10. Franki
ten
At six thirty in the morning, excited for my new job, I’m ready to start my day. Careful not to wake Oliver as he cuddles in his bed near the window, I open the guest bedroom door in Henry’s penthouse to make my way to the kitchen. When I see what’s on the other side, I jump and immediately shut the door again.
A quiet knock sounds and a British accent calls, “Ms. Lennox? Are you quite all right?”
I open the door slowly. The ginger-haired man in the three-piece suit is still right there. Smiling, he holds an iPad in one hand and a porcelain cup on a saucer in the other.
“Henry is on a conference call in his home office at the moment, but he said if you woke before he returned, to make certain you’re comfortable. My name is Spencer, and I’m at your disposal.”
He passes me the cup of tea.
“Thank you.” I take a sip. One teaspoon of honey. Exactly the way I like it.
“I’ve arranged for your canine companion to be walked by a member of the security team this morning.”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I’ll do that myself. There’s no need to pull someone else away.”
He glances at his watch. “There’s simply no time. Frankly, we should have started half an hour ago, but Henry insisted no one disturb you.”
Henry suggested we start work this morning at his penthouse and to feel free to bring Oliver to work with me. He also asked me if I’d mind staying in the guest room here until I move into my own place.
According to Henry, daily transportation into the city would be a “waste of resources” and that, as a long-time friend of the family, it makes sense to stay with him.
As always, his arguments were logical and reasonable. What wasn’t reasonable was his offer to buy me a place of my own because “You said we’re friends. Friends help each other.”
After that, staying in his guest room seemed almost as though I were the one helping him by not taking advantage of his generosity.
“How long has Henry been up?”
“He generally rises at four thirty, exercises for an hour, and is ready to begin his workday by six.”
Oh my stars.
Spencer gives a shallow bow. “If you’ll follow me to the kitchen.”
Awkwardly, I trail behind. “Are you my boss?”
He stops abruptly, swiveling in my direction. “Certainly not, Ms. Lennox. I’m merely acclimating you to your new home and position.”
I frown in confusion. I suppose he means because I agreed with Henry that staying here will make things more convenient for him until I find my own apartment. Under any other circumstance, the question I’m about to ask would sound absurd, but this is Henry we’re talking about. He’d do it just to see people’s faces when Spencer opened the door. “Are you the butler?”
Spencer’s already perfect posture straightens further. “I’m Henry’s personal assistant.”
“I apologize. It’s really early. My brain isn’t quite online yet.”
“I suppose it is early for some people.” He spreads his arm. “Right this way, Ms. Lennox.”
When we enter the kitchen, a tall black man with broad shoulders and a ready smile lifts his coffee cup in greeting. “Hey, Franki. I’m Dante, Henry’s head of security.”
I smile and lift my hand in an uncomfortable wave. So many new people, so early in the morning. I expected to see Henry, not strange men.
Spencer slides a phone and a 3-ring binder across the white quartz countertop toward me. “I’m Henry’s personal assistant, but you may consider me yours, as well, until we find you candidates to interview yourself.”
“I don’t need a PA,” I say, dumbfounded.
“When you no longer have to handle scheduling your appointments, shopping, or planning your outfits for the day, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without one.”
“I’d prefer to do those things myself.”
Spencer smiles like I just made a joke, then indicates the phone. “Your old phone isn’t secure. Corporate espionage is a concern, as is Henry’s safety. Don’t use your personal phone for any communication related to business or to take photos within or near any of his properties. This one has everything you need. As long as you don’t disable the security features on it, there are no restrictions on how you use it.”
That makes sense. It also means that I’m no longer beholden to my mother for her cell phone plan. This could not be more perfect. If I’d made a list of everything I needed, it would be exactly what Henry has provided for me. A place to stay where Henry sees my presence here as convenient, not a hindrance. A job I’m qualified for with benefits. Even the fact that the security here is so hardcore makes me feel loads more comfortable.
I’m usually cranky in the morning, but a shot of unadulterated triumph shoots through my veins. I’ll keep the phone Mom gave me so she can reach me, but I don’t need it, anymore. I won’t give her my new number at all.
Spencer taps a pink binder. “I’ve color-coded everything for you here if you’re a more tactile learner. This information is also accessible on your phone, work iPad, or new laptop. You’ll find those on the desk I’ve set up for you next to Henry’s in the home office. He felt that would be most convenient. I hope you like rose gold. Henry is coded navy.
“In the front of the binder,” he continues, “you’ll find a folder and envelope. These include all of your security access codes and keycard. Dante will perform the retinal scans this afternoon.”
