Chapter Three
When I go upstairs, the enormity of the day’s events hits me. What will I tell Rick? What can I tell Rick? I signed an NDA, but does that mean I cannot disclose any details at all? I do live with the man. I need to know right away. I call Harrison since I know he is in the car with Mr. Holden, whose cell number I do not have.
“Harrison speaking.”
“Hi Harrison. Sorry to bother you. Are you with Mr. Holden? It’s Shyla.”
“Ummm, yes. In the car with me now, on speaker. Just a moment.”
“Ms. Ball? You are off the speaker.” His voice sounds concerned
“I am sorry to bother you so soon. However, I realize that I signed an NDA which is not a problem, but how private do I need to be? I mean can I tell people I work for you? That I am going to St. Petersburg?”
“I’m sorry, we probably should have discussed this in further detail. You may tell people about your position and general details to family and friends. What is most important to me is that you not share the inner workings of the business or specifics of our interactions. So, yes, you can tell your family you are going to Russia.”
“Thank you for the clarification. I will see you tomorrow.”
This is going to be hard. I don’t have many friends, but I am very close to the ones I do have. How can I keep the story of the strange offer from my mysterious, brooding and handsome boss from my best friend, Kristin? Feelings of isolation appear because I now have a part of my life that I can share with no one but Mr. Holden. With a belly full of pancakes and my head spinning, I lay down on the couch and close my eyes.
I wake up to the sound of the keys in the front door. I shoot up and look at the clock. It’s 6:30 p.m. I feel a bit disoriented since I had no intention of sleeping for this long.
“Hi,” Rick says as he wrestles with some grocery bags.
“Hi,” I say reaching my hands overhead and stretching, sleep still in my voice. “I must have passed out.”
He places the groceries on the kitchen counter. “So...how did your interview go?”
“Really well. I was offered a position and I took it.” I try my best to downplay it because there won’t be much I can reveal anyway.
“Really? Congrats! What are you doing?”
“I will be his Personal Assistant...Executive Assistant. I am not sure which one, the role is pretty muddled.”
“Interesting!”
“Very.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. I just have to warn you, he is extremely private and I had to sign an NDA since we will be working closely. As you know, he works in technology and there are trade secrets I can’t reveal. So, I can’t really talk much about the details of the job.”
“Oh, it’s not like I’ll tell anyone.” He doesn’t get it. I am not telling him anything. Partly because of the NDA, but mostly because I am afraid he will see right through me if I talk about Mr. Holden.
“Yeah, I know.” I quickly change the subject. “Big news, I am accompanying him to St. Petersburg, Russia in a few weeks. I don’t think I can say why, but let’s say it’s a sales call.”
“Russia?” Rick exclaims. “Well, you are hitting the ground running aren’t you? This is wild. I mean...” His voice trails off.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Nevermind.” He begins to unload the groceries into the fridge.
“No. Tell me.” I want to know if he thinks this is as strange as I do.
“Well, don’t you think this is all a little odd? I mean, I agree with him. You know I think you’re brilliant, but you meet this guy in a coffee shop and a couple of days later you are hired to be his assistant. It moved so fast. Something about that is just, I don’t want to say fishy, but makes you wonder.”
“Wonder what?” For some strange reason, I suddenly feel defensive, as if I am defending Mr. Holden’s honor.
“Maybe he likes you?”
I start to laugh, almost mockingly, and Rick furrows his eyebrows. “Taylor Holden is a multimillionaire who can have any woman he wants. Why in the world would he go through so much trouble for me? Don’t worry. What happened was his previous assistant moved away and he really needed to replace her. When we chatted I mentioned what I did and he really wanted someone with my skill set. Just pure luck I guess.” I say all this, secretly hoping what Rick claims is true, but knowing it’s not.
“You’re right, I am probably reading too much into things, but you should give yourself more credit. It’s not a completely ridiculous line of thought. I think you’re hot. Are you hungry?”
“Well, thanks honey. I’m hungry enough, can we order take out? Maybe we can watch a show and then I’ll go take a shower and call it a night so I can rest up for my first day.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The Chinese take out arrives very quickly and we slurp on our noodles in the dark while an episode of “The Bachelor” provides the only light in the room. Halfway into the show, we have both finished eating as indicated by our containers sitting idly on their respective TV trays with chopsticks popping out, like a flag sitting on conquered territory. Rick reaches his hand over onto my thigh. I know what he wants and I hope my stillness is enough of a signal to indicate that I am not in the mood. During a commercial he leans over to kiss my neck and I reach for the remote.
