CHAPTER FIVE
(Matthew)
It was Take Charlotte To Work Day.
She’d been psyched after her lunch last week, and ready to fully commit to creating a New York Ascend property. She’d even bagged an investor.
Which, of course, I’d had to put the brakes on, since there was nothing to invest in yet. But I appreciated the enthusiasm.
“I still don’t see how this isn’t nepotism,” Charlotte called from her dressing room, where she was trying on her fourth outfit of the morning.
“Oh, it’s nepotism.” I stepped across the hall from my own dressing room, fastening the platinum bars of my cufflinks.
“But not the kind that’s hurting anyone.
It’s not like I’m giving you this position over a more qualified candidate, just because you’re my girlfriend.
You came up with the idea for the property, and I chose you to lead the project, under my mentorship.
Now hurry up. You’re going to be late for your first day.
” I clucked my tongue. “Whatever will your boss think?”
“That his girlfriend looks like an ostrich?” She trudged out from behind the tri-fold mirror and scowled, fluffing what looked like marabou sticking out of one lapel of her salmon-colored jacket.
“Is that… feathers?”
“It’s Valentino. Sophie recommended it.” Charlotte bit her bottom lip. “She used to work for a fashion magazine.”
“I think that’s part of the problem.” When she didn’t laugh, I changed tactics. “You’re overthinking this. Don’t worry about trying to look rich. That’s how you fit in. By not trying to fit in.”
“You’re going to have to excuse me, but I defer to Sophie on this one, because she’s had to try to fit into your world.” Still, she shrugged off the jacket. Underneath, she wore a pair of sleek black trousers and a faded graphic t-shirt with a wide neck.
“That looks really cool.” I’d seen Charlotte look a lot of ways before. WASPy for my mom’s birthday weekend, casual for the resort at Hilton Head, sexy in practically nothing for me. But I’d never seen her look so intimidatingly chic before.
“The jacket was a miss,” she said ruefully, and picked up a slim-cut black silk one. “This is okay, though? Sophie said the way the dress code was worded—”
“Better than okay.” If we weren’t running slightly late, I would have shown her exactly how okay.
“I’m nervous. I’m walking into this having to prove myself right off the bat.” She shivered. “It’s cutthroat in this city. I’ve seen all the movies about it.”
“First of all, let’s curb the dramatic dialogue about the grittiness of New York. It takes two elevators to get to our apartment.” I couldn’t believe it was me reminding her of our luxurious lifestyle.
“Okay, that’s fair.” She looked even more deflated.
“You’re going to do great at this,” I reassured her. “And the chances of you getting fired are phenomenally low.”
“Yeah?” She glanced down at herself. “Okay. I do look pretty hot. Even if it’s in a very, very East Coast way.”
“That’s the spirit. I think.” I fastened the two buttons of my jacket and snuck a look at myself in one of the mirrors on the way out. “What about me? Aren’t you going to tell me how fabulously handsome I look?”
“You look fabulously handsome,” she said robotically, then snorted a laugh. “No, seriously, you look good. But why do you have to put on a suit to go to work? I’m not complaining, I like the view. I think that if I owned a company, I would dress however I wanted to.”
“If I went to work in jeans and a t-shirt, I would feel naked.” In fact, it had never occurred to me to ever show up in casual mode. “And it’s a power and respect thing.”
“Right.” She tilted her head. “You’re a fascinating guy.”
We headed to the elevator. “How so?”
“When I met you, you looked like a drunk-ass frat boy,” she said, stepping in beside me. “Then, you were doing this weird Howard Hughes thing when you were always in a bathrobe—”
“I was recovering from a bear attack,” I reminded her. “But nice old Hollywood reference.”
“Thanks. I know. That movie came out when I was like, in kindergarten or something,” she said with a snort of laughter.
I swear, I felt my bones turn to dust and shatter from old age.
“Anyway, then we go to your naked-all-the-time sex island, come back here and bam! You’re a mogul.” She sighed, looking me up and down. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re sexy in a suit. It’s weird how many different people you pack in there.”
“Mogul.” I shuddered. “I hate that word. It sounds like it’s describing something gross. Like a barnacle. Or a parasite.”
“Well…” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t finish her sentence.
I refrained from pointing out that as long as we were together, she was kind of riding that sweet, sweet capitalism train, herself, but I went easy on her. It was her first day going to work at what I suspected might be her first grown-up job. There was no point in shaking her.
