Chapter Five
I try my best to act completely nonchalant when Harrison helps me bring dozens of boxes and bags through the door to my apartment. I hoped Rick would be late to give me enough time to hide the bulk of the clothes, but instead he is sitting on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. He does a double take as I walk through the door and then sits at attention.
“Who are you and what have you done to my girlfriend?”
“Hi Rick, this is Harrison. Harrison, this is Rick.” Rick has a puzzled look on his face while Harrison helps unload the last of the bags.
“What’s all this?” He asks once Harrison closes the door. “You went shopping? Your hair looks totally different!”
“I hope that’s a compliment. No, I didn’t go shopping. It was on the company, they want me to dress a certain way.”
“So they gave you a makeover?”
“Yes. I mean, I have to travel with the CEO and they want me to wear designer clothes and stuff,” I shrug as I grab a drink out of the fridge.
“Was it Holden that insisted on this?” He doesn’t sound upset, but I can sense him trying to make sense of the entire situation.
“He’s just being generous. He does this for all of his close staff.” I lie. He did not do it for Marsha. The statement serves to appease his curiosity. I get ready to head to the bookstore to grab some literature about the industry that I can study nightly.
“What do you want to do for dinner?”
“Go ahead and have something without me. I have a lot of catching up to do for work. I’ll be right back. Getting some books for research. I’m going to use the company car.”
“You got a company car too? What a sweet gig.” I can’t tell if he is being sarcastic and I don’t want to find out. I give him a kiss on his head and leave.
My shifting is still a little jumpy but I don’t stall anymore. As I pull into the bookstore parking lot, I cannot drive the conversation with Holden out of my head. I smile to myself at the thought that this beautiful man, that women fawn over, has an inexplicable connection to me. A childish sense of superiority heightens in me because I can touch him and yet most of the world is closed off to his touch. I shake the selfish thought out of my head just as my cell phone rings. It is my best friend Kristin, who I have not spoken to in over two weeks. I hastily pick up, skimming my thoughts for what I can and can’t tell her. I am so used to telling her everything.
“Kristin!”
“Hey stranger! What’s going on?”
“Not much, and you?”
“Well, you know, same shit, different day. Just studying.” Kristin is completing law school. She is sharp and assertive and I know she is going to be a great lawyer one day.
“There is one thing. I got a new job!”
“Really? I didn’t even know you were looking! Congrats! What are you doing?”
“It’s a long story.” My voice sounds exhausted as I say this; Kristin reads right into it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just a big transition for me. Are you familiar with Holden Industries?”
“Yeah, I have heard of them before. It’s that huge building downtown, right?”
“Yeah. I am the Executive Assistant for Mr. Holden and I am already going to Russia in a few weeks.”
“Wow. Is he the owner?”
“Yup!” I presume that she thinks he is a middle-aged fat man. She has no idea.
“I have to run and I can’t talk much about it because I signed an NDA. I am really excited though. I am going to be really busy the next couple of weeks getting familiar with the new job and getting ready for St. Petersburg. Let’s get together when I get back.”
“We must. I want to hear about your trip.”
“Oh it will be all work and no play, believe me. Love ya.”
“Love ya too!”
When I return home, Rick is noticeably quieter. I ask if anything is wrong to which he replies with a simple “no.” I am not sure I believe him, but I have research to do and I need time to comprehend the new information I just learned about Mr. Holden. I set my alarm knowing this thrilling literature is sure to make me nod off. I delve into a book about writing business proposals and last about an hour before I am gone.
I get a nervous feeling in my stomach as I pull into the driveway for my second day of work. No one should feel this anxious seeing their boss, but I have a physical reaction at the thought of him and I can’t help it. I chose a navy blue A-line dress with a skinny red belt and navy open toe kitten heels from the new wardrobe. I pressed soft curls into my hair; something about the stark straightness of the new style was not me. Harrison gave me a key to the house on my first day, so I let myself in.
There is no sign of Harrison when I enter and the house is incredibly quiet. I call out meekly. I don’t feel comfortable walking through his house and I wonder again, if this is one of his little mental games. My heels click loudly against the floor with each step, but still no one calls out. I peer into his office; the room looks perfectly organized, as usual. The bathrooms are unoccupied. The guest bedroom looks untouched. I haven’t seen the other levels of the house and I choose not venture into them. Finally I walk past what at first appears to be a huge wooden panel on the wall. It is completely flush, but it is the same wood as the other doors in the house. There is no handle, but I do see a keyhole. I press my hand against it and feel it give just a little. It’s probably just a storage closet. My phone rings and I nearly jump out of my dress. It is a number I don’t recognize.
