Chapter 7
Lucy
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, as I sprint around my room, tugging on the sleeve of my blouse, trying to find my bag. When I grab the strap, it wraps around my easel and almost knocks my most recent painting to the ground.
I right them and continue my panicking. When I run out into the living room, I nearly step on Pudding, who meows at me disdainfully.
“This is the third time you’ve been late,” Aunt Ruby muses, standing in the kitchen, awash in the morning glow coming in through the window, looking tranquil. Maybe there is something to working for yourself—you never have to rush around like this. You get to decide when your day starts.
But I don’t work for myself. I work for Dane Rourke—and Nico Hawthorne and Cole Davenport, though Nico I’ve only seen a few times, and Cole I’ve never met at all—and they are all waiting for me at the airport.
I don’t know about the other two, but Dane is surely checking his watch, wondering why I’m not there early.
Usually, I would be. But the power in the building went out last night, which tripped the fuse for my outlet, which meant my phone didn’t charge, went dead, and left me without the typical, grating alarm trill.
Luckily for me, I heard the general morning sounds—the clanging of Aunt Ruby making coffee, her radio emitting fuzzy tambourine notes, and Pudding meowing for her breakfast—and it jolted me awake just in time to not be late, if I skipped most of my morning routine.
“Here,” Aunt Ruby says, when I spin around and grab the handle of my suitcase, which I had the good sense to pack the night before. She stuffs a bagel with jam in my mouth, and I just manage to bring a hand up to catch it before it topples right onto my blouse.
“Thanks,” I say through the bite, too hungry and nervous to chastise her for almost ruining my top. Now, Pudding sits on the edge of the couch, judging me with her bright blue eyes, one of her ears turned slightly away, like my frantic energy is annoying her.
“It’s that new fig jam I got,” Aunt Ruby says, but I’m already pushing out the door, “and—oh, good-bye!”
“Bye! Love you!” I wave to her, feeling bad for cutting her off, but not having time for a discussion about the fig jam. I barely taste the bagel as I race down the hallway, then spend an agonizing several minutes in the building’s old elevator, waiting to get to the main floor.
The Uber is four minutes late. Traffic appears to be congested specifically along my route. The driver ignores my instructions to go to the private flight gate and instead tries to take me to a regular terminal, and I have to tell him again, through gritted teeth, that it’s not the right spot.
I end up getting charged extra for the ride, and he gives me a withering look as he unceremoniously dumps my suitcase on the ground next to me, and I make it on time, but just barely.
When I finally walk up, having gone through the very luxurious and simple security out here, Dane is waiting for me like I thought. The other two guys must already be on the plane. My heart skips at the thought of seeing Nico again.
“Sorry,” I breathe, as I reach him, and an attendant comes to take my bag, whisking it off to the luggage area. “I—”
“Come on,” Dane says, turning and gesturing for me to take the stairs up. “We’re already late.”
Technically, we’re not, but it’s not like I’m going to argue the point with him, so I just do as I’m told, turning and climbing up into the plane. I’m acutely aware of the fact that he’s behind and below me, and if he wanted, could have a great view of my ass as I went.
Not that I think my ass is great—just that, if the tables were turned, I’m not sure I could keep myself from at least taking a peek at his.
Perv, I try to shame myself in my head, stop being a perv.
The interior of the private jet is just as luxurious as Ember’s offices and outfitted with the same high-tech lights.
I recognize them instantly, the soft way they play with my eyes, lulling me into relaxation.
As I emerge into the main seating area, I wonder which of Cole’s other inventions are integrated into these guys’ daily lives.
And, just as I have that thought, I realize the main area, with its rich leather seats and shining wooden tables, is vacant. The other two executives are nowhere to be seen.
“Where—” I spin around, nearly colliding with Dane. That same citrus and amber smell swirls around us.
“Sorry… I thought the other…”
“They’re not coming,” Dane says, stepping into the plane like it’s nothing, and taking the first leather chair. He sets his bag in the seat next to him and is already looking down at his phone. “Cole extended his materials trip, and Nico is being a pain in my—”
He glances up, seeming to stop himself just in time, but I’ve already let out a surprise laugh.
