21. Samantha
Chapter twenty-one
Samantha
It’s Monday, and now there is no one to use as a buffer between Stan and me.
George has returned to Chicago. Grace has returned home as well. And here I am today, struggling with period cramps, an odd craving for fish, and an unexplainable obsession with Stan.
He was acting all high and mighty, talking about how he wanted to kiss me again. And using my cousin/brother as an excuse for why he couldn’t.
“Stupid boss didn’t even think about Lucas for a moment when he kissed me before,” I mutter to myself.
So, what do I do about it?
Since he wants to create a safe environment for both of us so badly, I’m doing what any mature young professional would do: I resort to taking my frustration out on my boss and harassing him via email. I tell myself it’s allowed. After all, Stan forced my hand by refusing to make eye contact with me from across the room .
Good morning, Mr. Holt,
Lesley and his team are almost done with the place. But I’ve spoken with the experts who can turn the extra space into a small studio for photography. I still don’t know why you need that. But the prices and timelines are broken down in the attached spreadsheet with my completely unprofessional opinions noted in the margins.
I’m making eye contact with you from across the room, by the way.
Samantha Knight,
Personal Assistant, Sam Holt Productions.
The email notification from across the office makes my ears perk up, and I try not to grin. So I pick up my agenda and scribble the words, “Stan Holt is a jackass.”
I need to keep up the illusion that I’m actually working on something.
The sound of his fingers on the keyboard filters back to me, and when I glance up, his eyes are focused on his screen. I push the dick out of my head and decide to work on responding to the info email account for Stan Holt Productions, most of which is barf-worthy fan mail for the country’s most eligible bachelor.
My computer pings, and I see the email notification from Stan. I lift my gaze to see he isn’t looking my way. It’s annoying.
Good morning, Samantha
I appreciate your feedback. I took a moment to scan the attached sheet. As my personal assistant, you are more than capable of supervising this job. I need the photo studio because I’ve been thinking of building a mini greenroom. Plus, my daughter seems to be indicating an interest in photography.
Have a happy day !
Stan Holt, CEO and Founder at Stan Holt Productions
P.S. I know you called me a jerk on your planner.
My eyes flit to where the planner has moved up toward the corner of my desk. Deciding to humor me, Stan is watching me openly now.
I don’t know how he was able to see my desk, considering the distance. Maybe he can see it with his height advantage. Or possibly because I’ve made it a habit to call him a jerk at every opportunity I get.
Such is the way of passive-aggressive emails.
We fall back into tapping our keyboards, and I don’t seem to have cramps anymore. Fuck Stan for being a cure.
I look at him one last time, and I see that boy from fifteen years ago. The boy who would use humor and smarts to stay in control of every situation.
Neither he nor Lucas matured as quickly as I did. Lucas thought with his fists, causing problems for his parents and sometimes mine. Stan bore the weight of his father’s legacy. As we grew up, I heard about his many failures trying to follow his dad’s footsteps. The critics mocked him severely, with some saying that Benjamin Holt couldn’t be his biological father due to the stark difference in their talent and success.
Stan never showed his pain, and even seemed to invite it at times. Whenever Lucas and I got into trouble, Stan would always stand in front of us, bowing his head to the adults, even when he wasn’t at fault.
It was easy to see that he saw himself as someone used to being a disappointment. He protected himself, his cutting words and smug facial expressions as armor. It made him come off as cool, maybe even superior, but I know now it was only a mask for his insecurities .
If he was an actor, he’d surpass even the likes of Selena Bishop.
I push the thoughts away and go back to sorting mail. One letter is a request for his presence at a fundraiser and silent auction for a devastating wildfire in Greenwood Lake.
Mr. Stan Holt,
Would you like to attend this event in Emerald Lake in just under two weeks’ time? I believe being able to use your name for marketing purposes would be very charitable indeed. Who doesn’t want to attend a stuffy event with the world’s most eligible bachelor?
Respectfully,
Samantha Knight
Jerkface Manager
I consider changing my job title again, but “Jerkface Manager” has such a wonderful ring to it that I leave it be.