“Shyla speaking.”
“You’re early again.” He says it almost playfully. I whip around to see if Taylor is in the house.
“Sorry, I was always taught that if you’re not early, you’re late.”
“That’s a good habit. I like it.” I blush. “I’m sorry. I had an early morning meeting to attend and I am running behind. I should be arriving in five minutes. Harrison is with me. The house is all yours. Help yourself to breakfast on the counter.” He hangs up without saying goodbye. I wonder why I wasn’t a part of this meeting, but feel slightly relieved as I have much to learn. I look overhead to see if there are surveillance cameras and take one last look at what I believe is some kind of hidden door. I am strangely tempted to try my key in it, but common sense and morality get the better of me.
I grab a cup of coffee, head to the office, and open up all the documents that Marsha prepped for me. There are proposals with lots of jargon, numbers and graphs. Underneath the proposals there appears to be profiles of various Russian figures. Each folder contains pictures along with personal details such as family members, hobbies, and job histories. I really do feel like a spy. My job is to learn who these people are and prompt interesting discussion when we host them. I cannot believe I am being paid to do this, but I will gladly accept. I dig into the reports when I hear the front door open. He’s here. His footsteps come straight towards the office and he glides in.
“Good morning, Ms. Ball.”
“Good morning, Mr. Holden.”
“Let’s dig into these proposals, shall we? Oh and this is for you.” He points to a 17” brand new Macbook on one of the tables. I giggle inside. I love new gadgets.
The party is over. No more Heather the stylist and dress up time with Mona. Alongside Mr. Holden, we tear apart the proposals, analyzing figures, looking at them with a discerning eye. He wants to know every figure like the back of his hand before we arrive in St. Petersburg. I am surprised at how well I am keeping up. He dictates changes and questions to me so that I can later return the notes to the appropriate department for updates. My mind is spinning but I feel incredibly adept that I can even understand what is going on. Maybe there is something he sees in me that I don’t.
He paces in his office while using me as a sounding board, turning some of the dictation into teaching moments for me. There are times I catch myself watching him walk across the room. His eyes are stone cold, fiery, and intense. He is wearing a grey pinstriped suit with a white shirt and lavender tie. After the first hour, he heats up from the movement and removes his jacket. He pulls on the knot in his tie and unbuttons the collar. Hello. His hair becomes more disheveled as time goes on. I notice he runs his hands through his hair a lot when he is concentrating. I catch myself biting my lip more than once. I hope I am not obvious. It’s about one o’clock when he abruptly announces: “Let’s wrap this up for a while. You can go grab lunch or you are welcome to join me in the kitchen.” I decide I should leave him to his own devices for a while as I am sure he is just trying to be polite. The man must want some alone time in his home.
“I think I’ll step out for a while. Can I get you something?”
“No thanks. I am fine for now. Oh, please see Harrison on the way out. He has something for you.”
I head to the great room and wander around looking for Harrison. I finally see him emerge from one of the guest rooms.
“Hi Harrison!”
“Hello Ms. Ball, good to see you.”
“Same here. Mr. Holden said I should see you? That you had something for me?”
“Oh yes,” he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small envelope and hands it to me. I pull out a black American Express card, the material used is unlike anything I have ever seen for a credit card. It says Holden Industries, Inc. just underneath my name.
“You can use this card for your meals and errands for Mr. Holden. Just submit the receipts to accounting.” The perks of this job just keep coming. Maybe Marsha was the wrong person to ask about Holden. I feel him out with a question. I whisper: “Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly.”
“How did Mr. Holden know I was early? I have to admit, it was a little disconcerting. He seems to know everything.” Mr. Harrison smiles.
“There is external surveillance throughout the house and we also receive alerts whenever any external door is accessed.” I sigh, a bit relieved that I wasn’t being watched as I walked through the house.
“Mr. Holden likes to play games doesn’t he?” I whisper to Harrison with a smirk. He simply grins and shrugs. I know I can’t press him any further and I head out to lunch.
Upon my return the afternoon is spent reviewing notes we made in the morning and creating an outline to submit back to the proposal team. A little after four o’clock, I complete the task.
“Mr. Holden. What should I do with these?” I ask.
“You can email them to Marsha who knows what to do. Then I would like you to run an errand for me.”
