Chapter Two
The next morning, I put on my freshly laundered clothing, wrap my hair into a tight bun, and apply a small amount of blush, mascara, eyeshadow, and lipgloss. I am done by 9:50 and pickup is at 10:00. I sit anxiously staring at my phone, not sure what to expect when I arrive at Holden Industries. Minutes later, I look down at my phone to check the time: 9:59. It rings.
“Hello?”
“May I please speak with Ms. Ball?”
“This is Shyla.”
“Your vehicle is ready at the entrance of your building.”
I thank the extremely formal voice on the other end and nervously grab my things. I have to stop myself from running down the stairs like a child on Christmas morning. Waiting in front of my building is a black Bentley with a very fit middle-aged man standing by the passenger side rear door.
“Ms. Ball?”
I acknowledge his question and look around to see if anyone else notices the ridiculous scenario that is unfolding. I thought a taxi was coming, not Mr. Belvedere and his Bentley. He opens the door for me and I slide in, savoring the newness of the black leather interior. The butterflies in my stomach begin to flutter. Why am I so nervous? They’re courting me! Plus, Taylor was so kind to me, I should have no reason to feel uncomfortable. Then again, there was that feeling, that tension, in the car. Will that happen again? I look up and realize we are on the freeway going North, which makes no sense. Shouldn’t we be headed downtown?
“Excuse me, Sir?” I ask, as my voice gets caught in the back of my throat.
“Yes, miss.”
“I am a bit confused, aren’t we going to Holden Industries?”
“I’m sorry, I thought you knew. We are going to Mr. Holden’s estate. He frequently works from home and he requested the meeting be held there.”
I wasn’t even certain I was going to see him again, and my stomach clenches for a millisecond when it is confirmed that I will. I cannot believe that we are on our way to his house. From everything I read, he is intensely private; yet he is inviting a person he just met into his home. What is this all about? I have no idea what it is that he sees in me and why he is so persistent. This all seems completely over the top for a graphic design position and only adds to my uncertainty about accepting his invitation. I take a purposeful, deep breath to calm what is now a butterfly farm in my stomach and lean back, watching the trees breeze by.
Once we exit the freeway, we drive east for about five minutes and then up a winding hill. Lush green forest surrounds us. I cannot make out the houses in the area because the long driveways fade into the trees. Quite the neighborhood he lives in. After a few more minutes, we turn into one of the mysterious driveways. It winds for another minute. What does this guy do if he wants to grab a quart of milk? The driveway slopes up so that the house is on top of a hill...and what a house it is. A mix of natural and modern, its angular wooden structure frames expanses of wall to wall glass. I was certain houses like this only existed in magazines. I catch myself staring up at it with my mouth agape and hastily fix my expression. The car comes to a halt right at the front of the house and as I struggle with the Bentley’s fancy door handle, Mr. Belvedere opens it from the outside, quite graciously. Oh yeah, this is what he does.
“Thank you,” I say meekly. I am not used to this level of service. He guides me through the front door. The house is grand, with some of tallest ceilings I have ever seen in a home or anywhere else. The foyer leads to the great room, which is wide open and full of light thanks to the wall-to-wall glass. Decidedly modern, with clean lines, not a thing is out of place. The home is enveloped by the outdoors, the greenery adding warmth to a very stark house...I mean mansion. He leads me into a massive study that has a 20-foot wall of books. I scan the titles, hoping to find some sort of clue into Taylor’s psyche. The driver seats me in front of the desk, facing floor-to-ceiling windows that look out into the endless woods.
“Mr. Holden will be with you in a moment,” says Mr. Belvy (as I have decided to call him in my head) as he exits the office, closing the door behind him. My breathing has become somewhat shallower; I can hear it in the silence of the room. There is now a level of formality I did not feel in the car the other day. This assures me that whatever I thought I felt in the car with Taylor was completely off. This is clearly a business meeting, whether or not it is in his humble, or not so humble, abode. Finally, I hear the door open tentatively and I instinctually come to my feet.