Dear Jerkface Manager,
Thank you for passing this along.
You can RSVP for me and a plus one.
Have a happy day!
Stan Holt,
CEO and Lord Jerkface at Stan Holt Productions
Wait… a plus one?
Who the hell is he taking with him?
He can’t go with his sister. I highly doubt he’d go with Lucas. I know they both go out together sometimes, but that was before Lucas settled down and got married .
Selena Bishop? Maybe. That makes a little sense as they’re both rising stars. But I can’t imagine he’d want to show up at a stuffy event like this with his best friend’s wife.
Ruth? That actually seems plausible and quite adorable. But Stan’s a private person. Even if he wanted to announce his daughter’s existence, he wouldn’t do it at such a public event like this.
At least not until his parents meet Ruth.
Then who could it possibly be?
I know I shouldn’t care, but I start to thoroughly mull over the question. I have no right to care. Even so, he kissed me. And now he’s ignoring me like nothing happened because he feels guilty. I also realize he hasn’t once answered my question about him being single. It never bugged me before, but now it does.
I’ve never heard a rumor of him dating anyone. Then again, this is Stan Holt, master of stealth and privacy. He could be dating someone and hiding it masterfully.
She’s probably a hard-working brunette with green eyes. A Nobel prize winner, amongst other honors. And hotter than the surface of the sun.
Great. Now I’m furious at an imaginary girlfriend who could quite possibly be real.
“Who is your plus one?” I dare to ask. I mean to sound dignified, but it comes out as petty and accusatory.
He looks up at me with a curious look on his face. “What?”
“To the Greenwood Lake event. Who are you taking?” I sound like a wife who’s accusing her husband of cheating .
He laughs. It’s hearty laughter, and it annoys me even further. Because it makes him look mature and me childish.
“Why do you want to know?” he asks.
“Because, as your personal assistant, I need to be kept abreast of what your plus one would need to accompany you,” I answer.
“Oh, that’s right. She would need that.” He nods in agreement.
She?
So there is someone…
I grit my teeth and focus on my laptop. This mystery girl can do whatever she wants with him. I can’t wait for her to find out that he’s a terrible kisser. He’ll kiss her and then ask for space, or a safe environment, or whatever.
Then he stands without a word and rounds his desk, all swagger as he approaches me. He has an obnoxiously smug expression on his face as he props his hip against my desk.
“You,” he says.
My foot stops bobbing. He says the word so plainly that it almost doesn’t make sense to me. Doesn’t quite register.
His brow furrows, and his eyes drop to my lips. It fucking kills me when he looks at my lips now because I know what he can do to them. To me.
“Me?” I finally ask.
His head tilts, and his gaze moves over my entire body. Like he’s putting the puzzle together, reading my body language. Picking up every little clue.
When he speaks again, his voice is earnest, not biting. “Yeah, Sam. For events like this, if I have no one to go with, I have to go with my personal assistant. It says so in your contract, after all.”
I furrow my brows and bring up the agreement. And right there, in all caps:
SAMANTHA KNIGHT WILL ATTEND ALL SOCIAL EVENTS WITH STAN HOLT AS A PLUS ONE.
“I’m quite disappointed,” he mocks. “I had assumed you read everything. That’s quite sloppy of you, personal assistant. And here I thought you had an MBA?”
I bite at my bottom lip. My eyes sting a little, and I know it’s not because of him or his words. I know my emotions are running amok because I’m one day away from my period starting, according to my tracker. I also know he said nothing particularly sweet, but the relief is strong enough that I need space.
“Alright.” I nod and get to my feet. “I forgot something in the guesthouse.”
He licks his lips. “I’ll have lunch ready for you when you get back.”
“Sure, thank you,” I call back, hustling away from the front deck. I take my time walking back to my place. I even sit at the end of the dock for a while, just simmering in all my feelings.
Then I take a Midol, grab a completely unnecessary water bottle (there’s a water cooler with cups at the office), and head back to my desk. Primed and ready for a fight.
But when I get back, there’s no Stan to be seen.
However, there is a tin takeout container of perfectly grilled fish and chips.