Roxie
My new desk is by the window, looking out over the lake. It is bright and spacious, and the department is friendly and welcoming. There are beautiful pictures hung on the walls, and sketches and mock-ups of various ideas posted everywhere. Marie and Cesar are bubbly and inviting, showing me to my desk amidst a barrage of raucous jokes and chatter, as they leave files for me to catch up on; files with the latest deals and advertising requirements in them, for me to have a think and a brainstorm on, before the work begins properly. There are a few other advertising assistants, but they are only part-time, like me, so I only see a handful at a time, but they are young and intelligent and happy to have me on board, which is nice. Here, I don’t feel like a burden. Here, I don’t feel as if I am measured solely on being the CEO’s daughter.
I hand in ideas, and they are mused upon instead of frowned at. Marie loves my sketches and storyboards, and I feel useful. Cesar is more the practical person, actually putting it to film and print, and getting the avenues for doing that booked in; Marie is the artistic one, and the one I feel closer to.
One morning, I find her sitting in the small kitchen area, staring out at the lake. She is deep in thought and I feel bad stirring her from it, but the noise of the kettle boiling makes her snap out of her reverie, as I pour it onto the coffee granules in my mug. I offer her one, but she already has a half-empty cup of tea, probably gone cold. She takes a cupcake, however, when I offer one, and gestures for me to sit down at the table, opposite her.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask, sipping tentatively from my steaming coffee.
She nods. ‘Yeah, I’m just waiting on this new guy who has been brought in to help us out. Not sure why they couldn’t ask Cesar or I to do it, instead of outsourcing to some big-shot exec, but hey-ho,’ she grumbles, before remembering who I am. ‘Not that I have any problem with any of your father’s decisions, it’s just … never mind,’ she sighs.
‘No, you grizzle away – I think you should be in charge, not some freelancer,’ I assure, meaning it. I’m not sure why my father is bringing in somebody else, when there are two perfectly good managers here.
‘You do?’ she asks, surprised.
I nod. ‘I do. I don’t think you need outsourcing – especially with Leah coming back. You guys are more than capable of covering until then.’
‘Exactly!’ Marie cries. ‘Ah well, maybe next time. Until then, we’ll just have to bow and scrape to whoever this man is,’ she shrugs, biting aggressively into her cupcake.
I am sitting back at my desk, looking over some images, when I hear a knock at the door to the room I share with the other assistants, all of whom are out on lunch or not in today. I look up and my breath catches in my throat. It is the man from the lift again, dressed in dark grey trousers and a pale cream shirt, a similarly dark grey tie around his neck, though the top button of his shirt is, I notice, undone. He looks roguishly casual, no suit jacket in sight, and as handsome as I remember. He is smiling, eyes twinkling, and I am lost for words.
‘I thought I’d introduce myself to the team, and then I saw you – the lift girl,’ he grins.
‘You must be the new exec?’ I say, finally, my pulse quickening.
He nods. ‘I am. I must say, I’m very glad to have found you here, Miss -?’ he waits.
‘Roxie. My name is Roxie,’ I say, keeping my father’s name out of it. I don’t want him thinking that’s the only reason I got the job.
‘Miss Roxie it is,’ he smiles playfully.
‘And you are?’ I ask, emboldened by his teasing.
‘I’m Adam, pleased to meet you,’ he says, moving towards my desk, his hand outstretched. I take it, and feel his large hand envelop mine, small and slender in comparison, my flesh fair against his tanned skin. He shakes it firmly, and I smile, amused by him.
‘I’m afraid you might find you have a bit of a frosty reception,’ I say, tilting my head, his hand still around mine.
‘Oh?’
‘You seem to have upset the apple-cart a little bit,’ I explain.
He nods, understanding. ‘I’m sure people will get to like me, once they know me. I’m a likeable guy,’ he smiles again, pulling me into his gaze. ‘And I’m very happy to be working here. I’m especially glad to be working with you,’ he says softly, his voice gravelly, as he moves around the desk to stand beside me. He is so close, impossibly close, and I can smell the scent of his aftershave, clean and crisp, on the muscular neck that is close enough I could kiss the skin of it, just beneath the jawline. I don’t know what makes me think of it, and I find my face tilted up towards his, as if I might do just that. Swiftly, I turn back to the images, blushing furiously. ‘Whose are these?’ he asks, leaning down to pick up a sheet of storyboard sketches, his fingertips brushing my hand.
‘Mine,’ I say, my body drawn to the proximity of his.
‘These are good, Roxie. Very good,’ he growls, gazing intently at the images I have drawn. They are some of my better ones, and I feel a swell of pride as he looks them over, the paper held beneath his strong hands.
‘Thank you, Mr -?’
‘Adam is fine,’ he winks.
‘Adam,’ I say, enjoying the feel of his name in my mouth.
Our eyes meet for a moment, his face so close to mine, his body touching my own, his arm brushing mine, and I feel my breath catch in my throat. His gaze lowers to my lips, and I wonder what he is thinking, as he glances back to my eyes, with a smile curving the corner of his mouth.
‘I’m looking forward to working more closely with you, Miss Roxie,’ he teases, holding my arm lightly with a gentle squeeze of assurance, as he moves back towards the door of the room, my sketch still in his hand. ‘I’m going to look over this some more, but I’ll bring it back to you, I promise,’ he smiles, before stepping out into the corridor, to bid welcome to anyone else in the department he’d yet to meet.
I sat down in the chair, breathless, the scent of his aftershave lingering in the air, regaining my composure. I don’t know what it is about him, but being near him makes my heart pound; the sight of him makes my body tremble, and I know I want to feel those hands, those lips on me. There is an electricity when he is near, and I find myself longing to feel the spark of it.
A childish crush, I tell myself angrily, as I set back to my tasks, but my sketchpad is calling. I want to draw him, want to sketch him, want to put him on the page, more concrete and indelible than any memory; any fantasy I can muster of him.
Perhaps that will make the silly feelings go away, I think, as I pull my sketchpad from the top drawer of my desk and begin to doodle quietly, eyes closed, remembering his form, his handsomeness, his closeness, putting it to the page. Perhaps it will chase away this foolish, girlish crush, I hope, as I watch him appear on the paper, as close to the real thing as I have ever managed from memory.