I turn to face the door and there he is. There. He. Is. I do my best not to acknowledge it, but he is divine. He dons a perfectly tailored black pinstripe suit. The buttons are closed on his single-breasted jacket and from beneath it, a white shirt peers out, the first few buttons unbuttoned, no tie. His rich, dark hair is slightly unkempt, but I get the impression he pays a lot of money for his hair to look that way. His eyes are a stark contrast to the color of his suit and look like they could burn a hole right through me.
“Ms. Ball, please have a seat,” he says after shaking my hand. I guess I am Ms. Ball now. This is so confusing. In fact, it is dizzying.
He unbuttons his suit jacket before taking a seat across from me.
“How was your ride over here?”
“It was very nice...Mr. Belvede...I mean...” I realize I don’t know his name.
“Harrison,” Taylor chimes in, the faintest smirk surfacing. I think he knows where I was going with that.
“Yes, Harrison, was very nice. I was a little surprised to be coming to your home. I thought we were going to meet downtown.” I much prefer the name Mr. Belvedere to Harrison.
“My apologies, I thought Elaine would have informed you.” The man I am now speaking with seems so different from the one who rescued me from the pouring rain. “So, it looks like you are reconsidering the possibility of working for Holden Industries,” he says, crossing his ankle onto his thigh and leaning back into his leather executive chair.
“Well, you said you might want to contract me for my services, and I thought this might be pertaining to that statement. Ms. Brown didn’t give me many details, but honestly, I was made curious by your persistence.” I shock myself with how confident I sound, compared to how uneasy I feel.
Mr. Holden puts his leg back down and leans forward, placing his forearms on the desk. “I am aware that this scenario may be highly unconventional, even confusing, Ms. Ball, but my success has come from following my instincts. Some of my best hires have been through personal interactions. I believe solely going through conventional hiring methods leads one to miss out on people who possess intangible qualities.”
I nod, clinging onto each word.
“When I met you, I immediately felt that you were an articulate, intelligent and genuine person. Believe me, when you are someone like me, genuine people are hard to come by.” His eyes narrow just slightly and he looks damn sexy.
“With all due respect, Mr. Holden, I really appreciate that you think that of me, but, we only spoke for a few minutes.”
“That’s all I need,” he says. He stands up, removing his jacket, and walks over to the credenza, which conceals a drinks cabinet. He pours himself a drink from a crystal decanter. He gestures to me, offering a drink, and I decline. This is the weirdest interview ever in the history of interviews. Can I even call this an interview? I was just offered alcohol, for Christ’s sake. He takes a sip from his glass. “When I asked you if you wanted to interview with H.I., you didn’t jump; you were tentative, and that struck me. When people find out who I am, they usually don’t say no to me. That tells me something about your motivations.” As he speaks he slowly paces around me, finally ending up directly behind my chair. I feel myself blanketed by his shadow and freeze, unsure if I should look back at him or continue to look straight ahead. I choose against facing him as I am almost afraid to see how close behind me he is standing. While he is not touching me, his closeness has an almost physical effect. At this point, I don’t know what to say. The only thing I can reason is that somewhere along that walk to clear my head the other day, I stepped into another world.
“So is this for a graphic design position?” I ask innocently, knowing it’s not.
He walks in front of me and settles just to my right, in the small space between me and the desk, and leans back on its edge. Our legs are just inches from touching and it’s in that space between us, that inch or two, that I swear I feel a magnetic pull. His tall frame towers over me, uncomfortably close. “Ms. Ball. I am an intensely private man. That is why I am so insistent that I personally vet all those whom I work with closely.” Closely? “This is why, before I go any further, I need you to sign this.”
He slides over a black leather padfolio with a very expensive-looking fountain pen. He turns it so that the document is facing in my direction and opens it. I quickly scan the first few lines and see the words: “Holden Industries” and “Non-Disclosure Agreement.” I look up at his eyes and for the first time since I walked into the office, they hold a twinge of uncertainty. I’ve had to sign a couple of these before, but never so early into a business relationship. The NDA only serves to heighten my curiosity.
“May I?” I ask out of courtesy.
“Of course.”