We headed down to the garage and I took my keys out of my pocket.
“Wait, you drive yourself?” She looked impressed.
“You thought I would have a chauffeur?”
“Obviously. I mean… mogul.” She widened her eyes and tilted her forehead down to drive the point home.
“I do have a chauffeur. Remember, when we got hot dogs?” I could still feel the texture of them like a film on my teeth. Revolting. “But I wanted to drive today. I wanted some quality alone time. Couple time.”
“Couple time,” she repeated incredulously as I opened her car door for her.
I waited until I got into the driver’s seat to answer her. “Yeah. Couple time. Normal, couple activities. Like making dinner one night a week?”
She made an interested noise of understanding.
“I listen to you,” I went on. “You want something normal. Apparently, I don’t know what that is. But I will take my cues from TV and movies, and I see couples drive to work together all the time.”
“That’s true. They also fight about music.” She pulled out her phone and pointed to the stereo. “Damn it. It won’t pair while you’re driving.”
“Then I’ll have to win the fight today,” I said, a little smugly, as Ed Sheeran played.
She laughed at the name and song title displayed on the dashboard console.
“What’s wrong with Ed?” I demanded playfully.
“Nothing. Nothing.” She shook her head, smiling. “It’s very adult contemporary of you.”
“Pfff.” I pulled us onto the street and into Manhattan traffic, leaning on the horn to warn a delivery truck that looked intent on parallel parking directly in my path. “You just don’t like him because it’s cool to not like him. What’s cool is not caring what people think of you.”
“Which explains the suit?” she asked, arching a brow.
She was so beautiful. Even when she was being bratty. I had a witty comeback, but she shouted, “Look out!” in time for me to avoid ramming into the car in front of us.
Maybe for the foreseeable future, we would have my driver handle the commute.
* * * *
Charlotte breezed through the first part of the day like a champ.
After I showed her where her office was located—respectably far from mine, so as not to give anyone ideas, and so as not to let me act on my ideas—I sent her off with an HR manager to fill out paperwork and learn all the boring employee policies. Then, I got started on my work.
“Glad to see you join us today,” my assistant, Bethany, quipped as she dropped my tablet on my desk. “I thought you got mauled by another bear.”
“No, I had a new employee to show around.” I ignored the pointed look she gave me. Bethany was a great assistant, super organized, and she’d handled my absence in stride. But she came with an attitude that matched her severe schoolmarm hairdo.
“I scheduled your requested brainstorming session for three. Which gives you…” She checked her smart watch. “…four hours to read through and sign all of these financials.”
I grimaced and scrolled down the screen. “How good are you at forging my signature?”
“It’s better for me if you don’t know that.” She gestured her creepy long fingers at the tablet; Bethany looked like what you’d get if the ghost of a Victorian governess graduated from Brown. “Read.”
“What about lunch?” I called plaintively after her.
She didn’t stop her march toward my door. “I can order something in.”
“Never mind. I’ll order it in,” I called after her reed-thin form as she disappeared through the door.
Or possibly disappeared, full stop; I wasn’t sure Bethany was entirely corporeal.
It was difficult to concentrate. One, I’d only just returned to the office, and I still wasn’t in the right headspace for endless concentration.
Two, I kept wondering about Charlotte and if she was doing all right.
I would get through a few pages of mind-numbing reports before my thoughts would wander to what she might be doing, if she was getting along okay.
You’ll see her at three. You’ll see her at three. It became my sole focus and the only thing pushing me through the day.
At around two-fifty, I asked Bethany, “Do you think I should show her where the conference room is?”
She gave it a moment of thought. A very pointed moment of thought. “Did you hire someone to consult for this company despite thinking this individual was incapable of asking someone where the conference room is?”
“No, but—” There was no “but.” Bethany was blunt, but right. I sighed helplessly. “She’s from California.”
“They have conference rooms in California,” Bethany said dryly.
“My advice—which you didn’t ask for—is to stay as hands-off as possible with regards to your new hire.
Let her figure things out. It’ll be easier for her, in the long run, if the entire office doesn’t see the boss constantly holding her hand. ”
“Hands off, no handholding,” I repeated.
“Like the sexual harassment section of the employee handbook says.” Bethany indicated a short stack of papers on my desk. “Are these ready to go?”
“Yeah. Scan them and send them to—”
“Dan Reynolds in Chicago. I know.” She took them and left, and I paced for a few minutes before heading over to the conference room.