“Why do I feel like the new kid, getting ready for her first day at a new school?” I called out to my boyfriend of eight years as I stood in front of the tiny bathroom mirror, fidgeting with my hair for the tenth time.
“Are you sick to your stomach, nervous yet a bit excited at the same time?” Tyler asked, peeking his head out of the shower.
Tiny water droplets dripped down his face and his chin as he grinned mischievously. Our New York apartment was the size of a shoebox for a toddler, and his nose nearly touched my shoulder in the confined space.
“Yes,” I answered, a cheesy smile plastered across my porcelain face, as I stared back at my reflection.
I’d already done my makeup, opting for the less-is-more strategy. A few swipes of the mascara brush and a little blush—that was all I needed. Being blessed with clear skin since I was a baby, there was no reason to hide it.
My hair though? I was definitely considering wearing a paper bag. So far that morning, I’d braided my long chestnut-brown hair to the side and then thrown it up into a sleek ponytail, and now, I’d done some sort of half-up, half-down thing with a twist.
I hated it all.
“Well, there’s your answer,” he offered as his hand reached out to grab a towel off the hanging bar.
I sighed in frustration. “Were you this nervous when you started your new job a few weeks ago?” I questioned. I pursed my lips together as I made the final decision to leave my hair down and let it hang naturally around my face. At least then, I wouldn’t be worried about it getting messed up on the subway.
Subway.
Just thinking about it made my stomach flip. No matter what I did to my hair, it wouldn’t hide the fact that I was clearly the brand-new, extremely naive fish in a scary large pond.
New York was everything I’d expected it to be, yet it was so much more. When I was younger, sitting in my cozy Midwestern bedroom, watching reruns of Friends on one of the few channels our family got, I’d always known I’d eventually come here.
I’d just never expected to live here at the ripe age of twenty-two.
Now, everything just seemed big, intimidating, and completely overwhelming. Where were Ross and Phoebe when I needed them?
“A little, I guess,” Tyler said, answering my question, as he cuddled up close behind me.
I could smell the woodsy aroma of his soap as his hands slid around my waist.
“But I knew what I was walking into,” he explained. “Interning there during my last semester definitely helped.”
“I know,” I answered in a pout. “But it still has to be different, right? A four-month internship can’t be the same as a full-time position.”
“No.” He grinned back at me through the mirror. “But I wasn’t going into someplace completely blind. Now, if you asked me how I felt the first day of my internship at the accounting firm, well, that was a different story. I nearly ran back to my dorm and crawled under my covers like a scared little girl.”
I cleared my throat, eyeing him.
“I mean, a dog, like a scared little puppy. Because girls—females are strong and totally capable of everything, including fancy new jobs.”
He saw me crack a smile as I was enchanted by the never-ending bucket of charm that he always seemed to have on hand. It was one of the reasons I had fallen for him in high school. While so many of the boys had been goofy or just downright mean, Tyler was always sweet and caring.
Even back then, he had known what he wanted to do with his life. During our senior year, as we’d sat under a maple tree outside the school, he’d go on and on about moving to the Big Apple and finding his niche in the world. Some young boys would dream of racing cars or fighting fires when they grew up. Tyler had always wanted to be an accountant.
When I’d first met him our freshman year, I’d thought he was kind of an oddball, despite the obvious charm that came with him. Who dreamed of becoming an accountant? For a history lover like me, it sounded like a lifetime sentence of boredom.
For Tyler though, it was all about the numbers. He had a natural ability and keen insight to finding answers. He’d begun studying tax laws well before college applications were even due, which was why he’d so easily earned a major scholarship at NYU in their honors program. Since then, he’d interned for several major firms in the city, finally settling on working at a top Fortune 500 company to begin his career.
Me? I’d done exactly what my parents wanted and attended a state college, living close to home, while Tyler had been discovering a city I’d only seen on television.
