There’s a loud thump…thump…thump against the wall.
The room is filled with the beautiful, warm sunlight that California is known for. I appreciated the small things in life, just not the loud banging against my wall. Stumbling out of bed in my boxers and worn-out KISS t-shirt, I make it out to the living room to see Flynn passed out on the sofa surrounded by bags of chips and empty bottles of cola. It suddenly dawns on me that the sound was coming from the wall I shared with my elderly neighbors.
Oh dear God…no.
I ignore the mental images. The empty coffee pot that sits on our old counter top is the only thing I want right now. With a pot brewing and some cereal in a bowl, I sit at the table with my planner.
My first week on the job was chaotic. Emerson had introduced me to many of the staff that worked for her which meant driving around LA and being stuck in traffic for most of the day. My to-do-list is a mile long but I was determined. I would do this and do a damn fine job. The busy workload distracted me from being homesick and the ill feeling that constantly sat at the pit of my stomach.
On today’s agenda, I would be accompanying Emerson to the studios. To be honest—I’m rather excited. I didn’t consider myself a star-struck fan-type person but something about this place brought it out of me. That, and Phoebe was relentless. Texting me a thousand times a day with celebrity sightings. It’s the reason I hadn’t mentioned that my boss is Emerson Chase.
“Grrrrr…”
The groan interrupts my thought process. Flynn sits up on the sofa, rubbing his eyes and coughing out what sounded like a fur ball. I felt terrible that I had been so busy with work the past week, never getting a proper chance to spend time with him and see what he was up to.
“Big night with a bag of potato chips?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, eyes closed half asleep. “What time is it?”
I pick up my phone to see the time. “A little after six.”
“AM??”
“Uh, yeah.” Pointing out the obvious, I notice his eyes are red and very tired looking.
People said that Flynn looked nothing like me. His features were similar to my grandpapa. His light eyes bordering on green and mousy-brown hair with honey highlights, made him look more Russian. He wore it long; the strands falling past his eyes and almost touching his chin. For a growing man who ate absolute rubbish all the time, his skin was as flawless as a baby’s bottom. Though of late, he appeared to be growing a slight beard that made him look more mature.
It was often asked if we were a couple because we didn’t appear related. Stupid people with narrow-minded opinions that completely grossed us both out. Mom found it amusing. How two children could be so different. You only had to look at me to see I was of mixed race. My almond-shaped eyes were a dead giveaway.
“What time did you get home last night?”
“Don’t know.”
“Okay, so what are your plans for today?”
“Don’t know.”
My frustration comes out quickly. “Flynn, I get it. I really do. You don’t want to be here. But making it impossible to live won’t make it easier.”
I pour a cup of coffee and bring it to him, setting it on the coffee table that I bought from a cheap second-hand store a block from the apartment. It’s shaped like an old trunk, made from a combination of hardwood and leather. Flynn hated it.
“If we both work hard, the quicker we can—”
“Yeah, I get it alright?” He jumps to his feet, almost crashing into me. “I need a shower.”
“Flynn,” I call his name, trying to reign in my frustration. He stops just shy of the bathroom door. “How about we go out for dinner tonight? Your pick.”
“Can’t. Got a gig.”
“A gig? As in you’re playing in a band?”
“Kinda, sorta.”
“Okay, well, either you are or you aren’t.”
Exhaling, he turns around to explain himself. “There’s a group of guys I met. We just play at this local joint. Pays peanuts, but you know, whatever.”
“Wow.” I’m proud of him for finding a band but equally worried about who these people were. “Well, how about I drop by tonight?”
He shrugs his shoulders which I took to mean whatever, disappearing into the bathroom before saying another word.
“Hi Emerson!” I wave, quick to rush over to her as she carries her daughter, a diaper bag and juggling a folder with papers inside it.
“Oh, thank God,” she breathes out, worried and anxious about something. Emerson normally dressed impeccably but her messy bun and crinkled shirt said otherwise.
“Hey, pass me that.” I grab the folder and diaper bag, cooing at baby Lola. I wasn’t much of a baby person but Lola was awfully cute. She was one of those chubby babies with thunder thighs. Completely acceptable as a baby. Not so much when you’re twenty-five and trying to shimmy your way into a pair of skinny jeans.
“Is everything okay?”
“Lola woke up with a fever. I don’t want to leave her with anyone but I have two meetings to attend today.”
I bend down and place my hand on her cheek. Her skin is hot and something Emerson had every right to be worried about. “Listen, take her to the doctor and I’ll sit in on the meetings.”
