Uncharted Territory

1. Emma

1

Emma

A s soon as my butt hits my chair on Monday morning, Margot rushes over to my desk. Her eyes are wide with panic as she leans in and whispers, “Something’s wrong.”

Something’s always wrong. As executive assistants to the North brothers, who oversee an empire of outdoor recreation stores, Margot and I are usually responsible for fixing it.

“What happened?” I ask.

Margot leans in a little closer and whispers, “He smiled at me.” She tilts her head ever so slightly toward my boss’s office.

“Who? Garrett?”

She nods.

“That’s not possible,” I tell her. “He was probably just holding in a sneeze or something.”

In the eleven months I’ve worked here, my boss has never smiled. Not once. It’s hard to imagine what a smile would look like on Garrett North. Deranged, probably.

“No, it was an actual smile. He walked past my desk on his way into Ethan’s office and said, ‘Good morning’ then he smiled at me.”

Good morning? Since when is it good? The most anyone ever gets out of Garrett is a quick, factual ‘Morning’ and a stoic nod of the head.

“Well, that’s…terrifying,” I say.

Margot nods in agreement. “What do you think it means?”

“Probably that evil has prevailed, and the end of days is upon us.”

Margot risks a quick glance through the glass wall that separates Garrett’s massive office from my humble assistant’s desk. As far as Garrett and I are concerned, it might as well be made out of concrete. I think we’d both prefer that it was. There isn’t much we agree on, but we’re both solidly in favor of anything that helps us ignore each other’s existence.

“Does he look like he’s preparing his fiery chariot to descend back into the depths of hell?” I ask.

“Sort of, but that’s how he always looks, right?” she whispers back.

Fair enough.

My computer chimes with two daily reminders: my morning meeting with Garrett and my secret countdown. Thirty more days until I can slap my resignation on his desk and walk away with my hiring bonus intact.

From the moment I met Garrett North, I knew I didn’t want to work for him. We got off on the wrong foot, and we’ve been hopping along on that same foot ever since, stumbling our way through some semblance of a professional relationship.

True North Outfitters is about as far from my dream job as it gets. The generous hiring bonus lured me in but came with a catch: work here for a full year or pay it all back. It was the perfect opportunity to pay off most of my student loans for the fashion design program at the Denver Institute of the Arts and save up for an apartment in New York or Los Angeles. At twenty- eight, I’m already getting a late start on a career in fashion, but better late than never.

Just one more month, and Garrett North will be nothing more than a memory. A very bad memory.

Collecting my notebook and pen off my desk, I begrudgingly excuse myself for my meeting.

“Good luck in there,” Margot says with one last uneasy glance at my boss.

I nod and walk a few short steps into Garrett’s office, where I half expect him to be sitting behind his desk smiling maniacally at nothing in particular. Thankfully, he’s not. Whatever Garrett was doing with his face earlier, it’s now settled back into its natural state: a mixture of razor-sharp focus and constant irritation.

“Good morning,” I say, as usual. It’s an announcement of my presence rather than a warm, fuzzy sentiment.

Garrett barely spares me a glance over the top of his computer screen as he mutters “Morning” under his breath.

I guess his morning ceases to be good. I’d like to think I am partially to thank for that.

Although I’m expected to be in his office every morning at 8:00 sharp, Garrett rarely acknowledges me before 8:05. Settling into the gray chair across from him, I smooth my blue floral dress into place over my lap. Something sharp pokes my finger, pulling a small gasp of surprise from my lips. When I look down, a pin glints up at me from the bottom hem. That’s what I get for staying up late last night to finish sewing this dress.

The sharp intake of air draws Garrett’s attention. He glances up at me with stoney gray eyes then down towards the hem of my dress, where my fingers move quickly to remove the offending pin and thread it through a page of my notebook for safekeeping. His jaw ticks with irritation before he peels his gaze away and continues typing.

My eyes linger on Garrett for a second too long, wondering what a smile might look like on him. Creepy and unnatural, obviously, but also maybe sort of…nice? For all of his faults, which are plentiful and unforgivable, the unfortunate truth is that Garrett North is objectively attractive. Even I can’t deny it. He’s tall enough to hover, rugged enough to pull off a beard, and built like he spends his days climbing mountains rather than running a national chain of retail stores from the comfort of his plush executive suite overlooking downtown Denver.

Most women – and some men – would probably do my job for free just for the chance to sit across from him every morning and swoon. They’d probably be sitting here in a puddle of their own drool…or worse, another bodily fluid I don’t care to think about in relation to my boss.

When Garrett finally speaks, he launches straight into conversation. It’s a habit I find equally annoying and appealing, since it saves me from trying to make small talk with a man who doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of that phrase.

