“Good, right?”
“Yes, it’s fine.” He clears his throat. “Get your pen and paper out so we can go over things.”
“Ah, you said pen and paper, not iPad.”
“No need to hear you rattle on about pens and paper again and the feel of the pen along the paper while you’re taking notes.”
Smart, smart man.
“We’re meeting with the Hoosiers this weekend. We have a lunch meeting,” he says, jumping right into things. I guess here we go.
“Yes, at Ricky’s Grill, which I looked up already and saw that they serve a very wonderful salmon dish I’m sure you will like.”
He lifts his eyes from his phone and gives me a quizzical look. “How do you know—?”
“Dietary questionnaire. Come on, keep up, boss man salmon pants. You’ll want to order it without the capers.”
He clears his throat and says, “Uh, thanks.”
Well, well, well . . . would you look at that. I’m cracking him a lot faster than I thought I would.
“After that, we have time to rest and then we’re off to the black-tie event; that’s where I need you on point. I know most of the attendees who will be there, but I need to make sure I don’t miss anyone.”
“Do you know what this reminds me of?”
He sighs. “What?”
“The Devil Wears Prada. Would you say I’m more of an Andy or an Emily?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but remember, you aren’t here to talk, you’re here as a shadow to me.”
“Ooo, The Devil Wears Prada with a female suppression twist, got it.” I zip up my lips. “They will be sealed unless called upon.”
His jaw works back and forth, and I can sense he’s incredibly tense, maybe a little nervous about bringing me along because let’s face it, in his eyes I most likely seem like a loose cannon. He never knows what to expect, and I’m sure he’s nervous I’m going to embarrass him. But little does he know, I might be a bit of a question mark, but when it comes to work events, I thrive. I shift into a completely different person and do the job the way the public eye would like to see me do it, with zero disturbances and very minimal interaction with others.
I know my role, and I’m okay with that. As long as Rath knows his role in the office.
To ease his mind, I say, “Don’t worry, Mr. Westin, I won’t embarrass you.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.”
“Yes, you were, and it’s okay. I might be eccentric in the office, but when it comes to business associates and work events, I know where I stand and how to act. You have nothing to worry about. I brought a simple black dress for the event and a very eye-pleasing black, tailored suit for lunch, and my makeup will be very natural.”
“Charlee,” he says on a sigh, “you don’t have to change who you are. I just ask that you refrain from doing an Irish jig out of excitement. Keep the jigs for our office.”
Our office.
God.
That pinches a happy nerve of mine hearing him say that and then the way he looks at me.
The sincerity in his eyes.
It does something deep within my bones . . . almost like he’s reaching marrow . . . so unexpected. Strange.
You don’t have to change who you are . . .
People have often asked me to change, especially Chris. I should have known back then when he told me to stop being so weird, to not go over the top—to just “for the love of God” be normal—that he didn’t really have deep feelings for me. You don’t try to change someone you love, Chuckie. You open your heart to new possibilities.
I know I’m too much at times, especially for the straight-laced Rath, but even with my eccentricities, he hasn’t yet asked me to stop. He’s always absorbed them and moved past them.
There’s a difference. A big difference.
He’s letting me be who I am. And that right there tells me something . . . Rath accepts me.
Which in return, I will accept him.
He’s a tight-ass, has some dark, hidden secrets hiding behind those compelling blue eyes of his, and is very much high-strung all the time. Any interaction with staff has been brusque and . . . stern. Uncompromising. He’s never harsh, but he’s never warm either. Open. I’ve been with him for a week and the only moment I actually saw him take a breath was when Julia was visiting. There was this light air about him, something that triggered a deep-rooted happiness. Why does he conceal that? It’s why I didn’t join them for tea, though, because I didn’t want him to have to hide that side of himself with his sister. I caught a brief glimpse, but I knew I wanted him to stay in that mood, to have a second to breathe, so I took off. That afternoon, when we were leaving, he gave me a small wave.
It was the first time he did that.
I thrived off that wave.
I lived for that wave.
And this morning, I sprang out of bed, wanting to see what else I could earn from the man whose respect I’m trying to earn in spades.
And today I get . . . you don’t have to change who you are.
I’m pretty sure this might be one of the best weeks I’ve had in a very long time.
“Would you like something to drink, Mr. Westin?” the gorgeous flight attendant with luxurious, long brown hair asks.
Rath holds up his hand, not sparing the girl one look. “I’m good.” And then he looks up from his phone to me and asks, “Do you want anything?”
Holding back my smile, I shake my head. “I don’t want to have to pee on the flight.”
His brow creases. “The plane has a nice bathroom.”
“And I have terrible aim.”
His brow furrows even more. “Are you standing and peeing?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
He sits back in his chair, the most perplexed look on his face that has me laughing out loud. I wave my hand about and say, “I’m kidding. I would adore a Sprite with a splash of cranberry.” I glance at her nametag. “Thank you so much, Laurie.”
She smiles kindly—probably perturbed by my standing and peeing comment—and takes off toward the back, while Rath just shakes his head in disbelief, turning back to his computer.
“I’ve tried it a few times, you know.”
He lifts just his eyes, keeping his head tilted toward the computer. “Tried what?”
“Peeing standing. And I have to tell you, there’s something about standing while peeing that makes you feel powerful. No wonder men walk around with a sense of accomplishment all the time. But trust me when I say, it takes a lot of factors to make it work for a girl.”
He chews on the side of his cheek and I can see the indecision—he’s curious to know what the factors are that make a good standing pee for a woman, but he also wants to stay as professional as possible.
So I make the decision for him.
“You have to really have to go, like pee up to your teeth is what my grandma would say. So much pee that when you let it go you have a stream that’s going to blast the porcelain off the toilet, or else it drips down the side of your leg. And the proper clothing is needed as well. Dresses with no panties are ideal. Rompers are a big no-no, unless you’re willing to stand in the stall completely naked with it wadded up in your hands and then at that point, what are you really doing with your life? Just sit on the darn toilet.”