“Can’t we fast forward this?”
“Why don’t we pause it?”
“Not tonight Rick.”
“Why not?”
“I’m tired and your breath smells like Chinese food.”
“Well so does yours. We can cancel each other out.”
“Gross.”
“Let me go brush my teeth then.”
“I should take a shower and go to sleep, I have a busy day tomorrow.” I can see in his eyes his feelings are hurt and I start to feel guilty. “Do you want to hop into the shower with me?”
“That works for me.”
Our tub is so cramped that we rarely shower together, and it always makes for a clumsy scene. I hop in first, soaking myself in steamy goodness. As crappy as our shower is, it has great water pressure. No more than a minute later, the curtain flings open and exposes Rick’s naked body. Rick has always been very long and lean, the kind of guy that can eat anything and the food just goes to some magical land...or maybe my hips. I am convinced somehow the food he eats goes to my hips instead.
We awkwardly reach over each other for the shower gel.
“Can you get my back?” Rick asks.
“Sure, turn around.” I soap him up. “Now my turn.”
Rick gently lathers my back. Then he moves my wet hair off of my shoulder, kissing my neck. I am still not in the mood, but I dutifully give in to his advances by turning around and kissing him. We start to make out, which warms me up. Then comes the awkward part.
“Maybe if you position yourself this way.” Rick suggests.
I try to elevate one leg and rise on my tippy toes with my back facing him. The cold shower curtain clings to my leg and I think of all the little microorganisms that welcome this new breeding ground. It feels good but after a few minutes, the water running between my legs starts to dry me out, not to mention my calf begins to cramp.
“Maybe I should just finish you off,” I suggest. I should be a phone sex operator with that kind of sexy talk.
“You sure?” Rick is always so polite, wanting to make sure I am satisfied first.
“Yes, don’t worry about me.” I stoop down and fulfill my suggestion.
The next day, I leave my apartment 45 minutes early to accommodate my entry level manual driving. The ride starts off rough, but once I get on the freeway, things turn for the better. I arrive to the house at 8:20, much earlier than I had expected. I just hope my early arrival will leave a good impression. Harrison answers the doorbell.
“Good morning Ms. Ball,” he nods.
“Good morning.” I wear the same black slacks as yesterday with a cream colored sweater. I know it’s an underwhelming outfit, but it is all I have to work with.
“There is breakfast at the breakfast bar if you would like. I believe Mr. Holden is wrapping up his morning workout, he was not expecting you here until 9:00am.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I left early because I wanted to give myself some time figuring out the new car.” Harrison smiles and gestures to the great room. There is a large selection of fruits and cheeses and well as fresh scrambled eggs and bacon sitting in some pans on the range. I didn’t have breakfast, so I pour myself a coffee and grab a few pieces of fruit. I am not yet comfortable enough to dig into the eggs and bacon without being explicitly invited. I pull out a stool, sit down and begin to pick on the fruit. Almost immediately, I hear bare footsteps behind me.
“Good morning Ms. Ball.” I stand and turn to face the voice, and yet again, Mr. Holden surprises me. He is shirtless and sweaty, a white towel is dangling around his neck, and he is wearing a pair of faded black sweatpants. They hang low on his hips, his hip flexors drawing my eyes to his...Look up! My eyes cannot betray me. Look into his eyes! They are so beautiful, a deep blue color in this light, framed by dark, long eyelashes. Stop this!
His behavior cannot be considered professional behavior by any means, but I guess this is what I get for showing up so early.
“I didn’t expect you here until nine.” As he says this he takes a swig out of his water bottle. It is hard not to notice his body. His hips are narrow, shoulders prominent and he has washboard abs with beads of sweat rolling down each ripple. This guy cannot be for real.
“Ye...yes. I’m sorry, I, uh, left early because I thought driving the MINI would take me longer.”
“Judging by your arrival time, you seem to be picking up pretty quickly,” he says as he pops a strawberry into his mouth. Those lips. I am flustered dammit. I am flustered and I think he is getting a kick out of it.
“Should I just wait in the office?” I say, giving him the opportunity to get decent before we go any further. Is there no place my eyes can rest upon this man that isn’t perfect?
“No, enjoy your breakfast. Eat. You’ll need the energy.” It sounds like he is talking about something other than work. “Don’t you want eggs?” I do.
“No thanks, this is fine.” I awkwardly try to figure out where I can place my eyes and I choose the fruit on my plate as the safest spot.