As I thumb through the document, I notice my hand trembling and grip the padfolio closer to me in an attempt to hide my nerves. The language seems familiar, as I have had to sign NDAs before: I cannot talk about trade secrets, or any information that Holden Industries has chosen not to disclose to the public. I notice that there is another section; it refers to Taylor Holden specifically. In short, from what I can gather, I cannot reveal any personal or business information that I come across during my dealings with him. Now I understand why it was so hard for me to find anything about his personal life during my internet search.
After a short pause, I pick up the pen...it’s heavy...and after thumbing through the NDA for a few additional seconds, I sign. Who am I kidding? At this point, I would sign my left ovary away to know what he is going to say next. That is when the realization occurs, this might be all part of his game. He has been building this suspense, hasn’t he? I want to be just as clever in return, but he is so cool, so calm. Everything he has said and done thus far has been deliberate and meticulous and I am probably here because I am not that way. If I am genuine, then he is the antithesis of that.
“Do you have any questions?” he asks.
“I am familiar with NDAs. I have signed several when working with clients. I completely understand the ramifications of breaching an NDA.” I look him directly in the eyes and they fire up, although the rest of his face remains stoic. I secretly hope he hasn’t stuck any other stipulations in the document. I really hope there wasn’t a left ovary clause snuck in there somewhere. Just tell me what the fuck it is that you want me to do! - I never utter the words, but they ring loudly in my thoughts.
“You understand the seriousness of this document? If you disclose anything business or personal-”
“Yes, Mr. Holden. I am taking the NDA very seriously.” I grab the document with my left hand and hand it over. The navy and gold fountain pen is in my right hand and I offer it to him. He waits a moment before reaching for it, making sure to lock eyes with me as he slowly slips it out of my fingers. I catch myself holding my breath as he walks back to his seat.
He sits back, bites his lip and rests his chin in his hand. “Ms. Ball, I would like you to be my traveling personal assistant.” I immediately deflate. All of this buildup, all of this sex panther walk around the office bullshit to ask me to be his glorified secretary? I believe my disappointment manifests itself physically, because his posture becomes more erect. “The title does not appropriately reflect the level of responsibility this position entails. You will organize my personal and business calendar, travel with me to events, both national and international...” I can tell he is frustrated that his words are not conveying what he believes is the importance of this role. “You won’t be my right hand woman, you will be my right arm and I pay handsomely.”
“May I ask, why me? This is not even in my wheelhouse.”
“You have run a small business for several years, are computer savvy and articulate. Those are the skills I need. I need someone who can juggle multiple roles as there is not a clear cut description. You will be managing various tasks at disparate skill levels.”
“Did you have someone else in this role before?”
“Yes, she moved out of town a while ago. I was just beginning to search for someone new when we met.”
“What was her name?” He looks at me as if I have a third eyeball.
He hesitates. “...Emily, but I am not sure what that has to do with the matter at hand.”
“I’m sorry, I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping, but you mentioned the name Marsha at the coffee shop and I was just wondering...”
“No, Marsha is my receptionist. In fact, she has been taking on more than she should since Emily’s departure.”
I am not sure what to make of this. I had no intentions of getting a regular job and now he wants me to be his “right arm?” Not to mention, I find that term just mildly creepy.
“Mr. Holden, you have to understand how bizarre this is. I mean I feel as though you are insisting I take this job that I have done nothing to earn and I am not quite sure why. Then I sign this NDA for seemingly no reason because nothing you have revealed seems to be sensitive. Frankly, it makes me suspicious.” There. I said it. This is all so shady.
He slowly exhales, trying to conceal that he is mildly annoyed by my question. “The NDA is procedural as I consider this offer to be a private matter for reasons you may not understand until you decide to work with H.I. If you reject the offer, I do not want it discussed outside of this room. I apologize if that made you uncomfortable.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off as accusatory.”
“Do you think I am offering you this position just because I think you are a nice person? I know you went to University of Chicago and double majored in English and Computer Science. I know that you did this all while growing up in poverty with no father. I think someone like you is quite deserving of such an opportunity.” I gulp, and my eyes widen. This man is full of surprises. He went home and researched me, just like I did him. Except he probably hired a private investigator and I did a quick Google search. “I had a hunch about you,” Taylor says assuredly, “and I was right.”
