Chapter 5
Lucy
When I arrive at the offices at the end of my fourth week at Ember, I’m already thinking about the dozens of tasks I need to complete.
It’s just past seven in the morning, but Dane is, of course, already in his office, the door shut and the fancy Japanese glass changed to the setting that frosts it over, so I can see the light is on, but not what he’s doing.
More than likely, he’s at his desk, getting ready for the conference in Amsterdam.
The conference in Amsterdam that I have to handle all the logistics for.
It wouldn’t be so bad if Dane hadn’t decided, at the last minute, that he would be going.
But now the organizers are scrambling to make room for him.
I have to coordinate the tickets, when the jet will take off and land, itineraries, collaborations, and who will be running the company booth in the demo area.
That also means coordinating the marketing girls, specifically hired for events like this. They need flights, accommodation, and stipends.
I have to review the company’s travel insurance and make sure everyone going on the trip is covered. Then I'll send my work to Legal, who may tell me it’s completely wrong and needs to be redone.
On top of all that, I have to manage the other, smaller details. Dane’s suits, his luggage, the house cleaner who just retired and will need a replacement.
Each time I cross something off my to-do list, there’s another thing added.
And, on top of that, a call comes through to my desk every five minutes, another person who wants a slice of Dane’s time.
And it’s my job to know which of them should be sent through immediately, which he’ll want me to take notes on and report about at the end of the day, and which should be unceremoniously blocked.
I sit down at my desk, pull out my water and coffee, and set them down gently.
Today, I’m wearing Chanel (both the clothing and the perfume) since Julian threw my Bath & Body Works Sweet Pea spray in the trash, then made sure to take the trash bag down on his way out so I couldn’t fish it out of the bin.
When I relax into my chair, it’s with the same sigh of relief I felt that first day, in the lobby. Ergonomics, beauty, function and luxury—every inch of the Ember offices exudes all of these things.
My desk is a half-circle that I can slide into from the side, with a rotating chair that lets me see the doors of each executive suite. Dane’s is still clouded over, light glowing dimly within.
But the other two are vacant, doors shut but glass clear, so I can see into both.
The nameplates read "Cole Davenport" and "Nico Hawthorne." Cole’s office is practically empty, except for a desk, chair and what looks like a few schematics on the wall. Nico’s, however, sports a beverage fridge and plenty of wall decorations, photos, and what looks like part of a sail from a boat.
And Dane’s—
“News from the flight coordinator?”
I startle when I turn and realize Dane is standing right at the edge of my desk, his dark eyes focused on me. Like I always do when I have to talk to him, I flush from head to toe, staring up at his face from my place in my seat.
It’s not lost on me that I’m wearing a dress purchased with his money.
His eyes flick to the garment, specifically, to my cleavage tastefully outlined with a squared neckline, before returning to my face.
It’s like he’s completing a cursory check to make sure I’m outfitted properly, as his assistant.
“Yes,” I cough out, turning and anxiously thumbing through the papers on my desk. After a moment, I hand him the fax that arrived this morning. “The pilot is arranged, and we have a take-off time…”
“Thank you.” Dane takes the paper and turns, walking back into his office, the door clicking behind him with finality.
I go back to my work, heart still galloping along in my chest. This time, Dane’s glass doesn’t cloud over, so I find myself glancing up, gaze landing on him at his desk, where he’s always studying something intently.
And, occasionally, when I’m working on my own tasks, making calls or jotting down notes, I swear I can feel the heavy, calculating weight of his stare on me.
The idea that he’s watching me is unbearable.
Because when I feel the weight of his attention on me, I start to wonder why he’s watching me. To make sure I’m doing a good job? Because he’s just thinking, and happens to be looking in my direction?
Or is it like the day he gave me the toys? Studying my reaction because maybe watching me does… something?
The second that flits into my head, I try to banish it. Try to remind myself that he’s twice my age and would want nothing to do with me, especially considering the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing, even though I’m twenty-five.
But I can’t stop myself from the daydreams that wriggle through even the most rational of my thoughts.
That Dane might come out here, demand to see what I’m working on. Lean over my back to get a better look at my computer screen. His breath hot on the back of my neck. Both of us going still, wondering if the other felt the tension, the intense gravitational pull.