“So, I mentioned introducing you to Mona. After speaking with her, she and I concluded that the attire I expect you to wear is something you may not be used to. It is also not something I would expect you to be able to afford on your paycheck.” I didn’t think my paycheck was so measly, but I bet he finds that amount in coins between the cushions of his Italian leather sofa.
“I was hoping to talk to her about that. I don’t mind investing in good pieces, but I thought I could talk to her about a budget.”
“I guessed by looking at you, that you are a size 4. Am I right?” That’s rather impressive. Most guys I know know nothing about women’s clothing sizes.
“Yes, clothing sizes vary, but generally.” How does he suck me into the strangest conversations? Why can’t he ever just spit out what he has to say instead of taking me down a stupid rabbit hole every time? He’s noshing on a piece of bacon and I catch myself staring at his mouth. Again.
Stop that! I look around to see if Harrison is within sight so I can sense if he feels awkward about Mr. Holden standing here shirtless like this, but he is long gone.
“Follow me.” Mr. Holden walks ahead of me and I have a free, undisturbed view of his narrow hips and muscular back. Why can’t he just be a fat, balding, middle-aged CEO? He leads me into his office, where there are boxes and bags piled high on the floor. I recognize some names: Carolina Herrera, Diane Von Furstenberg, Tory Burch, Nordstrom, along with other names I do not recognize. I gasp, but I don’t want to assume this is for me, even though all roads are leading to this fact.
“I had my stylist Mona go shopping for you yesterday. She’s going to be here a little after nine too. We figured it would save time if she just brought the wardrobe here. Then you can keep what works or if you like something, but need a different size, she can take care of all that.” The sight leaves speechless. While any woman would love a new designer wardrobe, I feel a mixed bag of emotions: Is this normal behavior, for a boss to buy his assistant a new wardrobe? At least one he is not fucking?
“I don’t think I can accept this.” I say, really wanting to accept it.
“Nonsense. I certainly don’t think it is fair to expect you to spend half of your salary on your work attire and Mona doesn’t do cheap.” That’s just an expression, right? He didn’t really just spend seventy-five thousand dollars on my wardrobe, did he?
“I don’t know...this is too kind of you. I can’t. I don’t know what to say.”
“There is nothing to say. Think of it as a tax write-off for me. Why don’t you start looking through the clothes? I’ll have Mona stop in when she arrives. We’ll be going to headquarters today to show you around. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to head into the shower.” He leaves me alone in the office, with all of these clothes. I don’t know where to start. I open a box with the words Claire Pettibone etched on the lid. I peel open the paper wrapping to reveal the most delicious...Underwear! Does my professional wardrobe extend to my underwear? This must be Mona’s doing, she probably finds it repulsive that I would wear Hanes underneath such fine garments. I close the box and dig into some other bags to discover a black pencil skirt and a wine colored silk blouse. This will do. I uncover some shoe boxes on the other side of the room. I recognize these names thanks to “Sex and the City”: Louboutin, Prada, Jimmy Choo, Manolo Blahnik. I chose a pair of black leather heels and a pair of silk stockings. Once I am done, the office is full of bags and boxes turned upside down. I frantically start shoving clothing and shoes back into their rightful enclosures. I don’t want to seem too eager to accept the clothing, my mother would not be proud. I scoop up the outfit I have designated for the day and turn around.
“Shyla?” I turn around and drop a shoe. In front of me is a slender brunette. She has sleek, long hair parted down the middle that nearly hits her waist. She is wearing a black shift dress with a large beaded turquoise-colored necklace and black patent leather kitten heels. Her face holds impressive amount of make-up, and she pulls it off nicely with a smile.
“Yes? Are you Mona? Help!”
She laughs and pulls the crumpled outfit out of my arms. “We’ll get this ironed for you. So...what do you think?”
“Oh my god, this is spectacular. I mean, I had no idea.”
“Taylor said you would be by his side a lot, and he said I should not spare a dollar in dressing you. I love when he tells me that.”
“I have to admit, I feel bad, accepting all of this.”
Mona looks to her left and right and then leans in. “Girl, take the clothes and don’t ask questions. He’s into appearances so don’t worry. The man has more money than he knows what to do with.”
“Have you dressed other employees?”
“He has recommended me to some other people and I have dressed some friends for him, but I probably shouldn’t get into details.” I wonder if she has had to sign an NDA too.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I am just so shocked.”
“No worries, let’s get started.”
Mona and I spend about 45 minutes going through what works and what doesn’t.
“Alright Shyla, I have to meet a client across town. I’ll exchange some things and drop them off here for you. Sound good?”
“Yes, thank you so much!”
“Ms. Ball.” Harrison’s voice carries from the doorway. “Heather is here to see you.”