I nod. I take my anti-inflammatory in the morning, and I have to eat before I do. Otherwise, my stomach will feel like it’s gnawing on itself. Besides, something smells delicious in this kitchen. “Not to be a pain, but do you mind if I grab some breakfast while we do this?”
Spencer opens the oven and, using black oven mitts, removes something I can’t see from the rack. After plating a piping hot oversized blueberry muffin with crumble topping and three sliced strawberries cut into mini-fans displayed in a half-circle around it, he presents me with the white and gold china and a linen monogrammed napkin. “Henry made these this morning and put them on the warmer for you in case you indicated you were hungry. If you prefer something else, please inform me. Would you like a smoothie as well? Or something more hearty?”
Good heavens. “This is wonderful. Thank you.” I nod at the binders. “You can explain while I eat. I don’t mind.”
As I dig in to the tart and sweet, buttery deliciousness of my breakfast, Dante lifts a strawberry from the cutting board and leans toward Spencer. Spencer backs away from him and shoots a glance my way. Smooth as you please, Dante switches direction and takes a bite of the strawberry, himself. I’m almost certain his intention was originally to feed Spencer.
Cheeks red, but with a small smile on his face, Spencer straightens his bow tie and opens the rose-gold binder, indicating two folders attached. “The security folder is coded red. You’ll find a coordinating tab in the binder right . . . here.” He indicates a section approximately an inch thick of single-spaced pages printed front and back. “These are the protocols you’re expected to conform to at all times. In anything but an emergency, you’ll need to request twenty-four-hour pre-authorization from Dante for any deviations from the list.”
I blink at the pages and Spencer smiles. “A little light reading. I know. I had the same look on my face when I had to memorize these, but most of it ends up being common sense. Well . . . some of it. It certainly requires an adjustment. The most important thing is to memorize the codes and emergency procedures. Dante will run drills with you later.”
I glance at Dante, then skim the first page. Most of the rules don’t look unreasonable. No letting unauthorized people into the penthouse. If I meet someone I want to invite over, they have to pass an advance security check. That might bother some people, but to me, it means where I’m staying is a private oasis. No sharing private details of our home or posting photos of it online. Wait for the driver’s go-ahead before stepping out of a car.
The approved itinerary with twenty-four-hour notice isn’t happening. My personal time is my business. What if I get a spur of the moment craving for tacos? I’m not waiting, taco-less, until someone gets around to putting “visit food truck” on my schedule. I’m not giving anyone my personal schedule at all. It feels too much like my mother needing to control my every move. “What’s the rest of the binder for?”
Spencer indicates a second folder at the front. “A credit card for your use and access to a checking account.”
Company expenses. It makes sense, particularly if, as Henry said, travel will be part of my job.
Spencer gives me a tight smile. “It behooves me to point out that if you spend more than a million dollars at one time, Henry will be sent an alert for him to confirm the purchase. It’s not that he’s attempting to restrict you in any way. It’s simply a place where security protocols and finance meet.”
Spencer’s dry humor is hilarious. It behooves me….A million dollars. I laugh, and his brows draw together before he presses on, flipping to different sections. “As I said, these are color-coded. This navy tab is everything you could need on a daily basis regarding Henry, himself. I’ve included a list of approved gifts, should you be inclined to get him something. His birthday is in May.”
I snatch the folder toward me and look at the list. “I know when his birthday is. You can’t be serious. If I want to buy him a present, he expects it to be approved?”
Spencer shrugs. “It’s an exhaustive list and quite flexible. For example, if you wish to purchase a sweater, you would cross-reference that with this yellow tab to find the sizes, designers, materials, and brands he prefers. But you may purchase anything within those parameters. And that leaves a great many choices for you.”
I grit my teeth. “What if someone wanted to get him something that isn’t on the list?”
“Acceptable as long as it falls under the heading ‘sentimental’ or ‘need-based.’ Though if you give him something sentimental, please explicitly state its purpose and why he should appreciate it, so he doesn’t needlessly reject it.”
I swallow a sip of tea, my muffin suddenly dry and sticking in my throat..
“You’ll find a list of Henry’s preferences for entertainment, food, etc. here. You may find it useful to memorize these, so you don’t need to refer to the folder constantly.”
“Is this a prank?” I have a terrible feeling it isn’t, but hope springs eternal.
Spencer purses his lips. “As long as you live in the same residence with Henry, I expect you to cooperate with the established protocols of this household. You’re entering his sphere, not the other way around. The least you can do is be respectful of his preferences.”
Dante mutters, “Whoa. Ease up.”
Spencer tugs at his bow tie. “Back to your binder. Here we have . . .” On and on he drones.