“We can reschedule the studio meeting but the other—”
“Leave it with me.” I smile and giggle at Lola, hoping it’s a small bug that she needed to get over. “This cutie wants her mommy so…”
My words are cut short as a loud burp followed by warm white liquid hits the front of my shirt. There’s a delayed reaction on my end, falling back as if I had been hit by a bullet.
The bullet just happened to be baby vomit.
“Oh my God! Milana, I am so sorry!”
Emerson tries to retrieve wipes from the diaper bag, pulling some out to clean my shirt as Lola cries out loud. I’m still in shock…the projectile sound still tormenting me.
“Emerson, it’s just a shirt. Take her to the doctor. Family first. I’ve got your meetings in my schedule so leave it with me, okay?”
She nods, almost on the verge of tears. “This single-parent thing is hard.”
I offer her a sympathetic smile, ignoring the smell of vomit on my shirt. I’m this close to dry heaving; keeping the lump in my throat at bay. “I’m sure if Lola’s daddy could be here, he would.”
“Yeah, I know.”
We walk back to the car and settle Lola into her seat while loading the rest of the stuff in. Emerson warns me about the business meeting I would attend this afternoon.
“Just listen to Jeff. He’s an excellent business manager and all you need to do is take notes.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t stress.”
After sitting in the car for over an hour, I was confident that the smell of baby puke no longer lingered or I had just become immune to it. I had sprayed my shirt over and over again, placing my jacket on once I exited the car, ignoring the sweltering heat. Thankfully, it had dried up in the car ride over and no longer clung to my skin.
The meeting was supposed to be short, just her business manager and business partner. All I had to do was take down some key notes and bring back the contract. Easy.
The building is ultra-modern with a view of downtown LA. There are white leather lounges in the lobby, and bright paintings hung on almost every wall. One particular painting captures my attention. It looked like a big pink vagina and was probably worth a fortune. Again, LA people were weird.
I find my way to the elevator, and when it opens, it’s all gold. I press the number eight and wait patiently with the elevator music surrounding me. It doesn’t take long for my head to bop along to some familiar tune that sounds like a Barry Manilow song. It reminded me of Mom, she had this odd crush on Barry. And then my heart begins to ache, missing her like crazy. One week and I had spoken to her three times on the phone, each time for over an hour, chatting about trivial things, anything just to hear her voice.
The elevator slows down and dings as the door opens. I step out and see the reception desk instantly. There’s a young girl with enormous—albeit fake—tits smiling back at me. They are so large, I’m terrified they would burst in her teeny-tiny blouse.
Her platinum-blond hair is long; the same length as mine, falling just above her waist. On closer inspection, they appear to be extensions. Nothing is ever real in Hollywood.
“My name is Milana Milenov. I’m here to meet—”
“Oh yes.” She doesn’t allow me to finish, smiling while extending her hand out. “You’re Miss Chase’s assistant. Please, follow me.”
She quickly stands up, adjusting her skirt to an appropriate length and requests I follow. She’s wearing tall gold platform pumps. They make my pair of black ones look like I shopped in the grandma aisle in Target.
“Take a seat, please.”
We’re inside a boardroom. It’s small and uninteresting. I pull out a black leather chair and place my items on the table. My notebook, pen and laptop are ready for the meeting. There’s a glass of water in front of me. I take a small sip, careful not to smudge my lipstick on the glass.
“Miss Milenov.”
The water almost spits out of my mouth, and with a quick swallow, I stand up and greet the man standing by my side. “Yes, you must be Mr. Rich.”
“Oh, I’m flattered and wishful to be that young again.” He laughs; his grey bushy eyebrows bopping up and down. “Mr. Rich is running late, as usual. So, let’s get started.”
Mr. Ramsay had a background in business law. Having worked with lawyers for many years, I understood legal jargon being exposed to it almost every day.
“I must say Miss Milenov, it’s refreshing to work with someone that has legal knowledge. Have you considered studying a degree in law?”
“I did. It wasn’t my preference. I just sort of fell into an assistant role. I got a lot of exposure working with my former boss. She was quite a shark back home.”
“You’ve got a keen eye for detail. You managed to pick up inconsistencies in these contracts that my qualified staff haven’t been able to.”
I’m about to comment when the door swings open and my vision is met with a pair of tailored charcoal pants. They’re tapered in nice, paired with black shiny dress shoes that made his feet look huge. You know what they say…. I ignore Phoebe’s voice in my head and quickly scan the rest of his body without being too obvious, until our eyes meet.
It must be Mr. Rich. A very handsome man with a cleanly shaven face and strong jawline. The kinda jawline that made him look very burly and masculine. Even his hair is styled so perfectly, combed to the side like he just stepped off a photoshoot for a designer label.
“Punctuality not your thing, Mr. Rich?”