“Heather?” Is this another thing Mr. Holden failed to tell me?
“Yes, miss. The hair stylist.” Harrison looks amused by my bemusement. Now my hair is a problem too? I’ll admit, I am due for a haircut, but I am a little annoyed. What if I like my hair the way it is? I resolve that I will dictate to her what she can and cannot do. Today’s events are beyond bewildering. I came ready to hit the ground running, expecting to read reports and spreadsheets. I thought I was just going to have a quick meeting with the stylist. Instead, I am getting a makeover.
“Hi sweetie!” She sure is bubbly. Heather is tall, busty, has a lip ring, and her right arm is covered in tattoos. Her edgy haircut is completely engulfed in a baby pink hue. I tell her my parameters: It must be something low maintenance, even if she straightens it. I don’t like having to keep up with hair dyes, so please keep my hair color as-is. She seems totally understanding and gets to work. An hour later, she holds the mirror in front of me. My once curly hair is stick straight and glossy. I have blunt bangs across my forehead that lengthen at the sides. I am shocked at the difference the hair makes. I look more mature than I did just 60 minutes ago. I hunt around for the new clothes, all the while wondering where the hell Mr. Holden is. I run into Harrison in the great room. He leads me to what looks like a spare bedroom, my perfectly pressed clothing laid out on the bed. I slide into the outfit. The fabrics are luxurious and feel rich against my skin. I face the vanity and am stunned at how put together I look. I look expensive. It is amazing what some designer clothing and hair can do to a person. I can see why people spend so much money on this stuff. I use the new suite of MAC makeup the way Mona instructed me to, but with a much lighter hand.
I am eager to get on with my day as I am due for a little normalcy, if that is even possible anymore. My heels click loudly on the concrete floors as I leave the guest room, ruining my attempt at a discreet reveal. I feel flushed and nervous about turning the corner into the living area. Heather is still out there, and to my surprise, Mr. Holden is there as well, chatting on his cell phone.
“Oh, look at you! You look incredible. Just gorgeous!” I blush and make a swatting gesture at Heather’s compliments. I really don’t feel comfortable discussing my appearance in front of Mr. Holden. Mr. Holden looks up from pacing back and forth on his cell phone and pauses to see what all the clamor is about. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second as he takes me in, and he loses his train of thought with whomever he is speaking with on the phone. He quickly looks back down, sticking his finger in the ear opposite of the phone to drown out the commotion and heads to another room.
“I have to head out darling, but I just wanted to see the finished product. You made it easy. I was working with a beautiful canvas.” Heather is really sweet, maybe we could be friends if she comes around often enough. She grabs her belongings and gives me a huge hug and smiles as she walks towards the exit.
“Ms. Ball.” I whip around to see Mr. Holden back in the great room. He looks like perfection. His hair is slicked back, his face is fresh and clean shaven. His crystal eyes are gleaming and he is wearing yet another impeccably tailored suit. This one is a rich navy paired with a white shirt and a fun tie. It is plaid with various hues of silver and blue. It makes him look youthful and only serves to make his eyes pierce even more. “You look very...nice.”
“Thank you,” I blush, sensing that he wanted to say something else, but refrained.
“Shall, we go to headquarters?”
“Of course. I am really excited.”
When we step outside, Harrison is waiting for us by the Bentley. He opens the door and we slide into the back seat. Maybe fifteen seconds later, Holden’s cell phone rings. “Yes, we are heading over today. No...just for an hour or so...Yes, she is with me. I am going to show her around before we get started... I know, tell Marsha to have all the documents prepped on Shyla’s desk so I can have her take them back with her today.”
My ears feel so virgin to the sound of my first name coming from his mouth. He hasn’t said it since we introduced ourselves in his car. Hearing that I will have documents waiting for me makes my stomach churn. What will I be reading today? Will this all be over my head? Is he just going to throw this on my lap or give me instructions on how to handle this new job? He rests the phone against his chest and looks at me. “Did you bring your passport as I asked?” I nod. “Yes, she did, we will need the visas expedited for St. Petersburg...Ok.” He hangs up the phone without saying goodbye and I wonder if that is a universal thing that CEOs do. I break up the subsequent silence in the car. “Mr. Holden, I just wanted to thank you for all of this, you really didn’t have to.” He gives me that look again, as if I am speaking another language.
“It’s nothing, really. Just business.” His brevity makes me feel a little sheepish. He probably did this for Emily too. This is nothing personal. As his assistant, I am a reflection of him and he is simply making sure I reflect H.I. to his standards.