“And that,” he finally says, dusting his hands, “is that.”
He pulls up his iPad. “Now, we need to go over your gift, entertainment, and food preferences.”
I shake my head, my mind working on a plan to go back to Charlotte and Arden’s house. I can’t stay here. “Move on to my job, itself.”
He steeples his fingers. “Certainly. Your primary function is to be available, as necessary. However, Henry is generous and would prefer to know what things he can offer for your comfort.”
Available to translate? “Financial bonuses based on performance are more than enough,” I say warily.
He scrunches his face like he smells something terrible. “I’m not certain exactly what you imagine you’ll be performing, but that’s not how Henry operates. I imagine he would find an exchange of that nature”—he rakes his eyes over me—“distasteful.”
I frown as his implication sinks in. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Henry swoops into the kitchen from the hallway. One moment, he’s nowhere to be seen. The next, he’s snapping the rose-gold binder closed, swiping it off the counter, and smiling at me without showing his teeth. “Franki. You’re up early. I expected you to sleep for at least another hour.”
“Really? Inspector Javert over here said I was half an hour late for work already.” I cross my arms and throw Spencer under the bus so fast it’s not funny. Fuck this dude.
Henry lifts an eyebrow. “His name is Spencer.”
“If I were starving and stole a loaf of bread, I don’t have a doubt in my mind that he’d chase me for the rest of my life to remind me it was against the rules.”
Dante snorts. Spencer sniffs.
Henry cringes and pushes the white ceramic cookie jar toward me. “Have some more sugar. Do you need caffeine?”
I reach into the jar, but resent it mightily. I want a cookie. But I don’t want to want a cookie. This is nothing like what Henry sold me last night at dinner.
I select a chocolate chip cookie, but when I bite down, I taste raisin. I force myself to chew and swallow and not spit the mouthful into the trash.
“This is the list of approved jewelers from whom you may select your engagement ring.” Spencer slides a laminated piece of paper toward me.
I drop the cookie on the counter. “What?!”
Henry slaps a hand down on top of the paper. “Don’t look at that. How ridiculous. I hired you to be my translator. For my company.” He laughs. “Spencer enjoys practical jokes.”
Spencer turns his head in his employer’s direction. “I must say—”
“I need you to leave,” Henry says in a rush.
“I beg your pardon?” Spencer asks.
“I need you to go find me macadamia nuts. Coated in chocolate. Green-tea-flavored chocolate-coated macadamia nuts. I’d like them for my mid-afternoon snack. Please. Go find them, now. I’ll speak to you later privately to discuss the macadamia nuts once you’ve located them. Franki, do you have any snack requests?”
I shake my head, the motion so small it’s likely barely perceptible.
Spencer’s mouth tightens, and he lifts his chin. “Very well. I’ll return with your snack.”
Spencer leaves and Dante lifts his eyebrows in some form of silent communication with Henry. “I’m headed for a team meeting. I’ll go over the drills with you later, Franki.”
Like heck, he will.I won’t be here.
When Dante takes his coffee cup with him and heads for the front door, I turn to Henry. “Staying here isn’t going to work for me. I’m going back to the Hamptons.”
“Because of the binder? Spencer can be overly enthusiastic. I’ll talk to him.”
“It’s too uncomfortable for me to be here. Spencer obviously believes I’m going to marry you.” I shudder at the idea. Every image I had of what a business marriage with Henry would look like took a downgrade after speaking with Spencer. That’s saying something, considering my initial impression was pretty darn bad to start.
“Spencer made incorrect assumptions. I’ll clear those up when he returns. You live here. He works here. He takes direction from you, not the other way around,” Henry says.
All the practical reasons for staying remain. Anything else means an unhealthy strain on my finances, but I have my doubts this is going to work, even in the short term. “We’ll see how it goes. You and I in the same space may not be a good fit for either of us.”
Henry puts an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s give it a try. What do you say we take Oliver for his morning walk? Then we’ll come back up here and get started. I have a proposal I’d like you to translate this morning, if possible, and a phone call scheduled with Mon-sewer Mercy-er at three where I’ll need your services.”
I lower my shoulders and blow out a breath. “I’m looking forward to it.” I hesitate. “You haven’t called him Mon-sewer Mercy-er to his face, have you?”
Henry’s eyelids go heavy and his lips curl. “Why?”
“It’s pronounced ‘Monsieur Mercier.’”
“Mercy-aye,” he says, his attempt to match my accent cringeworthy.
“Closer. Mercier,” I say.
“Thank goodness you’re here. I’d be lost without you.”