by M. S. Parker
I licked my lips and slid her a quick glance. “Ever heard the phrase fake it until you make it?”
“I have.” She pursed her lips as she studied me. “You faked it very well then.”
She placed the job description in my hand and I looked down to read it over.
“As you can see, you’ll help handle his day to day activities, dealing with his travel plans, his correspondence—and he gets a lot of it. Some of it will be confidential and you’ll be required to sign a non-disclosure agreement.” Her voice became firm and I glanced up at her. Once she was sure she had my attention, she continued. “If you disclose any of his personal information, Aleena, there will be consequences. I’m certain you’re discreet, but it’s very important you understand this.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Excellent.” She nodded back to the sheet of paper. “His travel plans can sometimes be irksome—he’ll schedule a trip, then change his mind, and then change it again. Parties…well, those are a nuisance, but once he lets you know what he has in mind and the venue, you’ll contact the person who runs that chosen venue to handle the details. For instance, if it’s here, the household manager is Ramirez. Ramirez would manage most of the details and he will be happy to guide you through anything he needs your help with.”
“That…” I blew out a breath. “This doesn’t sound too overwhelming.”
“The first few weeks will be,” she said bluntly. “Just be advised.”
“The first weeks of any new job usually are.” I managed a weak smile. Then I asked the question I’d been almost too afraid to ask. “What’s the job pay?”
“It’s salary.” She named a figure that made my jaw drop. And it dropped even more when she said, “There is a raise every year based on performance, top of the line health coverage, a retirement package and, of course, living quarters.”
“Ah…living…” I cleared my throat, unsure if I heard her right. “Living quarters?”
She smiled. “Yes. There’s a suite on the second floor here at the penthouse.”
I reached up and rubbed my forehead. I was starting to feel like I’d fallen down a rabbit hole. “Okay…what’s the bad news?”
“The hours,” she said bluntly. “Dominic can be a demanding boss. You can expect to work from seven in the morning to roughly six in the evening, five days a week. He expects his assistant to be on call and willing to work as needed on weekends. With that said, your weekends, generally, are your own.” She tucked her hair back and gave me a tired smile. “Currently, though, we’re working a lot on the weekends. Dominic is in the midst of opening a new business and it’s taking up a great deal of his time so he’ll need more from you—actually us—until that’s done. I told him I wanted to see this job through. We started it together, so I wanted to finish it together.”
Numb, I looked back down at the job description she’d given me.
Organizing parties.
Handling correspondence.
Travel plans.
Communicating with the household staff.
Staring at Dominic when he walked around in a towel—okay, that qualified as a bonus.
“I’m a waitress,” I said quietly. “I’ve got an associate’s degree in business. The closest I’ve come to organizing a party was when the local Girl Scouts asked if they could have a fund raiser at our restaurant and my dad put me in charge.”
“Oh?” Fawna smiled, seeming to be genuinely interested. “How did it go?”
“Pretty good.” I shrugged. “But it was small change compared to…this.”
“Do you need some time to think about it?” Fawna asked.
I took a deep breath. “No. Either I’m dreaming or I’ve just received the biggest break of my life.”
Fawna chuckled. “In a few weeks, you might think it was the worst break. Now…here’s the big question, because I know how things go when it comes to rental agreements in New York. How much notice do you need to give where you’re staying?”
Chapter 7
Dominic
I didn’t let myself look back as I jogged upstairs to change.
But I couldn’t keep myself from looking down the hall toward Fawna’s suite.
Fawna’s suite was at the end of the hall. It wasn’t very big, but it had its own bathroom, a small kitchenette and a small living room.
She hadn’t been there or at the guest house in the Hamptons much lately, spending most of her time at the hospital. I’d gotten used to having her nearby. She was a friend—more than a friend, really.
Now somebody else would be living in those quarters.
Not just somebody.
Aleena.
Heat spread through me at the thought of having her so close by, but at the same time, there was also wariness. I don’t know how I felt about having her work under me. I’d rather just have her under me.
Sure, I’d wanted her to get a job, but this job?
No.
I dressed quickly, opting for comfort in jeans and a sweatshirt, since I wasn’t leaving the penthouse today.
A soft laugh caught my attention and I glanced toward the stairs—and Aleena.
What had I been thinking?
Was I being an idiot?
Or was I thinking with my cock instead of my head?
Fawna had been an easy choice. We generally saw eye-to-eye on how things should be done and she didn’t take bullshit from me—those were two very good reasons why she’d done so well as my assistant.
The third, and most important, reason, was that she’d always been there.
She’d been my English teacher when I was twelve and had found out that I was adopted. Through coincidence or fate, she’d been moved up a grade the following year and had been there for me when my parents divorced. She’d been the only one of my teachers to fight when I’d been expelled and the only one who’d checked in on me regularly.
She’d left teaching some years ago, but we’d stayed in touch. I’d reached out to her after I started my first company and offered her the job as my personal assistant.
She’d accepted and here she was, about to hand me off.