Still facing his computer, Garrett runs a hand through his dark brown hair and says, “We’re going to start offering adventure travel packages in our stores and on our website.”

I nod, and Garrett glances up at me just in time to catch the tail-end of it. When his eyes finally settle on me, it feels like he’s looking at a cloudy piece of plexiglass between us rather than directly at me. It’s always felt that way. As if he’s obligated to look in my general direction for the sake of conversation, but his gaze never quite reaches me. At first, I found it frustrating, but after eleven long months, I’ve gotten used to it.

“It’s something I’ve always planned to integrate into our business model, but it’s never worked out in the past,” he continues. “From a legal and logistical standpoint, operating these sorts of tours is a nightmare. We’d be opening the company up to all sorts of liability issues, not to mention the time and cost of getting it up and running properly. The only option is to partner with existing operators and sell their travel packages for a cut of the profit.”

I keep nodding along with my pen clutched tightly, ready to jot down any important notes.

“Would you like me to do some research on companies that specialize in adventure travel?” I ask.

“I already have a few in mind that I’m interested in working with.”

“Okay, send me the list and I’ll set up some meetings for you.”

“No,” Garrett says firmly. “If we can’t create our own packages, I want to make sure that the outfitters we choose are a good fit for North. The only way to do that is to go on their tours myself.”

My eyes widen and flick up to meet his as my pen goes slack between my fingers. Garrett has always been pretty hands-on when it comes to big decisions in the company, but this is taking it to a whole new level.

Then again, if he wants to spend some time out of the office and far, far away from me, who am I to object? Maybe my last month here won’t be so bad after all.

Then he drops the bomb…

“And you’re going with me.”

Excuse me, what?

I’m sure I misheard him. Why would he even consider dragging me along on this sort of trip? The two of us may have mastered the art of feigned professionalism, but Garrett is under no delusions about my personal feelings toward him. In fact, he’s made it abundantly clear that those feelings are completely mutual.

“I’ll send you a list of the tours I’m interested in,” Garrett continues, apparently unharmed by the mental daggers I’m shooting at him. “Book them in whatever order. Put it under a different name and don’t mention True North. I don’t want these companies rolling out the red carpet if they know we’re scouting partnerships. It’s important that we get the authentic experience, just like any other guest.”

Yes, heaven forbid that we’re offered a warmer blanket or an extra serving of campfire gruel on this expedition.

Questions, objections, and curse words collide in my brain, but only one syllable comes out. “Sir…” I start to say. Then I nearly choke on my own saliva. I never call him sir. Not once in all the months I’ve worked for him.

“Ma’am?” he counters, looking almost amused.

I have to physically restrain my bottom lip with my teeth to stop myself from calling him something much worse. After a deep breath through my nose, I release my lip and start again. “I don’t think this project is a good fit for me. Maybe you could have someone else accompany you, like Ethan or…”

But Garrett is already shaking his head.

As if taking his younger brother instead is such a far-fetched idea. Not only is Ethan the company’s CFO, but he lives for this outdoorsy crap. At the very least, he’s far less likely to push Garrett off a cliff than I am.

“I need Ethan here running the company while I’m away. This isn’t a vacation; it’s a work trip, and you’re my assistant.”

It might be my job, but Garrett knows that this is going to be a disaster. No one would ever mistake me for the outdoorsy type. Garrett certainly didn’t the first time we met. He took one look at me and said, “ You’re my new assistant?” in the least enthusiastic tone imaginable. Then he frowned. Scowled, even. It was the look of someone who ordered filet mignon but got pot roast instead. In Garrett’s case, he ordered a swimsuit model and got – well, me instead.

And okay, fine…I’m not the sort of person that most people would imagine working for a company like True North. I’ve never hiked a mile in my life. Spandex is not my friend. I still don’t really understand the purpose of a carabiner, even though I’ve handed out my fair share at company events. I’m not athletic – and I’m certainly no size four – but I’m damn good at my job.

A knock at Garrett’s office door interrupts my thoughts before I can properly object to this whole situation. Tearing his gaze away from the imaginary plexiglass between us, Garrett hollers for the person to enter.

“Am I interrupting something?” Ethan asks after flashing me an easy smile that I don’t return. It’s nothing personal. I just don’t remember how to smile at the moment.

“I just finished giving Emma the rundown on the tours,” Garrett says.

Ethan gives a slow nod and quiet, careful ‘ah.’ He looks at me sympathetically, clearly aware of the bad news that awaited me today.

Maybe if I worked for Ethan instead of his horrible brother, I wouldn’t be counting down my days at True North like a prison sentence.

One month to go, and it’s going to be absolute hell. At least I know why Garrett was smiling earlier. Hell is his natural habitat, and he’s planning to drag me down with him.