Chapter 9
9
KYLIE
I type away on my laptop, even as I sit in the waiting room of Benny’s speech therapist’s office. His first four appointments, which are weekly, I’ve been able to get out of work. I know the time is coming where I’ll have to have a talk with Mr. Monroe about my need to leave work before the end of the day.
God knows how that conversation will go. The man has a serious work addiction. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went home at night and continued to work. I don’t think he knows how to have fun.
The irony that I’m currently working while in the waiting room isn’t lost on me. I guess if you’re a workaholic’s assistant, you become a workaholic yourself.
“Okay.” Gretchen, Benny’s therapist, comes waddling out.
I look at her belly, which seems to have doubled in size since last week.
“Wow. It looks like that baby must be ready to come any day now,” I say as I stand and smile at her.
She rubs her belly unconsciously, like most pregnant women seem to do. I find it sweet and endearing.
“Yes, I think he’s ready to come out. I’m certainly ready for him to get here.” She smiles. “That’s actually why I walked out here. I wanted to tell you that I’m starting my maternity leave next week. Today will be my last session with Ben for twelve weeks.”
The thought of not having her for so long makes my entire body deflate. I know Ben loves working with her, and he just started his therapy.
“Aww, don’t worry. We have a volunteer who is going to step in and work with him. He’s going to be in great hands.” She looks over at Benny. “And, you, I know you’re going to continue to do amazing. I expect to see some amazing results when I’m back.”
He smiles at her and nods his head. “I-I-I …” He starts to get stuck on his words, but before I can step in to say anything, Gretchen nods at him like she’s telling him to do something. He takes a deep breath and tries again. Going slower this time, pausing between each word. “I. Will. Be. A. Master. By. The. Time …” He breathes again. “You. Are. Back.”
I’m shocked. It might have taken a while for him to get his words out, but he did it without a stutter. My eyes become damp with emotion.
“There you go.” Gretchen smiles. “Keep at it, and you’ll be speeding it up in no time.”
As we walk back to our apartment, I think about how I should’ve pushed to find a job with insurance sooner. I feel like I’ve failed him in so many ways. Maybe I should have found a way to afford community college while working. That could’ve given me a leg up somehow.
It’s obvious all he needed was a professional to help him. It was my responsibility to give him that, and I couldn’t. If only that damn life insurance money had made its way into my hands. It’s still out there, sitting in a bank somewhere, collecting dust, while I struggle to make ends meet.
The court says since my parents’ bodies haven’t been found, they’re still ruled missing and not dead. Therefore, the insurance company refuses to give me a penny until the seven-year waiting period is up. The state of New York has a law that requires you to wait seven years from the day the person went missing to collect any life insurance.
That means I still have two more years before I get that money. I can’t afford a lawyer to help me, so all I can do is wait it out. By then, Benny will be in high school. I’m going to put half of it away for him to either pay for school or maybe start a business.
My portion will be used to pay the bills, maybe put some away for retirement depending on how much I get. I would love to retire early and at least spend some of my years enjoying my life. I didn’t get to do that during my teenage years, but maybe I’ll get to enjoy some of my fifties without any worries.
The next morning at work, I stumble into the break room for coffee, where a bunch of the other assistants are sitting at a table, laughing. They obviously have entirely different bosses than I do. I can’t imagine what Mr. Monroe would say if he caught me sitting down and chatting while on the clock.
One of the assistants turns to me. She looks to be in her thirties with long red hair pulled into a sophisticated ponytail.
“Kylie, right?” she says.
I finish pouring my coffee and turn her way. “Hi.” I smile. “Yes, my name is Kylie.”
“I’m Morgan. I work for Marissa, our CIO. I’m so sorry I haven’t gotten a chance to sneak over to you and introduce myself. I feel horrible.”
Wow, a woman chief information officer. I’m impressed. It’s refreshing to hear about these titles starting to go to women these days. It’s still not an even split, but I like to see the progress.
“This is Joey.” She points to a man who I think is the assistant to our COO, Carson. “And this is Paris.” She points to a beautiful blonde opposite her. “She’s Roy’s assistant.”
“Nice to meet you.” I wave awkwardly to them.
I’ve never had time for friends. Sometimes, I feel like I’ve lost all my social skills. Unless I’m putting on an act behind the counter for a customer, I don’t know how to talk to people for fun anymore. And to think, I was judging Mr. Monroe for not being able to have fun. I’m no better.
