“I won’t forget.”
“And don’t you dare get attached to his little girl either.”
“She’s his niece.”
“You know what I mean.” She shook her head. “I know how you are when it comes to sexy single guys with kids.”
“I’m not getting attached to Violet.” I rolled over and put away the teddy bear clothes I’d purchased in Scotland. “Trust me. How’s Fashion Week in Paris?”
“I thought you’d never ask!” She gushed about designers and runway shows for over an hour, and just as she was about to tell me about how awful her new boss was, he called her phone.
“It’s my boss.” She rolled her eyes. “Gotta go.”
“Talk to you later.” I closed my laptop and moved to the plane’s living room—running my finger against the intricately carved “P” in all the wood furnishings. I picked up my notes for the next meeting and plopped onto the sofa.
“Good evening, Miss Lauren.” A flight attendant I’d never traveled with before walked into the cabin. “Would you like dinner this evening?”
“Yes. Can I have some of the gluten-free pasta and the coastal salad? If not, can I see the updated gluten-free menu for today?”
“The what?”
“The gluten-free menu,” I said. “If it’s still the same as it was last time, I’ll just have the regular course dinner.”
She looked at me in confusion. “Um. I’ll have to see what we have.”
Seconds later, she returned with a plain salad and a bowl of sliced apples. “I’m sorry, Miss Lauren. We don’t have any of what you mentioned onboard. My coworker says we’ve never had that on any of our flights, but this is our first time flying with Parker International, so I’ll make sure we have it next time.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent,” she said. “We do have a basket of chocolate with your name on it, but Mr. Parker’s note says to give it to you in a few days.” She smiled and walked away, leaving me confused.
Before I could follow her and show her exactly where the menus and the gluten-free dinners were, my town car driver stepped in front of me.
“Did you eat all the gluten-free meals, Will?” I smiled. “You could’ve at least shared them with me.”
“Not at all, Miss Lauren,” he said, looking slightly terrified. “It’s my fault they’re not onboard today, and I’m sorry.”
“How is it your fault? It’s probably just a catering mix-up.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Mr. Parker always orders food from Other Words Catering Kitchen before any flight you take. My job is to pick it up an hour before takeoff and load it, but since we were running behind schedule, I didn’t have time to make the handoff with the caterer.”
I stilled. There were only five Other Words Catering Kitchen locations in the country, and none of them were anywhere near New York.”
“He has it flown in from the West Coast?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Every time?”
“Every single time.” He nodded, and I leaned back.
“Please don’t tell him about my mistake,” he said. “He’d be very upset if he knew.”
“I won’t.” I rubbed my forehead, completely stunned.
“I did make sure that all of the top shop owners are aware that you’ll be in town, just like Mr. Parker always does, and they’ll shut down the store for you the second you arrive.”
“I never knew Mr. Parker called beforehand.” I shook my head. It never crossed my mind that the stores were almost always empty when I shopped abroad.
I’m not done listing all the things I’ve done for you.
Preston’s words from our argument played in my mind, and I cleared my throat. “Can I ask you something, Will?”
“Of course.”
“Why does Mr. Parker always give his executive employees those random chocolate baskets? I’m not complaining, but is that a catering thing as well?”
“He doesn’t give all of his executive employees anything.” He smiled. “He only does that for you.”
“As a peace offering?”
“No,” he said, tilting his head to the side. Then as if he was embarrassed to say the words, he lowered his voice. “I remember him telling me that it helps with your stress during a certain um … time of the month.”
My jaw dropped, and I paled. I’d always been far too stressed in general to notice the timing, thinking that the monthly chocolate was another standard “amenity treat” for C-level executives, since the chocolates were hardly ever the same.
“Will?” I looked at him.
“Yes?”
“Can you tell me some of the other little things Mr. Parker does for his executive assistants?”
“Besides firing them or making them quit?” He laughed. “I have no idea.”
“No, I mean, what are the things he usually gives to the person in this position? Like, private transportation to business meetings and work, but what else?”
He raised his eyebrow. “Mr. Parker usually flew his EA via first class on a commercial flight since he never knew if they would quit in the middle of the trip.” He shrugged. “You’re the first to fly on his private plane. And you know, now that I think about it, his EAs never received their own office, let alone a corner one. They usually got a bigger desk in a room they shared with the senior interns. Oh, and it took years of me working for him before he started giving me any perks.” He laughed.
“So, it’s safe to assume that my monthly condo discount and passes to Broadway shows and such isn’t the norm?”
“Not at all, Miss Lauren.” He pulled out his phone and handed it to me, showing me an email from Preston. One that was dated over a year ago. “You never saw this, by the way. Let me know when you’re done reading it. It may take a while.” He winked at me and walked away.
* * *
Subject: Miss Tara Lauren (Please Confirm You’ve Read This)
Dear Support Staff,
I’m sending you this message since you all have daily, direct, or consistent access to my latest assistant, Tara Lauren.
As you know, as of now, she’s lasted longer than any executive assistant I’ve ever had, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.
Her job is stressful enough, so I’m including a list of all the things that need to be done on a daily, weekly, and monthly basis to ensure that she never gets stressed about anything else….
I need every single one of these tasks to be followed to the letter. Or else.
I’m attaching the list.
Preston Parker,
CEO & Owner of Parker International
* * *
I opened the file and noticed that it was eight pages long. It included everything from the way I liked my breakfast and lunch, to the best hours to handle my dry cleaning and repair my heels, to making sure if I ever uttered the words, “I need to buy that,” that they bought it and kept it on hand just in case I mentioned it again. It also revealed that there was a concierge in my condo who was personally assigned to me. That all the times he told me I looked stressed and insisted that I attend “a complimentary group dinner on the roof with the city’s next hot chef,” it was never really for the group. It was always just for me.