“Stop messing with your hair and come have breakfast with me,” Tyler suggested as he scooted around me, attempting to finish his morning ritual.
“You just want me to cook for you.” I snickered, catching his eye, as he grabbed a bottle of hair gel.
It was still so strange to see him every time I opened my eyes in the morning. He’d changed, losing that Midwestern roughness, now replaced with expensive hair gel and sleek suits.
“Do you blame me?” he asked as he stepped out of the bathroom and into our bedroom.
The apartment was a disaster from my arrival. Boxes and clothes were strewed everywhere. I’d been rushing around, trying to find a job as quickly as possible so that I wouldn’t have to cut into my savings, that I’d barely had time to unpack in the few weeks I’d been here.
“I thought you’d grown fond of the New York life? Bagels every morning, dinners out. Isn’t that what you said to me?”
He turned, the towel from his shower wrapped around his lean frame. “Yes, but now, I have you. And I am still a Midwestern boy. Who can say no to home cooking?”
He smiled when he noticed my attention had waned as I followed a tiny drop of water making a long path down his chest.
“On second thought”—he grinned, taking several steps until the gap between us vanished—“I think we might just skip breakfast this morning.”
Tyler’s hands wrapped around my waist just as the alarm clock on my phone began to go off, reminding me of the time. His eyebrow rose as my expression changed to something close to panic.
“That’s the alarm I set, so I’d know when it was almost time to leave,” I said, my voice becoming higher with each word. “I’d be late.”
The fear so clearly written all over my face didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest.
“First lesson of becoming a New Yorker, everyone is late. Just blame it on the subway or a crazy cab driver.”
I pulled away from him, searching for my shoes in one of the many boxes all over the room. “Did you know the subway used to accept coins as payment, and when they switched over to passes, there was a surplus of over sixty thousand coins? Where do you think they all went?”
“In these boxes?” he joked, stopping me once again.
I turned toward him, and another droplet of water fell down his chest.
Who needed breakfast when I had him?
I was a New Yorker now.
What were a few minutes now that I had everything I wanted?
“You’re late,” the polished young woman at the front desk announced sternly after I’d politely told her my name. She tapped her perfectly manicured nail on the desk, looking up at me, as she waited for a reply.
“Um, yes, well… the subway, and the, uh…” I stammered, trying to find any decent excuse, anything at all, but all I could come up with was a mishmash of words that made my cheeks flare to life as I remembered the real reason I was late.
I am going to kill Tyler.
Miss Perfect leaned over the counter, wrapping her fingers with the impeccable red nails around the crisp glass edge, and smiled. “Just moved here?” she asked.
I tried not to let my attention wander.
It was the first time I’d been to Cavenaugh Investments, landing the job based on my résumé alone. Going through a temp agency had been a last-ditch effort on my part, but it was the only one that had actually paid off. Had I not received a call from their Human Resources department last week, asking me to fill in for the CEO’s administrative assistant who was out on mandatory bed rest, I probably would be searching for waitressing jobs, like the rest of New York.
Nodding, I answered her question without a sound, and I watched her grin grow wider.
“Well, let me give you a bit of advice, sweetheart, okay?”
As her ruby-red lips turned cold, I opened my mouth to respond, but she quickly cut me off, “Don’t be late. Ever. Mr. Cavenaugh likes his assistants to be punctual, and he doesn’t give second chances.”
My heart raced as her words hit home.
First day on the job, and I was already being scolded.
Awesome.
“Yes, of course,” I responded. I took a deep breath in an attempt to keep the tears threatening to break free at bay.
“Great. Now that we have that taken care of, I’ll have someone show you where you’ll be working. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Feeling like I’d been waved off like a disobedient child, I turned and took a seat near the elevator, hoping I’d melt into the walls.
Do not cry, Cara. Do not cry, I chanted silently in my head.