That is probably the most depressing thought I’ve ever had. Something needs to change immediately. I can’t be as dull and boring as Mr. Monroe.
“We were just talking about going down to the café down the street for lunch today. You should join us!” Morgan offers enthusiastically.
The rejection is almost out of my mouth when I realize I just told myself I need to learn how to have some fun. That is going to start today. I’ve got Benny seeing a therapist and decent money in my bank account. It’s about time I learn how to enjoy life again.
Instead of eating a packed lunch alone at my desk, scarfing it down within minutes so I’m at Mr. Monroe’s beck and call, I stand up and grab my purse.
“I’m going to be taking my full lunch today, Mr. Monroe,” I say as I watch him from the door of his office.
He looks up at me with his piercing eyes, an unreadable expression on his face. “I see. And what am I supposed to do if I need you for something and you’re gone for an hour?”
“I don’t know. You’re the CEO of a billion-dollar company. I think you can figure it out. All of your other VPs manage without their assistants while they take proper lunches. Or should I take it up with HR that my boss won’t let me take my hour lunch break, which I’m granted by law?”
He studies me, almost as if he’s waiting for me to take it back or tell him I’m kidding.
Bad news for you: Both of us lack any sense of humor. There will be no jokes. That’s why I’m doing this.
“Fine. Enjoy your lunch. You think you can maybe bring me something to eat on your way up, or is that too much to ask these days?”
“Yes, Mr. Monroe. My taking a lunch will not impact my job. I’ve gotten you your lunch every day for the last two months. It’s not going to change now. Just text me your order. We’re going to the café just next door.”
I head for the elevators with a new sense of empowerment. This is what it looks like to take back the freedom that’s been taken away from you. I’m not going to let him intimidate me for doing something that New York state law grants me. I think I’ll even stop by The Ripped Bodice after work and treat myself to a new book.
I settle in next to Morgan at the café, across from Paris and Joey. I listen in on their conversation as we wait for our food, afraid to insert myself where I may be unwanted. Joey starts to go on about how Carson accidentally messed up the cells in a spreadsheet he’d spent days working on and he had to go in and spend another five hours fixing it.
“Honestly, what would they do without us?” Paris exhales.
I realize it might be nice to have people I can commiserate with who know what it’s like to work for managers at such a successful business.
“Mr. Monroe said to finish this spreadsheet by the end of the day a couple of weeks ago. He told me at exactly five o’clock, when he was heading out for some drinks with a brunette who looks like she doesn’t eat.”
They all roll their eyes.
“Wow. What a dick,” Joey replies. “But … a very sexy dick.”
I look between all of them as their mouths turn up wickedly.
“What?” I ask.
“Oh, come on.” Morgan laughs. “You have to know that man is, like, the most eligible bachelor in New York. Every woman who wants a husband has applied for your job in hopes of getting close to him. He may be a dick, but he is seriously sexy.”
I don’t know why that all of a sudden irks me. I know these things. It’s the reason I have the job that I do. But hearing it out of the mouths of others, knowing just how sought after the man is, kind of pisses me off. It’s probably just because I don’t want anyone gunning for my job.
“He may be the richest, handsomest man in the city, but he’s also probably the most insufferable,” I tell them. “I don’t think he has been told no once in his life.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Joey laughs. “I know he comes from money. That’s how all those men born with silver spoons in their mouths are. They haven’t been told the word no since the day they were born.”
“What is it like, working for him?” Morgan leans her chin on her palm. “Is he really as horrible as the rumors say? We generally don’t even try to get to know his assistants because they never last long. You must be doing something right.”
Once again, my first instinct is to defend him. It’s like not only do I not hate the guy, but I also like him. Which just can’t be true.
“In the beginning, it was really hard. I think he was so used to not trusting his assistants’ motives that he just projected that on me. We’ve had some misunderstandings and some curt words with each other, but it’s gotten better.”
That feels true enough without going into too much detail. Based on the way Mr. Monroe acted toward my résumé, I would feel mortified to tell them some of the reasons for our run-ins with each other. I’m guessing they all have some fancy college degrees and amazing life experiences to go with it.
My phone chimes in my pocket, and I see it’s him.