The corner of his mouth twitches, then he’s professional once more, “Hawthorne isn’t coming. It’s just you and me today, Lucy.”
And why does the sound of that make my insides feel molten?
Thinking it will be a great way to get some space, I force myself to turn and walk to the back of the plane, not really knowing whether he wants me back here or up there with him.
My company handbook had a lot of information on how to abide by company policies and ethics, but nothing specifically about how to be an executive assistant. I guess it’s assumed I came here already knowing how to do this job.
I could use an EA handbook, or a Wiki, or something. A place to find answers to questions like—when you’re alone on the CEO’s plane with him, exactly how far away should you sit? Just eject yourself into the open sky to maintain his privacy?
“Lucy.” Dane’s voice cuts through the cabin just before I click my seatbelt, and I look up, only to see that he’s looking down at a folder, and not at me at all. I continue watching him, wondering if I imagined it, but then he does glance up and says, simply, “Over here.”
There’s a slight head gesture to the seat across from him, and my stomach flips. Slowly, I stand, grab my bag, and walk down the narrow aisle, feeling like I’ve been invited to sit with the popular kids at lunch.
It’s a long flight, and I’m on the clock. Maybe he wants to keep an eye on me and make sure I’m making the most of my time. There are still a million tasks on my to-do list.
I’ve just started to pull my laptop from my bag when he says, “Your performance has been adequate, Lucy.”
My heart jumps to my throat, like it always does when he says my name, and I snap my head up to look at him, but he’s not looking at me. It’s like he can’t bring himself to do it, or like I’m not very interesting to him.
“Thank you,” I say, even though I’m not totally sure if it’s meant to be a compliment.
“Frankly, you’ve already outlived many of our other assistants.” Dane sets his papers down and shifts his attention to me. I realize, with a start, that he is wearing glasses. I’ve never seen him wear them before.
“You’re wearing glasses,” I blurt, without thinking, and Dane blinks, pulling his head back. For a moment, I think I’ve made a mistake and that he’s going to withdraw whatever praise he was about to offer, but then he laughs.
“I am,” he says, touching the side of the frames briefly. “I have Lasik, but it needs to be touched up every ten years or so. I’m coming up on it, so I need these for reading.”
They soften him and give me the feeling that I’m getting to see something others don’t. A gentler side to him.
“That’s good to know,” I joke, needing something to do with myself, so I pull out the binder and open to his section, “I’ll make a note of that.”
“What is that?” he asks, voice shifting back to professional, attention landing on the open binder. Worry flushes through me, and I slide the binder a little closer to myself, as though he hasn’t already seen Dane Rourke written on the top of the page.
“It’s uh—they gave it to me when I was hired. It’s supposed to be—”
He’s already reaching for it, gently pulling it from under my arm and onto the table in front of him. “Notes on us,” he muses, flipping through it, “that’s smart. Or would be, if they weren’t mostly incorrect.”
I flush, “They are?”
Thankfully, I haven’t taken any notes of my own there yet, or I’d be even more embarrassed. I’ve been far too busy trying to pull Amsterdam together while juggling all the other tasks to think about recording details about Dane Rourke.
Plus, what would I even add? Gifts amazing products on the first day. Pays for your clothes. Invades your thoughts.
Thank god I didn’t write anything in there, even as a joke.
“Yeah,” he says, pushing the binder back toward me. “Most of that stuff is pulled from the internet, which is usually wrong.”
“Really?” I can’t keep the genuine curiosity from my voice, considering the fact that the internet has been my primary source of information, too. “Like… what?”
Dane gives me a careful look, then clears his throat, laces his fingers together, and says, “Well, based on what we do for the company, Nico and I should really have swapped roles. I handle all the day-to-day logistics and ensure things run smoothly. I look for the bottlenecks in our processes and remove them, manage hiring practices—anything that’s the meat of the company, that’s me. ”
“And Nico does…?” I ask, knowing that his role is technically COO, but not really understanding what that means.