Needing a distraction, I pulled out my phone and quickly sent a text to Tyler, letting him know the late policy was apparently vastly different in his accounting world. He immediately sent a text back with a frowny face and admitted to perhaps stretching the truth in an effort to get me in bed.
“Figures,” I huffed under my breath, shaking my head, as I slid the phone back into the five-dollar purse I’d found at Goodwill last semester.
Looking around, I felt completely out of place. Everything, even down to the bitchy receptionist, was modern and sophisticated. Clean lines and polished silver adorned the waiting room while I sat in an uncomfortable boxy chair, wearing items I’d picked up secondhand to save money in an attempt to make early payments on my school loans.
This wasn’t the first time I’d second-guessed my decision to leave Nebraska. Things were simpler back home. Life moved slower. People moved slower. It was a pace I’d grown accustomed to, and I wasn’t sure how quickly I could adapt.
Here, everyone was on the go—from the moment they awoke to the time they fell asleep. Nothing ever stopped, and I constantly felt like I was being dragged down by the complexity of it all.
My parents had warned me that I’d miss home, but I’d just assumed they were having trouble with letting me go. Empty nest syndrome or whatever it was called. I guessed they weren’t the only ones. Could that empty nest thing work in reverse? Long gone were the endless cornfields and clean air. Friday night Dairy Queen runs and picnic lunches by the pond, replaced with fancy coffee and never-ending traffic.
But, despite everything, I knew I was here for the right reasons. This was what Tyler and I had worked for, planned for, and now, it was finally a reality.
“Miss Hamilton?”
I turned to see a petite redhead in mile-high heels and a tight black pencil skirt. Her beautiful sapphire-blue blouse looked like it cost more than my monthly share of the rent.
Straightening my already wrinkled dress as I rose, I grabbed the ratty purse at my side and quickly walked toward her. Rather than staring me down while mentally ticking off all the reasons I was obviously going to be eaten alive in a place like this, she offered me her hand, welcoming me to the building.
“Thank you so much for coming on such short notice,” she smiled, turning toward a long hallway.
I sped along behind her, trying to keep up.
“We thought we would have loads of time to find Mr. Cavenaugh a temporary assistant, but I guess pregnancy can never be counted on for following schedules,” she said with enthusiasm.
I nodded but realized immediately that she couldn’t see my response. Before I could offer up anything vocal, she came to a halt in front of a shiny glass elevator.
“This is the elevator that leads to the executive wing,” she explained as I stepped beside her.
“And—oh dear, I forgot to introduce myself. Forgive me, I talk too much, and I’ve already had about a gallon of coffee this morning, so I’m running a little faster than usual. I’m Gretchen from Human Resources. We spoke on the phone earlier this week.”
“Yes,” I answered, nodding my head in agreement, “I remember.”
“Good.” She smiled warmly and we entered. “Now, what was I going to say? Oh, right. Make sure you take this elevator. It’s the only one that goes to Mr. Cavenaugh’s office directly. You can get there by other means, but believe me—this is a lot easier. He’s on the top floor with all the other executives. You’ll need a code for the elevator,” she explained, handing me a small piece of paper with a four-digit code.
Since she hadn’t entered it, I figured this was my first job duty, and I quickly punched in the numbers.
When the elevator began slowly crawling to the top, she nodded her head and said, “Good.”
I slightly felt like a small puppy being rewarded for performing a neat trick, but the praise was much more pleasant than the grim atmosphere I’d left behind in the lobby.
“That code will also work to get you into his office after you’ve ventured out.”
“Ventured out?” I asked in confusion.
She nodded. “When you visit other departments, you’ll need this to get back to your desk.”
I nodded and continued to stare at the polished glass, feeling intimidated by the access code and the VIP elevator. I started to wonder why the owner of a major company would go to such drastic measures to sequester himself from everyone else.
Was he Quasimodo hiding in his bell tower?
Before I had a chance to ask any questions about my new boss, Gretchen intervened. “Where are you from?” she asked, finally breaking the awkwardness between us.