No, you are wrong. The wave of shame rolls over me and I feel that my secret has been unmasked. While most people may have been proud of the description he just uttered, to me, it is a reminder of what a disappointment I feel like. I was supposed to be a big deal, the girl that struggles to work her way out of poverty and become great. Instead, I work in my own little cocoon, accomplishing nothing of significance, allowing mediocrity to shield me from the possibility of reaching for greatness and failing. Many people would be happy to have my life, there is no doubt about that, but I am not. This could be my chance to restart, to work alongside greatness.
“How did you know about all that? You researched my life?” A sense of ambivalence regarding whether or not he has invaded my privacy creeps into my gut. He doesn’t even acknowledge my question.
“Ms. Ball, I have a proposal for you. If you accept this position, I will pay you one hundred and fifty thousand dollars as a starting salary, with benefits. I understand your concerns about working in a typical office environment, but due to my unpredictable lifestyle and business travel, that will never be the case.”
One hundred and fifty-fucking-thousand dollars! That’s almost an executive salary. Holy shitballs!
“There is one stipulation. This offer ends the second you walk out that door,” he gestures with his glass of liquor. “I am a busy man and I don’t have time for negotiations. I am offering a generous salary so that there won’t be any doubts. If you don’t feel this is right for you at this moment, then you should not take the offer. I want someone who is excited and committed to the opportunity. Of course, you will never discuss this conversation with anyone.”
The NDA! The man knows how to sell. I know these tactics. He is creating scarcity and a sense of urgency, and he does it so well. I can’t even leave to get a second opinion; he covered both of those bases with the NDA and the ultimatum. I know he means what he says and he is willing to let me walk away to increase his odds of closing with me right now. I know every move he is playing, and yet I am helplessly falling for every single one. My god. I haven’t made one independent decision since I agreed to this meeting, or maybe even since he asked me to get into his car.
I don’t have words at this moment. The experience thus far has been so surreal. I am not even sure who I will be working for. Will it be the gregarious man who gave me a ride after I spilled coffee all over him? Or will it be this man, in front of me...a shark of a businessman?
“Can I have a few minutes to think about this?” My voice cracks as my confidence finally wavers.
“Absolutely,” he says, and without hesitancy, he rises from his seat and tells me he will return in a few minutes.
He was so curt on the phone with Marsha. He wasn’t terrible, but very steely. I am not sure if I want to be this steely man’s “right arm,” whatever the hell that means. At the same time, this opportunity seems so rich, not just monetarily, but the way this whole situation just arose out of thin air makes me want to believe in fate. If I say no, I will walk out that door and wonder for the rest of my life what would have happened. Still, I am not entirely convinced of his reasoning. While I would like to think I am incredibly remarkable, I don’t feel deserving of this level of courting. Something does not add up. I guess he sees something in me that I don’t. Maybe that is the point of all this: He can show me what it is that he sees because I sure as hell have no idea what it is. The thing I do know for sure is that I am due for a change, and an incredible opportunity is here. Too many coincidences have lined up for me to just walk away. What a fool that would make me.
There is a faint knock on the door and I startle from being so deep in thought. I turn to face it; Taylor is already halfway across the threshold.
I turn again so that I am facing his desk, and I can hear his footsteps pacing calmly behind me. There is no haste in his gait. He is calm, confident, and measured. Everything about him, his dark hair, his glowing eyes, his long muscular frame, his calm aggression, reminds me of a panther stalking its prey. He sits back in the leather chair.
“Did you have enough time to think about my proposal?” His relaxed body language is that of someone who already knows the answer.
“There are a few minor logistics I would like to work out, but overall I accept.” Woah. I immediately feel an enormous amount of tension release from my body, only to gain an uneasy feeling in my stomach.
“You have made a wise decision, Ms. Ball.” He smiles for the first time since the car ride, but this time, his grin reminds me of the Chestershire cat. “What are the logistics you would like to discuss?”