I quickly email the attachment to Marsha and let Mr. Holden know I am ready for the errand. “I need you to go here and pick something up. Bella will know where to guide you. Please bring it back and then you can go on home. Size four.” He hands me a business card. This must be the “personal” part of being a personal assistant.
The card is a soft cream color with decorative gold filigree borders. It reads:
Bella’s Intimates
Delectable Intimates for the Discerning Mademoiselle
Lingerie shopping? Isn’t this Mona’s jurisdiction? He says he needs it for tonight. My heart sinks at the thought. Of course, he has a lady or maybe even multiple ladies in his life...Look at him! Here I was the other day, feeling sad for this poor, lonely, rich man. He is not as lonely as I thought. Shyla, you have Rick. Stop with the schoolgirl crap. I hesitate.
“Is there a problem?”
“Well, I just thought Mona would be more qualified to pick out this kind of stuff.”
“Mona is out of town. As I said Bella will take care of you. Is running errands beneath you?”
“No, that’s now how I meant it. I’ll go, it’s no problem.” I do my best to look unaffected as I head for the door. While my rational side is screaming to me that this is inappropriate, Mr. Holden has found a way in just a few words, to make me feel like I am some sort of snob for questioning the errand, as if I think I am better than Mona or something.
Bella’s Intimates is a very small boutique that looks like a French lace factory exploded throughout its interior. As I soon as I walk in, I eye a dainty baby blue bralette. I lift the price tag: $580. Holy shit! Now I know why I have the black card.
“Hello beautiful! You must be Shyla!” A portly older woman emerges from the a door behind the counter.
“Hi. You must be Bella. Mr. Holden said you could help me select something for him?”
“Of course! I know Mr. Holden’s tastes well. Let me show you what I have preselected.”
She takes me to a table with individual pieces laid out. There is a clear theme of black lace and satin. A pair of crotchless panties lays on the white decorative table, the crotch spread slightly open. I start to feel warm all over and remove my cardigan. There is a black bustier, a black bralette, and a thong, all lace. There are also black satin pieces: a teddy, a garter belt, and a nightgown. This is more than I am prepared to know about Mr. Holden. This whole errand is oddly intimate, learning his taste in lingerie. Crotchless panties? That’s pretty kinky. I won’t lie, I have had thoughts about him, lustful ones, but this is too real. Lying in front of me are the pieces of lingerie his girlfriend or lover will be wearing as he makes love to her. It takes my thoughts about him from the abstract to the concrete. Then I feel it. It is a hot, uneasy feeling. It is something I haven’t felt in a while. Apparently, I am not the only one who can touch him. It now makes sense, why he has chosen to work with me. Not only is he okay with my touch, but he is not attracted to me. This is the perfect work arrangement for him. I am a fool for acting like a child and gawking at this man. I think he knows what he does to women, what he does to me, and he likes to get a rise out of it. He uses his money, his power, and his looks like pieces on a chessboard. He has it all and I am just another tool at his disposal. I must remind myself that he is just a man. A man that happens to have the perfect collection of eyes, lips, hair, skin, and physique. He is just a man.
“I’ll give you a moment to look at everything. Please let me know if you need any help.” Bella heads to the dressing room area out of sight.
For the first time I begin to seriously reconsider my decision to work at H.I. Every time I feel like I have a grip on this man, he throws me for another loop. I want to call Kristin and tell her everything, but I can’t. The feeling is incredibly lonely. I am not used to making big decisions like this without talking it over with Rick or Kristin. My rational side starts to scream at me again. Leave. This is not appropriate. Tell him you can’t work for him. My rational side used to be the loudest, but lately, this other side, one that is unfamiliar, has taken hold of me. I don’t have a label for her, but she is almost devilish. Don’t be so sensitive. You’re his assistant and he wanted you to run an errand. Stop being such a pussy. You know you want to see him again. You know you want to go to Russia with him.
She wins.
“I’ll take it all.” He can sort this shit out himself. I nearly pass out at the total...$3387.52.
I enter the house with the bags and walk straight into the office. Mr. Holden is on the phone. He looks up to acknowledge me without skipping a beat with the person on the other end. The call is clearly business. I place the bags on the desk with a loud thud.
“I’ll be here tomorrow at nine,” I say firmly and turn on my heels without giving him a chance to respond. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his eyes widen. I am out of line, but it feels right. If he wants to play games, I can play them too.