“Um, Nebraska,” I answered softly, somewhat embarrassed that she’d already noticed I somehow didn’t belong. Was it the shoes? The funky purse? Or me altogether?
As if sensing my trepidation, she responded with a warm smile on her face, “I noticed the accent. I’m originally from South Dakota, so hearing you speak is like taking a trip back home.”
I have an accent?
Something to ponder later.
“You’re not from here?” I asked, slightly shocked.
I would have pegged her as a New York native. I took another glance at her, and not a hair of hers was out of place. She carried herself like she owned the entire damn city.
“No,” she answered. “You’ll find, many of us are transplants hiding in plain sight. Don’t worry; you’ll join our ranks soon enough.”
I somehow found it hard to believe that I’d ever be mistaken for a New Yorker rather than the corn-and-potatoes-fed Midwestern girl I’d always been.
Remembering my manners, I quickly nodded, my nerves rising with each floor.
Why had I taken this job? I wasn’t capable of handling someone like Mr. Cavenaugh –a multimillionaire of a major corporation. The most experience I had was some light office work as a work-study student, something I’d seriously embellished on my résumé. Alphabetizing files and answering phone calls? Sure, count me in. But managing the life of one of America’s richest men? Surely I was doomed.
The elevator dinged, announcing our floor.
Gretchen turned toward me once again. Her megawatt smile still in place, she announced, “We’re here!”
Looking around as I stepped out, I took one last gulp and smiled back with force.
Here goes nothing.
The elevator suddenly felt miles away rather than feet, like I’d fallen through a black hole, when I stumbled upon Bethany’s—Mr. Cavenaugh’s pregnant permanent assistant—pristine, clutter-free desk.
Okay, maybe I was exaggerating… and slightly rambling.
But, as I listened to Gretchen briefly explain my job duties, pointing here and there at the neatly organized desk that would be my home between the hours of eight and five for the next three months, I suddenly felt extremely small and insignificant.
I was sure Bethany the Great had tons of experience under her belt before she’d left to become Mommy of the Year, and sure, her bed rest was a bit of an inconvenience to everyone, but glancing down at her desk, she’d obviously started planning for such an occasion. There were sticky notes and printed out directions for her worthy successor, who’d somehow turned out to be me.
Perhaps I’d fudged a little too much on my résumé, exaggerating my duties as assistant to the university president over the four years I’d been a student. Fetching coffee and alphabetizing files just didn’t look that exciting when I’d typed it out, so I’d embellished.
A lot.
And now, here I was. Administrative assistant to one of the most prestigious businessmen in all of New York.
Holy mother of God, am I sweating?
As I casually glanced down to do a quick pit check, I noticed Gretchen staring at me.
“I’m sorry, what?” I said, heat burning my cheeks, as my stomach rolled with nervousness.
“Is there anything else you might need?”
“Oh, um… no?” I answered, insecurity woven in each hesitant word.
“Okay, well, I will leave you to get settled, and I’ll check back with you after lunch. I still have a few documents for you to complete, so I’ll bring those with me then.”
“Right.”
“Good luck,” she said, her eyes going soft.
It was the same expression I would give my mom before she went to the dreaded dentist.
Good Lord, what had I gotten myself into?
In a daze, I watched her walk away. Before her slender frame disappeared behind the adjacent door, using the keycode we’d discussed, she stopped and turned abruptly.
“Cara?” she said, her voice reminding me of the tone my mother had used when I was younger.
“Yes?” I answered, looking up at her from the leather chair I’d somehow fallen into.
“Breathe. You’ll do just fine.”
Nodding, I did as she’d suggested and hoped like hell she was right.
When I was the ripe old age of nine, I had gone to my parents and explained that I thought I was old enough to start earning a living. Being the understanding and nurturing parents they were, my mother and father had agreed and actually helped me find my first job.
Hamster caretaker.