We go into a conversation about vacation days, benefits, my responsibilities, and all the day to day details. He tells me not to worry about vacation days because when working with him, I will see more of the world than I could have ever imagined in my wildest dreams. I smirk with excitement: is this really happening to me? He reminds me that he lives a fast-paced life and he expects excellence and organization from me at all times. My hours will be odd, he may need me to attend a gala or spend a week out of town with him. The variety excites me. He’s right; this won’t be a typical office job. I still feel trepidation, but it is quickly being engulfed by the thrill of starting a new chapter in my career and life.
When there is a lull in the conversation, he pulls out some forms from his desk. “Ms. Ball, I would like you to start your employment as soon as possible.”
“I still have a couple of projects I need to complete. I may need a week or so.”
“Don’t worry about it. Bring in your projects and my team will complete them in a few hours. Think of it as delegating now that you are my assistant. We need to get started right away, I have many important events coming up.” I didn’t realize my new position gave me that kind of clout. After all, the word “assistant” is in my title. That doesn’t sound very powerful. I agree as long as I can supervise the results as my name and reputation are on the line.
I flip through the employment documents and see the usual tax forms, and a contract. As I skim over the materials, Taylor -- I mean, Mr. Holden -- interjects. “The agreement is very straightforward. It states that you are at will, but if you quit, you will refrain from working for a competitive entity for two years, and of course, you have already signed the NDA.”
He says it so casually, and for no specific reason I trust his intentions. I do take a couple of minutes to confirm the language in the document, which does seem to coincide with his description. The non-compete sounds like a reasonable request being that my position may make me privy to company secrets. Telecommunications and whatever the hell else he does cannot be so interesting that I would be clawing to work for a competitor if I left. Caution has done nothing for me so far. It has kept me wrapped in my cloak of complacency, with no potential for more. It’s not that I am not grateful for the job I have now, or that my life isn’t good, but there is a longing, a sense that I am not working up to my full capabilities that constantly nags me. I want to travel the world, I want to get out of my rut. Something is missing. All this time I haven’t known what it was, and I still don’t, but I feel like this set of circumstances is a key or a window of sorts. It’s as if a force has aligned us to this desk here on this lonely planet and if I don’t move forward, this will be it for me. Nothing will ever change. At the very least, if I do this, quit and go back to graphic design, I can say I tried. I am sick of being afraid to aim for more because of my fear of failure.
My instincts tell me this is the right move. I now understand what Mr. Holden means about being all in right now and not delaying the decision. I pick up the heavy pen and sign all of the documents presented to me. It is now official.
I shock myself with how hard I slam the pen down onto the table and exhale, only then realizing that I have been holding my breath the entire time.
“Congratulations, Ms. Ball.” He says. “Shall we toast?” He finally seems to warm up a little. He won. He got what he wanted and now we can celebrate.
“Sure,” I resign. Frankly, I could use a drink.
“Brandy?”
“Yes, please! On rocks.” I say the only thing I know about liquor to make me sound knowledgeable with a bit of humor in my tone. Honestly, I am not a big drinker and I would have accepted whatever he offered to bring some levity into the room.
“No, you want this straight. Brandy this fine is never served on ice.” He flashes a grin, which makes me feel a little less embarrassed about my faux pas. My god, he sparkles when he grins. He rolls up his sleeves. Oooh. He runs his hands through his dark hair. Just when I start to come to terms with Mr. Holden’s business persona, his behavior bewilders me yet again. One minute he is a focused, stoic, businessman and the next he is rolling up his sleeves and pouring me a drink.
He hands me the brandy and sits back on his chair, his posture much more relaxed. As quickly as the warm liquid burns my throat I feel a buzz. “So, is drinking on the job a regular occurrence? This feels very sixties.” I ask with a smile trying to lighten the air in the room.
“Very rarely, and only at my home office, but it felt right today. So Ms. Ball, you don’t have a vehicle do you?”
“No, I never really needed one. I guess I can...” Before I can offer up to buy one for myself he jumps in.
“That means we will have to get you a company car.” Is he friggin’ kidding me? I get a car in addition to my salary? I try to contain my face-splitting smile; after all, this is for business purposes only. I can tell he is trying to hold it in, but he smiles back, revealing a boyish grin. Stop thinking about how amazing his smile is. He takes another sip from his glass. He has a pensive expression on his face and then says: “Come with me.” He is as enigmatic as ever. Why can’t he just tell me where we are going?
