myth.
Case in point was sitting in the waiting room. Mrs. Harriet Fleck was in her mid-sixties and had fallen prey to an over-zealous use of her plastic surgeon. Seriously, the woman’s skin was so tight, Anneliese wasn’t ever quite sure how to read her.
Right now Harriet was sitting on the gray couch facing the fireplace, her face was down-turned as she flipped through an art magazine, and her expression could have indicated anything from joy to abject horror. Anneliese felt the need to flex and stretch her facial muscles in sympathy for the woman’s frozen features and was in the middle of wrinkling her nose when Leo walked into the waiting room.
“Does something smell bad?” Leo asked from just behind her shoulder which made Anneliese gasp and she jumped about a foot. Harriet jumped as well, though her eyes could only manage to widen a fraction of a centimeter. Anneliese only hoped the woman hadn’t sprained anything.