Our neighbors had planned a trip to Worlds of Fun in Kansas City and sadly couldn’t bring their pet hamster, Pringles. For the total of five dollars, I had been employed to care for Pringles for that long week. I had been so excited –my very first job!
I’d quickly found out that having a job wasn’t nearly as exciting as I’d thought. Pringles had done little to nothing all day, and the most thrilling aspect of my job had been cleaning poop.
I’d retired after a week, and my career as a hamster caretaker had quickly ended.
This job though—working for Mr. Cavenaugh—was just as boring. Minus the poop, thankfully.
I spent the first hour reorganizing an already perfectly organized desk.
Total waste of my time.
I then proceeded to set up my email, or attempt to. It had already been done for me and I had one email waiting for me—a welcome message from Gretchen. After reading it several times, I moved on to staring at the door.
The one that had been closed since I arrived.
The one that led to him—the mysterious man I worked for.
So far, it had been hours, and he hadn’t made a sound, not even a peep.
I quietly ate my sack lunch at my desk in fear that, if I left, I might miss his grand arrival.
As the assistant to one of the most powerful men in the city, I’d thought I would be busier. I’d envisioned a lot of running around, yelling at people, asking for favors, staying late and taking notes, or whatever else it was that assistants did. Kind of like The Devil Wears Prada—minus the fashion and Meryl Streep.
But, instead, I was sitting here, in silence, staring at a door.
Would he ever come out?
Did he actually exist?
I let out a small giggle as the scene from The Wizard of Oz with the infamous man behind the curtain came to mind.
Maybe this great and powerful man really wasn’t who everyone thought he was after all?
Maybe he was someone else entirely?
Suddenly, I really wanted to know.
Considering my high level of curiosity when it came to the unknown and my knack for research, it was strange that I hadn’t looked up my new boss before now. But I had been a little off my game with the move and the boxes and whatnot.
Pulling up Google, I typed in the name Roman Cavenaugh and waited to see what would come up. Turned out, it was a lot actually. My boss was quite popular on the Internet.
There goes my man-behind-the-curtain theory.
Clicking on a recent article, the title read, Former Troublemaker of the Cavenaugh Empire Officially at the Helm.
I barely made it two words into the article when I caught sight of the photos. Several had been inserted along with the text, and I immediately became fixated on the man staring back at me. Broad shoulders, dark blond hair, and eyes the color of jade.
He was handsome and frighteningly beautiful at the same time. Power effortlessly clung to him as he posed for the camera. I was so captivated by him that I hardly noticed the creak of the door beside me as it swung open for the first time since I’d arrived. Looking up, I found those same hypnotizing eyes I’d been gawking at on the screen glaring down at me from the now wide open office door.
I gulped audibly and quickly closed the Internet browser, thankful that my computer screen faced the wall, away from prying eyes.
Or an angry, intimidating boss.
“Can I help you, sir?” I managed to squeak out in record time.
“Who the hell are you?” a deep voice answered.
No introduction. No warm smile or polite handshake. Just like his picture, Mr. Cavenaugh was pure business and power.
It frightened me to no end.
“I’m Cara Hamilton, your new assistant,” I replied with as much confidence as I could muster. When my words failed to rouse any reaction at all, I continued, “Your permanent assistant, Bethany, was put on bed rest due to complications with her pregnancy… high blood pressure or something.” My hands were now involved in this lengthy explanation waving around in front of me like mad. “So, HR brought me on as a temp.”
Bringing my crazy hands back to my sides, I waited for him to respond. To show a shred of something. A blink, a casual nod… anything but this rigid, hostile persona he seemed to be exuding.
Instead, he said nothing. He turned back toward his office and left nearly as quickly as he’d come.
The door slammed, making the thin walls shake and quiver. I sat at my lonely desk, looking around at the various Post-it notes, wondering where exactly Bethany had stashed the one about his lack of personality.
Because, clearly, my new hot boss was an asshole.