He leads me past the great room, which is grand. One wall has an enormous fireplace; opposite that, there is an open gourmet kitchen. Another wall is all glass, and it makes that entire side of the room appear to be one with the forest. Towards the middle of the hallway we come to an elevator. Yes, this man has an elevator in his house. It opens almost immediately and I step in. He punches the lowest button, which is two floors below us and must be a subterranean level. Maybe he is a serial killer!
I utter what anyone would say to a strange man taking him or her to an underground lair: “Why don’t we just take the stairs?” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, with an amused expression. Shortly thereafter, the doors slide open to reveal a massive underground garage. There must be 15 to 20 cars in here! Out of the corner of my eye I see him looking at me, his overall demeanor and expression seems lighter now. I must look like a wide-eyed child. I think he is getting a kick out of this.
“Let’s find you a car,” he says as he slides out of the elevator. “Tell me, which one do you like?” My eyes scan the room. It is really overwhelming. Admittedly, I don’t know much about cars, but most of these look really expensive.
“Is this your personal fleet? I am not sure if I feel right taking one of your cars...”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret: I have plenty of cars. If it’s one I drive regularly, then I’ll let you know. I promise. Just pick something.” He almost sounds forceful in that last sentence.
I walk up and down the rows of perfectly polished vehicles. I see a some SUVS, a couple of convertibles and even a few classic cars. Then I see her. A cherry red MINI Cooper with black racing stripes and checkered side view mirrors. Her size will be perfect for city driving. She’s the one.
“What about this one?”
“That’s the one I would have guessed.” He turns to a metal case on the wall, punches in a few numbers and opens it. He runs his finger along the rows of keys. “Catch,” he shouts as he tosses a set to me. I use the keyless entry to unlock the door and slide into the driver’s seat. Oh no. It’s a stick shift. I am a little embarrassed that I can’t drive one. Shit, I really wanted this car. As I sit there, wondering how to break the news, a shadow casts over me and I look up to see Mr. Holden standing over the still-open driver side door, his right arm resting on the roof of the car. Even though his posture is relaxed, I feel intimidated. He reads my expression rather well.
“Is there a problem with the car Ms. Ball?”
“On no! It is amazing, I just, I don’t...know how to drive a stick shift.”
“Well we’ll have to change that,” he says, stepping away from the car. “All of my vehicles have a manual transmission. I prefer to have control over my vehicle when I am driving, not the other way around. I could certainly get you an automatic car, but that would take a couple of days. Anyway, I think it is an essential skill to learn. Think of it as on the job training.”
He walks over to the passenger side and opens the door. “Scoot on over this way, Ms. Ball. I’ll pull the car out, and then we are going to give you your first lesson.” He pulls the car out to the driveway and then switches places with me. It’s nerve-wracking enough to be unexpectedly taught how to drive a stick shift, but to be taught by your hot, cryptic, and unreadable boss is too much. Doesn’t he have empires to run?
“Ok, what do I do?” I say, through a large sigh.
“Well, that pedal on the far left is the clutch. It disengages the transmission so you can switch gears. Then you have of course your gas on the right and your brake to the left of it. Your shifter has numbered gear options as well as reverse and neutral...” I watch his lips move, they are so full and I can’t help but stare. His role as driving instructor has loosened him up. He is not nearly as gregarious as he was in the Mercedes, but he appears to have adopted the role of supportive teacher, probably to keep himself alive in the passenger seat as I drive.