“Nico does the dreaming, the big thinking. I mean—Cole is the one who figures out how to solve the problems, but Nico is usually the one finding the problem in the first place. He sends Cole in the right direction and gets him going, and once we have an idea, I get to work on my part.”
“So, really, Nico should be the CEO?” I ask, then immediately wish I hadn’t, since that seems like an uncouth question.
But Dane just nods, “Right… something like that. But being CEO is about more than just vision and decision-making. It’s also about being the face of a company and taking on the responsibility of your choices. Nico has never really liked responsibility all that much.”
I nod. As far as I know, Cole has been off sourcing materials for the new product line, but it was never made clear what Nico was doing on his trip. Maybe that means he was just… vacationing?
“And the three of you are friends,” I say, not wanting the conversation to die. Without my realizing it, we’ve already taxied to the runway, gone through the scary part of take-off, and are now aloft in the sky.
Dane’s face pinches slightly. “Something like that.”
I shouldn’t ask, but I’m curious and can’t stop myself. “What do you mean?”
He gives me another careful look, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m really asking, and whether or not he should answer. Then, he seems to decide on something and says, “We are more than friends.”
I jerk my head back without meaning to, bringing my hand to my mouth with a gasp. What Julian wouldn’t give to be here for this conversation. “You’re—?”
But Dane is already waving his hand, the first sight of something like a blush appearing on his face since I met him. It makes the air between us warm, instantly.
“No.” It’s a hard line, a clear indication not to go down that path. “What I mean is that the three of us are more like… brothers. But more than that. Soulmates on a platonic level. Meant to be together in a way that goes far beyond friendship or family.”
My heart is pumped with helium, and I swallow through the weird bubble it makes in my throat. What would it be like to have something like that? A group that you belonged to like that.
Of course, I have my family, but that’s never felt cosmic, like what Dane is describing.
And he does it so matter-of-factly, like this is a diagnosis the three of them received, rather than a label he’s applied himself. Coming from his mouth, it loses all romantic sentiment and seems instead like a simple fact of the universe.
“That sounds nice,” I say, quietly, into the charged air between us. It’s not really an intimate conversation, but now it feels that way.
“So, why did you apply for this position?” Dane asks abruptly, clearly ready to change the topic.
“I mean, how will it help with your career? I imagine you don’t intend to be an EA forever, and while this is about you making our lives easier, we want to make sure you leave us with better prospects than when you arrived at Ember. ”
I just blink at him for a moment. None of my other bosses have ever pretended to be something more than a paycheck. It occurs to me, in a moment of startling, brilliant clarity, that I am sitting across from a billionaire right now, and that he could surely help me get anything I want.
And my first thought, after that, is of the canvases taking over my bedroom, the art I left behind at home, the paint I meticulously picked out from under my fingernails in the Uber on the way over here.
Then, instead of mentioning any of that, I say, “Well, it’s nice working with you all because I’d like to start a business back home, when I go back to Missouri.”
His eyebrows raise, “You’re planning to go back? Soon?”
I shrug, picking at the non-existent lint on my skirt. “Yeah. Coming to New York was always a temporary thing. My family and I are pretty close.” I let out a quick laugh because it sounds like a lie even to my own ears. “They would be devastated if I didn’t come home.”
That, at least, is the truth.
“Hmm,” Dane says, a deep sound that has me looking up at him again.
He’s staring directly at me, unabashed, and I know he’s seen right through the lie.
Heat climbs up my cheeks, spreads down over my collarbone, and I’m hyper-aware of the fact that he and I are alone together, thousands of miles above the ground.
The moment stretches out, with the two of us just staring at one another, and it leaves me breathless. It has to be leading to something, this eye contact—it’s gone on for long enough that I’ve pressed my thighs together, a growing ache happening that I don’t want to think about.
I start to wonder what’s going to break the moment—who will break the moment. If Dane might tell me to come to him, or stand and come to me, or if he’ll just go back to work like nothing has happened at all.
But it turns out neither of us break the moment.
Instead, the plane pitches, rocks, and starts to drop right out of the sky.