Mr. Monroe: I’ll take the chicken salad sandwich with chips and an iced tea. May I remind you that I haven’t eaten yet?
I roll my eyes. What a big baby. It’s twelve forty. Most of the time, he doesn’t eat lunch until after one.
Me: I will have your lunch to you in the next fifteen minutes. May I point out that you will be eating earlier today than most days? I think you’re just pouting because I actually took a lunch today.
“Well, I would love to stay and chat, but I need to go up to the takeout counter and get my boss his lunch before he fires me. Thanks so much for inviting me. I had a great time,” I tell them as I place enough money for my lunch and tip on the table.
Paris waves her hand in the air. “Put that cash away, girl. I already told Roy we were taking you out on the company’s dime.”
My eyes shoot open in surprise. “You can do that?”
“Of course. This was a business lunch of colleagues getting to know one another,” she says, then winks at me.
She must have a much closer relationship with Roy than I do with Mr. Monroe. Just the fact that they all seem to be on a first-name basis with their bosses annoys me.
After I use my company card for Mr. Monroe’s lunch, I place it on his desk and walk away without a word. I don’t want to hear another snooty comment about me taking a lunch. I don’t want him to ask me to work late. I just want to be left alone.
Once at my desk, I place my AirPods in my ears and get to work. I’ve come to enjoy these moments where I can block out the world, listen to music or a podcast, and focus on some work. I get to enjoy what I’m listening to while my brain has something to distract itself instead of criticizing me.
Before I realize it, it’s after five, and people are starting to shuffle by me as they head for the elevator. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be able to leave the second it hits five. What a wonderful thing to have that kind of schedule. I wonder if I get paid more than them to be so available for Mr. Monroe.
I hear a frustrated groan coming from his office before he sighs and calls my name. “Kylie!”
I push off my desk and stand up. “Yes, Mr. Monroe?”
I walk into his office and find him standing in front of the wall-length mirror, struggling with his black bow tie. He’s dressed to the nines in a black tuxedo. It dawns on me he has some charity event tonight. I sent over the information to his date.
Did I look her name up on the internet? Maybe. Is she beautiful in the most sophisticated way? Yes. Am I jealous? Absolutely not.
“I can’t tie this damn tie for some reason,” he growls into the mirror.
His beauty almost makes me lose my breath. Okay, I did just suck in, struggling to breathe. I actually lost my breath. How can someone so good-looking be so … rude?
His dark hair is styled to perfection. His hazel eyes pop out so vividly against the black and white. And his lips … oh, those lips. They are what writers describe in their books. Slightly fuller on the bottom, as though crafted for sinful whispers and stolen kisses.
“You wouldn’t happen to know how to tie a bow tie?” he asks. Before I can answer, he drops his arms in defeat. “Who am I kidding? When in your life would you have been in a situation to tie a man’s bow tie?”
My jaw hits the floor. This man is unbelievable. Does he have no sense of sensitivity? It’s like he walks around this world with no concern for how his words affect others around him. I’d rather shove it in his face that he’s wrong than turn around.
I walk over to him and grab him by the arm and force him to face me. I reach up and grab both ends of the bow tie. As I adjust the strap under his collar, my fingers graze his neck. The air in the room becomes thick. My pulse quickens as I feel the warmth of his skin against mine.
I try to focus on the process. Making sure one end is longer than the other before I loop one side over the other. I get the scent of his woodsy, clean cologne. My eyes almost roll back in my head at the effect it has on my body.
“Where did you learn to do this?” he murmurs, his deep voice low and intimate.
The way he’s looking down at me makes me feel like the entire room is electrically charged. I’m sure it’s just me. There’s no way this wealthy, powerful man could be affected by someone like me.
“I worked in the men’s occasion wear department at Saks Fifth Avenue for a year. I figured you would’ve remembered since you were so impressed with my résumé.”
He smirks at me. “I guess that work experience of yours is more valuable than I originally realized.”
“Maybe you should adjust your requirements for your assistant.”
He huffs out a laugh. It is quiet but undeniable. It rumbles from deep in his chest. My stomach does a somersault. Mr. Monroe laughing in a tuxedo should be illegal.
“Done,” I whisper, but neither of us moves.
The bow tie may be perfect, but the charged silence that hangs in the room is anything but resolved.