“Let’s start.” I cautiously disengage the parking brake, move my foot from the brake to the clutch... “Wait a second,” he says and I hurriedly slam my foot down on the break. “Relax, everything is fine. Safety first.” He reaches over me and pulls down my seatbelt. I stiffen and look straight ahead as his arm ever so slightly grazes my chest. The click of the seat belt securing into the buckle is the only sound to break the awkward silence. I feel his warm breath on my neck as he reaches and I take a deep nervous inhale. His scent fills my nose, it is clean and warm, just like in the coffee shop. The smell of his skin is delicious. I try to stop these thoughts, but they are invading my brain in a way that has never happened to me before. Not even with...Rick. I try push him back out of my mind at this moment because I feel a sense of guilt. Rick and I are frozen. That’s the only way I can describe us. He is faithful, he is steady, he is nice, but he is not like this man in front of me: new, mysterious, and unpredictable. Rick and I are in a state of comfort, but like much of my life, I am becoming more and more discontent with comfort. Mr. Holden then proffers a disclaimer. “Normally, we wouldn’t be driving after drinks, but I noticed you didn’t really touch your brandy.”
“I’m sorry, it looked great, but then we came down here and I didn’t have time to finish.”
“No need to be sorry, I just don’t want to give the impression that drinking and driving is something I condone.”
“It can’t be hard to avoid when you have your own driver.” Oops. That wasn’t supposed to sound disdainful. I mean it as a matter of fact, but that’s definitely not how it sounds. I should shut up. His eyebrow cocks. “That came out really bad! I meant that it must be great not having to worry about those things. I think it’s great that you have a driver. He is really nice.”
“You mean Mr.Belvedere?” he asks sarcastically. I don’t know how to react to his deadpan remark.
“Oh...yeah, I mean that’s the only butler I knew growing up...I have a big mouth, don’t I?”
“No, I thought it was funny. He’s technically not a butler by the way. He doesn’t serve me tea and crumpets.”
“You’ll have to forgive me, I know nothing about the finer things in life. Whatever I know, I learned from Robin Leach.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” He says underneath a smile.
“Please promise me you won’t tell Harrison about the nickname. He seems serious.”
“Believe it or not, he has a sense of humor underneath the professional exterior, but I won’t tell for now. That is unless I need to hold it over your head for a favor.” The way he says that last part sounds like he is not talking about business and I feel myself turning red.
Off we go! The car stalls about three times just getting out of the insanely long driveway. My horrible driving technique adds some levity to the atmosphere in the car.
“The roads are quiet out here, it’ll be a great place to practice,” he assures me. After a few minutes, I start to get a feel for the car, and the tension eases as I build confidence.
“All right,” he says, “let’s speed her up. Hit the clutch, move the gear into second then push on the gas and release the clutch just like you did to get into first. Be smooth.” I take a deep breath, follow his instructions and the car jumps into second gear with a jolt. I am starting to have fun with this.
“I see what you mean about being in control of the car. How long have you been driving stick?”
“It’s how I learned. Keep your eyes on the RPMs. If you hear a bit of roaring or feel a lag, that means you need to shift up again. You always have to be in tune with your vehicle when you are driving a manual transmission.” I immediately accelerate and go into third. “Woah!”
Mr. Holden grabs his cell. “Harrison, meet me at Ms. Ball’s place in an hour and a half.” He turns to me. “Let’s practice for 30 more minutes and then you’ll drive us to your home.” I live around tons of pedestrians, and red lights and parallel parking. My confidence waivers a bit, but I know tomorrow, I’ll need to drive myself to work, so I have to suck it up.
We don’t say much in the way of conversation, but he continues to direct my driving and this time serves to acclimate us to each other’s presence. Although I would normally find silence in the car with a stranger awkward, it is unusually comfortable. In fact, I feel most on edge when we speak, as if every time we talk, there are underlying, unspoken words between us. At one point he asks if I mind having the windows open.
“Not at all, it’s a beautiful day.”
As I pick up in speed, pieces of my hair come undone in the wind and whip into my eyes. I try to brush them out of my face.
“You should keep your hands on the steering wheel and shifter. Let me get that for you. Hold your face still.” I can’t help but hold still, because the anticipation of him touching my hair literally locks me up.
He gently brushes the hair away from my eyes, his fingertips softly caressing my forehead. He then tucks it behind my ears. I feel the hairs stand up on my forearms and silently hope that he does not notice. I can’t be imagining the energy; this can’t all be in my head.
Even though we don’t share many words, I smile a lot, experiencing the joy of driving this zippy little car through winding roads. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, watching me, sometimes smiling too. The question invades my mind again. Does he find me attractive? This should be irrelevant, but I wonder if someone like him would ever want someone like me.