“Jeff, always a pleasure.” He places his cell on the table and extends his hand to greet mine. “And you are?”
“Miss Milenov.” I stand up as he watches me with far too much curiosity. “Emerson, I mean, Miss Chase, was unable to make it and requested I be here.”
His face instantly drops, almost of disappointment. He avoids looking at me any longer, taking a seat at the end of the table and rolling the cuffs of his white shirt. I notice the large silver watch on his wrist and no wedding band. I had a fascination with hands.
“Let’s make this quick, shall we?”
Jeff jumps straight back to it, talking about the companies that wanted to stock Emerson’s fitness line in Australia and New Zealand. I’m writing down his comments profusely, not aware that Mr. Rich sits at the table looking bored while his eyes are fixed on me. Jeff speaks for another hour before concluding the meeting. I relax my fingers that began to cramp up from all my notes.
“Here.” Jeff slides over a business card to me. “If you’re wanting to get that degree and looking for something solid, come find me.”
I thank him by smiling and tuck the business card into my wallet. He says goodbye and leaves the room quickly.
“What was that about?”
My gaze moves to Mr. Rich. “That? Mr. Ramsey had just mentioned something earlier.”
“Right.” He pauses but his persistent stare is fast becoming annoying. “So you’re Emerson’s new personal assistant.”
“Yes.”
“Interesting, you look quite young to be her assistant.”
“I’m not sure how my age affects my capability.”
“How old are you?”
I shake my head in a daze. What is with this guy? Yeah, he’s cute and all but bordering on being a dick. “Are you seriously asking my age?”
“You just look young. Em is quite particular with young people working around her.”
I shut my notebook and pack my things before giving him a response. “Well, I can assure you that I am more than qualified to assist Miss Chase. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve done what is asked of me and must continue my busy day.”
“So, let me guess, you wanted the job because you’re hoping to hop in bed with Carrington?”
I had no clue what he was talking about but his brutish grin and arrogant persona tick the boxes that Emerson warned me about. It’s always the good-looking ones that have to be assholes.
“I apologize.” He stands up tall, inches above me even in my pumps. “How rude of me to presume you are that type of woman.”
His presence makes me uncomfortable. I am desperate to ask him why he wanted to be in business with Emerson considering he had no interest in that meeting whatsoever. But then I remember I enjoy my job. Biting my tongue would be beneficial if I wanted to keep it.
He moves towards the door, reaching the handle before I do and opening the door for me. He waits for me to pass, and I’m feeling rather awkward from his up-and-down personality.
“What’s that smell…it almost smells like…”
He points his nose into the air in front of him, till he gets closer to my chest. I pull back, embarrassed that I smelled like puke and because he was in my personal space. He could have motorboated me with the distance to my breasts.
“Baby puke.” I beat him to the punch. “I got puked on, okay.”
“By your baby?”
“No, not my baby. Miss Chase’s baby.”
“So, you’re single?”
“Wha…what? What does that have to do with it?”
That grin…again. What the hell is his problem and why the thousand questions?
“Just trying to figure you out, Miss Milenov.”
His eyes stare with curiosity. Something about him seems familiar. I must have seen his face in some magazine or something. Perhaps one of Phoebe’s trashloids…at least, that’s what I called them.
“I need to be somewhere. So unless you have any work-related questions, I need to go.”
He places his arm across the door frame, forcing me to stop in my tracks. I’m not used to being around such dominant men aside from my ex back in college. Creepy would be the better description. Liam and the boys back home were so laid back. Something I missed dearly. Flynn—he was just a lazy grub. But this, this I was unsure of how to handle. My instincts say go with your gut, don’t let him get to you.
“Maybe it’s a good idea if you carry some spare clothes with you, you know, accidents seem to be your thing.”
“You don’t know me,” I state confidently, holding his gaze and focusing on the unique color of his eyes. They’re like a golden-ish hazel-green color. I’m certain he uses them to get what he wants. Just not with me. No wonder Emerson warned me.
“Maybe I don’t. I’ll just stand here waiting for my apology.”
“Apology?” I laugh at the stupidity of his comment. “For what?”
He bends down, the essence of his aftershave lingering in the air between us. Okay, breathe, don’t let that scent get to you. His lips shift closer to my ear, and easily he whispers, “You said if we ever cross paths again, you’d take your apology out of my ass and actually mean it.”
My heart stops. The ticking resume seconds later at a loud and fast rate. No. This can’t be the same guy…
I lift my head so our faces are inches apart, then I touch his face with my bare hand, without even thinking, and lift his chin, tilting it to the left to confirm my fears.
That scar.
Pink, raw—and exposed.
It was him.