I read, once, that if you hold a necklace out next to a mountain, it’ll swing a little toward the range because of its gravity. That’s how I feel around Dane.
He knows… he has to know.
And in my daydream, he’s interested in me, too.
He lifts his hand, painstakingly slowly pushes my hair to the side, lowers his lips to the crux of my neck, his mouth hot, insistent, and slow, his hand sliding down from the tips of my hair to the neckline of my dress, tracing the fabric, but never touching skin.
Then the phone rings, startling me out of the fantasy, and I glance at his door quickly, only to find him with his head down, focused on something.
The effect is so bad that my work stretches out, each task taking me twice as long as it should. Dane leaves just after seven-thirty, like he usually does, and I’m still at my desk, nodding to him as he passes.
The sun sets, and the office lights adjust accordingly, dipping into a dark, ambiance-creating red hue. Dane told me, in passing, that one of their previous companies focused on science-backed lighting, and that Cole made sure to implement those practices here, using the same technology.
When I searched it up later, I discovered that their lights were something newer than LED—a type of lighting Cole invented all on his own, then patented.
High-end hospitals are installing them in ICUs, since they’ll help patients rest better while still giving nurses the visibility they need to do their jobs.
It’s after midnight by the time my phone starts to ring.
“Please tell me you’re out on the town,” Aunt Ruby says, her voice a sing-song that tells me she was out on the town herself, “and not still at work.”
“I just had a lot to get done today…”
“Boo! Mr. CEO Hotshot doesn’t pay you enough to squander your youth. Either go out with Julian or come home for some beauty sleep!”
I take a glance at my computer screen and find the numbers and letters swimming in front of my eyes. “Okay,” I relent, resolving to come in earlier on Monday. Although I’m not sure that’s going to help much, since Dane gets here at the crack of dawn, and he’s the reason I’ve been so distracted.
“Good,” Aunt Ruby sings, “go now—I’m watching your location. I’ll know if you don’t leave.”
I sigh when she sets the phone down without hanging up, and I can hear her flinging her shoes across the living room. I know I’ll find them next to the bay window when I get back, instead of neatly by the front door, how she normally leaves them when she hasn’t been drinking.
Standing, I turn off the computer, grab my water bottle, and load my bag up. I slide it onto my shoulder and turn, heading for the elevator. As I walk, I check my texts, realizing Ruby, Julian, and Mary all messaged me several times while I was working, and I was so focused I didn’t even notice.
Mary: Got my ultra-sound picture today
Mary: Babies are healthy, according to the tech
Mary: Miss you! <3
For a long moment, I stare at the grainy, black-and-white picture she’s sent, a strange emotion rolling through me. I start to draft a text back to her, but stop when another comes in from Julian, flashing over the top of the screen.
Julian: That’s it, bitch, I’m coming to get you
Julian: You are done working
Julian: I’ll be outside Ember in five, and you’d better be ready
I’m trying to text him back, to tell him I’m not interested in going out tonight, when I collide with something hard enough that the air whooshes out of my lungs all at once.
At first, brain sloshing around in my skull like Jello, I think that I was so absorbed in my phone that I walked right into the closed elevator doors.
Then, I look up and into a pair of hazel eyes, staring down at me with amusement as I regain my bearings. He holds me by the biceps, like he’s worried I’ll faint.
The man is tall—at least as tall as Dane, if not taller—and broad, his shoulders a little wider than Dane’s, and his clothes a lot more relaxed.
While Dane wears some combination of the same suit each day—charcoal gray, charcoal black, muted navy—this man is wearing a linen shirt, linen pants, and a gold watch that glints merrily from his wrist. His blonde waves sprinkled with silver are swept back from his face in a way that looks just like he’s just run his hand through them.
While I’m staring up at him, he takes one hand off me and thrusts his fingers into his curls, and I’m helpless to do anything but track the movement.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I decide that this must be Nico Hawthorne.
I’ve seen a million pictures of him, standing next to Dane in his Insta photos, splashed on the cover of magazines, and featured all over the Ember website. But those pictures did nothing to show what he’s like in real life—animated, smiling with dimples, and oozing charisma.
“Well, hello,” he says, practically humming. “And who are you?”