When it is time to drive back to my apartment, hunger pangs begin to kick in. I hadn’t eaten breakfast in the morning and I had no idea I would be with him this long. Then, as if he is reading my mind, he asks: “Are you hungry?”
“A little.” I could eat a small herd of antelopes right now!
“Let’s grab a bite and discuss some details about what will be coming up the next few weeks. Make a left at this stop sign.” The car stalls as I pull away from the stop sign. Shit! I thought I was getting the hang of this. After a few more turns, he leads me to a small restaurant that looks like a little white farmhouse. Thankfully the unmarked gravel parking lot makes parking as simple as stopping wherever I can. As we enter, ever the gentleman, Mr. Holden grabs the door with handkerchief in hand. It raises a question mark in my head, but I don’t have much time to analyze it as we walk in and sit across from one another in red wooden chairs. An older woman greets us warmly.
“Mr Holden! How good to see you. Will it be the usual?”
“Sure. Make that two. You’ll love it.” A man has never ordered for me before.
“So, we will be going to St. Petersburg in three weeks, more like two and a half.”
“Florida?”
He laughs a real laugh. He looks so young as the intensity in his eyes dissipates. “Russia.”
Russia? Never in my life did I ever think I would be going to Russia! The news reassures me that he means what he says about showing me the world.
“We will need to get your visa expedited, so please bring in your passport tomorrow.”
“Okay, not a problem.” How is Rick going to feel about me going to Russia so soon? Jesus, he doesn’t even know I have accepted the new job! “What will we be doing there?”
“They are looking to install a new fiber optic network to update their infrastructure and H.I. is in the running for the contract. There is a gala during one of the evenings to meet with all of the decision makers, such as government officials and leading executives in the industry.” I have a very general understanding of the topic, but I have a lot to learn about the telecommunications industry, and the other industries he is involved in.
“So, what will I be doing there?”
“You will make sure I get to every appointment on time, handle all documentation, join me at the gala as a representative of H.I., prepare reports and proofread proposals. Other tasks will come up while we are there, so I will need you to be nimble.”
“Of course.” I am starting to feel like I am in over my head. Mingling with Russian dignitaries? I can barely survive Rick’s company Christmas parties. I thought there would be some “Intro to Holden Industries” class or something, but he is throwing me in head-first with the sharks.
The lady returns with a huge plate of blueberry pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs. Yum! I want to ravage the plate, but instead I take cautious bites. As we eat, he continues to fill me in on the details. We will be there for five days, arriving early on Thursday morning. Business attire is mandatory, except for the gala, which is black tie. I can tell he is alluding to my sophomoric attire. No more jeans and T-shirts for me.
“I take it that working from home all these years means you don’t have business wear?”
“No, but I should be able to go shopping this weekend.”
“I’ll have my stylist come by tomorrow. If you don’t mind.” Even though it is spoken as a request, it feels like an implicit demand.
“Wow. I’ve never worked with a stylist before. Sure! So how does it work? Does she just accompany me to the mall?”
“I’ll let you two hammer those details out tomorrow.” I worry that the stylist’s taste in clothes will be much more than I can afford, but I can’t being myself to say this to Mr. Holden and can only hope this person will be flexible.
As we are driving to my apartment in the car, he is silent and pensive. He has given up the role of driving instructor, only chiming in when necessary and is again the intimidating figure that interviewed me. I am learning quickly that his mood swings, if that is what one can call them, will keep me on my toes. Since we arrive to my apartment around three o’clock, I am lucky enough to pull into a spot, instead of parallel parking. Harrison is already parked a few cars in front of me, ready to take Mr. Holden home.
“Thanks so much for the driving lessons, and lunch. You really didn’t have to.”
“My pleasure Ms. Ball. I look forward to working with you.” He opens his mouth to say something else, but then he pauses. I see a rare moment of uncertainty in his facial expression. What is it? What do you want to say to me? “Please arrive at the house at 9:00 am, as we will have a lot to cover tomorrow.” We shake hands and I relish in our hands touching one last time before we part ways.