I headed back down the stairs, wondering if Aleena would still be there. She wasn’t, but Fawna was waiting on the couch. I sat down in the chair across from her.
“I thought you were going to give me a list of names,” I said. “Names that we’d go through together.”
She gave me that amused smile that said, no matter how old or rich I got, she would always see the hyper-active boy who none of the other teachers wanted to deal with. “I arranged for a second interview.”
“One that I didn’t know about.” Slumping in the seat, I stared at her.
She raised an eyebrow at me, staring until I had to concede the point. “All right, one that I would’ve known about if I’d paid attention.”
“Should we call her back and tell her we need a third interview? Or perhaps more time…?” she gave me an out.
Instead of answering, I leaned forward. “Why her? Out of almost a hundred people, you picked her as a possible candidate for your job?”
“No,” she said. “I picked her as the only candidate.”
“Okay,” I said. “That still doesn’t tell me why.”
“You told her about the interviews and put her name on the list.”
I stood up and went to the kitchen. I needed something to eat. Fawna followed.
“Dominic, if you hadn’t seen something in the girl in the first place, you wouldn’t have made a point of putting her name on the list.”
I sighed as I pulled out leftover pizza and put it on a plate. “It was my fault she got fired.”
“How was it your fault?”
Aggravated, I explained, ending with a pointed explanation of just what I’d like to do to that dickless dickhead Aleena had worked for.
“It doesn’t sound like it was anybody’s fault that he fired her—save for his ego,” Fawna said. She reached out and patted my cheek
, keeping the contact light and quick. “Dominic, he was an ass. She had a mishap. It should have just been excused and forgotten about. It was kind that you tried to help.”
She eyed my pizza with disgust. “You know, the entire point of you having a professional chef four days a week is so you can have options—nutritional, tasty options—to choose from the other three.”
I grinned at her as I pushed the buttons on the microwave. “There’s only so much casserole and pasta that a man can eat.”
“I have a better idea—have him teach you to cook. That way, when you get bored with what he prepares you, you can start making your own food.”
I started to argue with her.
Then she played her trump card. “It would horrify your mother.”
“Huh.” The microwave dinged and I opened it, the rich, spicy tang of pizza flooding the air. “You’re right. It would.”
“A boy your age should be able to fend for himself—and exist on something other than pizza.”
Sending her a sidelong look, I said, “Nobody other than you calls me a boy, Fawna.”
She gave me the look that had stopped me in my tracks back when I’d been in her sixth grade English class. I wasn’t in sixth grade anymore. Yet it still worked.
“Back to Aleena.” I tested the pizza. It was way too hot. That meant it was perfect. “She has a degree in office administration. I figured she’d get a spot as a secretary or maybe a desk clerk at one of the hotels.”
“It’s an associate’s degree and she has no experience.” She moved to the refrigerator and opened it, pulling out a pitcher of lemonade. She held it up with a questioning look. After I nodded, she pulled down two glasses. “She likely would do fine working at one of the hotels, but Frank had her for an interview, and he saw…well, likely the same thing I do, possibly the same thing you do. She’s got spark, Dominic. She’s got the kind of honesty and backbone one needs to handle you—”
At the thought of Aleena handling me, my brain immediately took a right turn into all the dark and dirty places I’d love to take her. All the dark and dirty places she would probably never go.
Unaware of my train of thought, Fawna offered me a glass of lemonade. I took it and gulped half of it down while she continued. “And she’s smart. I think she can handle this job, Dominic. But if you have doubts…”
“You don’t,” I said gruffly. Putting down the lemonade, I grabbed the hunk of pizza from my plate and bit in. After I’d swallowed the bite, I said, “You hired her.”
“You’re the CEO. You hired her.” She smiled at me.
She sipped at her lemonade. I finished up the first slice of pizza and devoured the second before either of us felt inclined to speak again.
“How’s the little guy doing?”
“Eli is…” She took a deep, steadying breath. “He’s doing well enough.” Her expression softened. “One more month. The doctors think he’ll be strong enough to leave the hospital in another month.”
I thought of the tiny little baby, struggling to live, a machine doing his breathing for him.
I reached over and caught Fawna’s hand. “You know that you and Eli are both welcome to live here or at the house for as long as you need. Just say the word.”
“I know,” Fawna said, giving me a fond smile. “But I’ve found a place outside the city.”
My hand tightened on hers while my throat clogged. I was losing a piece of myself and I knew it. I just didn’t know what to do about it. Actually, that was the problem—I knew what to do about it—nothing.
She needed a new start, her and her little grandson.
The past year had sucked. She’d lost her daughter and she’d nearly lost her grandbaby.
Shortly after she’d started working for me, her daughter, Kelsey, had dropped out of college and moved in with her boyfriend. At some point in the years that followed, Kelsey had gotten mixed up in drugs and it had gotten progressively worse.
Nothing anybody did seemed to help.
Every time the phone had rung, Fawna had been sure it would be the police, saying they’d found Kelsey’s body. Then, about six months ago, Kelsey had called. She was pregnant, and still using. She wanted to come home.
