I said nothing. I wasn’t sure why this man’s voice was capable of making me wet in a matter of seconds, why even in his moments of pure assholery, his words were constructed in a way that always made me think of sex.
“Are you there, Miss Lauren?” he asked. “Am I talking to myself?”
“No, Mr. Parker. I heard you loud and clear.”
“Good. Now, besides the fact that you’ll need to come on my time and not yours from now on, I’d like to make a change to my coffee order for today.”
“Are you planning to finally get it yourself?”
“Excuse me?” He said curtly. “What did you just say?”
I coughed. “Nothing. There was something in my throat.”
“Hmmm,” he said. “I would prefer caramel cream from the Sweet Seasons Cafe today. And make sure my coffee is exactly one hundred and fifty-five degrees.”
Seriously? I rolled my eyes. “Noted. Is there anything else, sir?”
“Doesn’t sound like it.” He hung up in my face.
“Ughhhhh!”
“Something wrong, Taylor?” The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Do I need to pull over?”
“No, keep dragging me toward hell, please.” I brushed off Preston’s rudeness and made it through my first few errands.
“I know why you’re calling, Mrs. Vaughn and I’m sorry,” I answered my phone the second it buzzed. “I’m not sure why his stylist is having problems dropping his suits off on time these days, but I’ll look into it as soon as I can.” I waited for her to say a few words and then I answered the incoming call from his personal trainer. Then his lawyer. Then his pilot. Then his goddamn yacht cleaner. (Why this man needed eight yachts, I’d never know.)
“It’s seven thirty-five, Miss Lauren,” the driver said. “Are we still stopping at the Sweet Seasons Café?”
“No. We’re stopping at McDonald’s.”
He nodded and pulled over at the McDonald’s right up the street.
I opened my purse and pulled out an empty cup I’d stolen from Sweet Seasons Café. I’d made this a part of my routine for the past week and a half since that shop was five blocks out of the way and completely ridiculous.
For fifteen dollars an ounce, the baristas brewed Colombian specialty beans, and they made each cup one by one. They refused to take online orders, and even though Preston had been a loyal customer for years, they refused to have his coffee waiting and ready in advance. They claimed that the “experience” of getting the coffee made fresh was what justified their price, and they didn’t want to dilute their brand.
They also asked their customers what temperature they wanted their coffee served—as if someone could honestly tell the difference between one hundred forty and one hundred fifty degrees.
It all tastes the same …
“I’ll have a large regular coffee, please,” I said, taking my place at the McDonald’s counter. “Can I have that with caramel, and can I have it in this cup?”
“Of course.”
With ten minutes to spare, I made it to his office and set up his desk the way he liked it.
Coffee on the right, folder full of printed articles and reports on the left, current hardback book in the center.
I made sure his “short-list”—a comprehensive summary of every email he needed to address and his current schedule for the day, was written neatly. I even added a few notes and suggestions of my own.
“The boss has entered the building, people!” Someone in the hallway shouted. “He’s in the lobby!”
I knocked his folder onto the floor.
Shit.
Quickly picking everything up, I tried my best to place the files as they were. As I was slipping the financial reports back into place, I noticed an old picture of Preston standing with another Preston in a black cap and gown.
Behind that picture was another one with a double dose of Preston. This time they were wearing blue jeans and standing in front of a billboard in Times Square. Everything about the men was identical, down to their stunning green eyes with flecks of grey.
He has a twin?
“The boss is now on the elevator!” Someone else shouted.
With seconds to spare, I made it to my office and slipped into a pair of flats under my desk.
Moments later, Preston stepped off the elevator wearing a dark grey Tom Ford suit that put every man who’d ever worn a suit to shame. His silver cufflinks shone against the bright hallway lights, and his receptionist’s cheeks turned bright pink at the very sight of him.
He walked by my open door, said “Miss Lauren,” and nothing more.
He shut his door, and I waited for his usual email to make sure I was in the clear.
My email pinged minutes later.
* * *
Subject: My Short List.
Miss Lauren,
I’ve read this morning’s edition, but it took me longer than necessary because you misspelled “variety,” “residuals,” and “inconsequential.” You also wrote your own notes (which I didn’t ask for) and gave me your opinion on certain meetings—which I don’t need.
I thought your profile said that you have a minor in English?
I’m tempted to call and ask Princeton if they have a return policy.
Preston Parker
CEO Parker International
* * *
Biting my tongue, I pulled up my file titled “New Jobs to Apply to” and filled out two applications for nearby law firms before tackling more messages in my inbox. As I was declining an interview for Mister New York, Preston stepped into my office.
“Miss Lauren,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Can I speak to you in my office for a minute?”
“You’re actually asking and not demanding?” The words rushed out of my mouth before I could think them through.
“Now, Miss Lauren.” He motioned for me to get up.
I followed him into his office, and he shut the door behind us. He waited for me to take a seat in front of his desk, and then he leaned back in his chair.
He stared at me for several seconds, looking as intense as he did in my fantasies last night, and then he began to speak.
“I used to pride myself on hiring good people, Miss Lauren,” he said. “People I could trust not to steal or betray me. Now, given how our relationship started, I can’t honestly say that I thought you’d never steal from me again, but I was hoping that I’d never face your betrayal.”
WHAT? “Mr. Parker, I can assure you that I haven’t betrayed you in any way. I’m very open and honest about every meeting I’ve taken, and I’ve been nothing but honest since day one.”
He held up his hand, silencing me. Then, as if he hadn’t heard a word I said, he continued. “Given the fact that you’ve lasted longer than my last ten assistants—”
“Twenty.” I corrected him.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve lasted longer than your last twenty assistants.”
A slow smile spread across his face and he picked up his coffee, taking a long sip.
“Okay,” he said. “My last twenty assistants. Given the fact that you’ve lasted longer than those, I thought that maybe we could begin a solid foundation of trust, that maybe this was a sign that you were ready to start working with me on more serious matters. However, for the past week and a half, it’s come to my attention that you’ve been betraying me every single morning.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I don’t appreciate traitors in my company, Miss Lauren, and I tend to fire them on the spot within seconds of me finding out about their betrayal—no matter how trivial the offense is.”