Fawna had brought her daughter home and for a short while, I’d thought, hoped, maybe it would work.
Kelsey had only been in her six month when she’d gone into labor. She’d been underweight and sick a great deal too. She’d starting bleeding shortly after delivery and they hadn’t been able to save her. The baby had made it…barely. The poor little guy was now a month old, but he still had a long road ahead of him.
“Poor guy,” I said, focusing on the baby instead of her leaving. “Spending the first two months of his life in the hospital.”
“He’s a tough little guy.” Fawna squared her shoulders. “He’s going to be fine.”
“Of course he is.” I hugged her. “He takes after his grandma.”
She laughed, but the sound was tired. “Grandma,” she repeated, shaking her head. “Sometimes, I still don’t believe it.”
After a moment, she moved away, taking her glass and sipping from it as she stared out the window. My penthouse faced out over Central Park and she gazed at the view as if she didn’t see it. “You asked me why I chose Aleena,” she said as she turned back towards me. “I picked her because I think she’s exactly what you need.”
I stared at her for a moment, unsure how to respond to such a statement. Before I could come up with anything, however, my phone rang. Fawna glanced at it and her face hardened.
Shit. I knew what that meant.
“You should get that, and I should get going.” She turned away. “I’m going to arrange to have what I won’t need for the next few weeks put in storage.”
I’d arranged for her to stay in a suite of rooms close to Eli’s hospital. Lately, she wasn’t here very often; it shouldn’t be such a shock to think about her putting her things in storage, to think about her leaving.
But it was.
As the phone rang again, I looked down.
As Fawna slid out, I answered it. “Hi, Mom.”
“Darling. It’s not a bad time, I hope?”
I grimaced and lied. “No, Mom. I’m working from home today.”
“That’s nice.”
Those words were followed by a stilted silence. I didn’t bother to try and fill it. We’d never handled small-talk well.
“How’s Fawna’s grandson doing?”
I scowled at the phone. “He’s improving. The doctors think he’ll be able to leave within the next month.”
“Such a long time,” my mother said quietly.
“Yeah.”
Another pause.
Fawna and my mother had never gotten along well, mostly because of my mother. Fawna had tried, more than once, to reach out. I think some part of my mother was jealous, envious of the easy relationship I shared with Fawna. They’d practically adopted me, raised me…and I connected better with a teacher I saw for a few minutes a day than I did with my parents.
Of course, that teacher had tried.
She’d reached out.
She’d made it seem like I mattered, that I was more than my pedigree.
My parents loved me, and I knew that, but they didn’t know how to handle children. Most of my childhood, I’d been raised by nannies, trotted out on holidays and special occasions. Other than that, I was off to one boarding school or another. Eventually, I’d had my fill of them and rebelled, getting in trouble. It wasn’t long before I’d been brought home. The local private schools hadn’t been much better and listening to my parents fight definitely hadn’t helped.
I probably would have turned out okay, if it wasn’t for—
Don’t. I jerked my thoughts to a halt before they could go down that dark, ugly path. Don’t go there.
“I spoke to Fawna yesterday. I hadn’t heard from you for a few days and I…well, I called her to see how everything was. She said you were busy looking f
or her replacement…?”
She left the question open-ended. Reaching up to pinch the bridge of my nose, I tried to ignore the headache that was building. “I’m hiring a new PA, yes, but there’s no replacing Fawna. She’s one of a kind.”
I didn’t bother to ask why she hadn’t called me. Instead, I repeated, “There’s no replacing Fawna.”
“Yes, you’ve always been…fond of her,” she said, her voice growing tight. My mother still believed I loved Fawna more than her.
That wasn’t true—entirely. I did love my parents, although there was no denying that Fawna understood me better. She’d always been there, even when my parents weren’t, when they couldn’t be. My mother had believed that Fawna and I were lovers, an idea that personally leaves me really disturbed, since I see Fawna as a mother-figure, of sorts.
Not that I’d tell my own mother that. I’ve got enough parental issues as is. I don’t need to add to them.
“Other than being busy, everything is well?” she asked, her voice taking on an edge.
I sighed and closed my eyes. Over a decade and we still couldn’t have a normal mother-son conversation. “Yes, Mom. I’m fine. Just busy. My new business is opening in a couple weeks and I have a lot to do for it.”
“Right,” she said. “The match-making company.”
“Yep. My match-making company. My little project.”
“Did you need any help with it? Connections? Money?”
“It’s all good, Mom.” I didn’t remind her that my net worth was now twice what hers and my father’s had been when they’d been married. She’d helped finance my first hotel purchase, but I’d paid her back with interest less than two years later.
“Beatrice Rittenour was saying that her daughter, Penelope, was talking about signing up for your services. I’m sure you remember her.”
It was a good thing my mother wasn’t here to see my face. The sneer would have appalled her. Penelope…yeah, I remembered her. She was three or four years younger than me and had already been well-groomed to take her mother’s place as the public face of the Rittenour fortune, complete with the plastic smile and ability to turn any compliment into an insult.