18. Harper
Harper
I’m in the middle of responding to emails about press inquiries and interviews with the likes of Forbes and The Washington Post when Dawson storms out of his office with his briefcase in hand.
He’s angry, and I don’t know why. We’ve only been in the office for an hour, if that.
He’s taken one phone call. Surely, it couldn’t have been bad enough to cause this reaction?
“Get your things; we’re leaving,” Dawson says as he stops by my desk and watches me as I throw the few things I have pulled out of my purse back in.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. I stop packing, and Dawson nudges my arm to get me to continue. I look away from him, feeling the heat from the anxiety rising to my cheeks. Clearly, something is not right.
“Everything’s fine. I have a last-minute business meeting in North Woods, and we have to go as soon as possible,” Dawson explains.
“North Woods? That’s pretty far away. It’s going to take us all day to drive there,” I say, just trying to make conversation to get some more information out of him about this.
“It’s a good thing we’re not driving,” Dawson says as he places his hand on my back to guide me toward the elevator when I’m all packed up.
Dawson calls the limo driver, and they pick us up out at the front of the building shortly after. The first stop we make is to the penthouse, and Dawson rushes me through packing as I grab the suitcase I came here with and throw random clothes inside.
“How long will we be gone?” I ask as Dawson watches me from the doorway. He just shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets while he waits for me to continue.
I don’t usually get to travel a lot. My mom, on the other hand, is the one who marries the rich men and goes on lavish honeymoons.
I’ve seen her pack enough to know that I should be prepared for just about anything.
So that’s what I do. I don’t know what the weather is going to be like, and I don’t have time to check, so I pack shorts and T-shirts, professional skirts and light blouses, as well as some sweaters and stockings.
I shove a few different kinds of shoes inside the suitcase, and I have to sit on it to close it by the time I’m done.
When I’m done with my own suitcase, Dawson instructs me to pack one for him as well.
While I’m doing that, he makes arrangements for travel on his phone, still watching me from the room as he sits on the edge of the bed.
He calls Maggie and tells her that we’ll be gone, and she won’t need to cook or come in for work for a few days.
That’ll give her plenty of time to spend with her grandkids, at least.
Dawson is much easier to pack for because he has less variety in his wardrobe.
He really only has long pants and long button-up shirts with suit jackets and ties.
I do my best to make sure I throw together some matching outfits with a few pairs of loafers and oxfords that pair well with the color schemes I’ve put together.
As soon as I’m done and both of us have suitcases packed in his room, he leads me out of the penthouse and back to the limo. I’m sweating by the time we get back because of how quickly he rushed me through everything. What makes it so much worse is that he’s not answering any of my questions.
You would think that, as his assistant, he should at least tell me who it is we’re going to meet in North Woods. I’m going to have to familiarize myself with whatever business dealings they’ve had just so I don’t look like a complete imbecile during this meeting.
I stare out the window while Dawson makes some last-minute arrangements beside me.
Something about his mood is sour. I’m normally not excited about going to business meetings, and we left in such a frenzy that the tension is lingering around us.
I want him to say something to cut through it; just some kind of explanation about what’s going on would do.
The limo stops at a private airport, and we get out. It’s small, and there are several private jets and planes on the tarmac, with a few employees roaming around moving luggage to and from.
“We’re flying private?” I ask as we hurry into the airport.
“It’s the only way I travel,” Dawson replies, his voice somewhat short as he presses a hand between my shoulder blades and forces me to walk ahead of him.
Everything happens quickly as we check in for the flight, and we’re promptly led to a brilliantly white jet on the tarmac. My head is spinning as we board the plane and buckle up to prepare for takeoff.
I have no idea what’s going on. Honestly, nearly every day I’m in the office, I don’t know what’s going on. But right now, I feel especially out of the loop.
By the time we’re 1200 feet in the air and cutting through the clouds, I unbuckle my seatbelt and eagerly open the flap on the window to look out.
I’ve never flown before, and looking down at the city from this high up is exhilarating.
A wide smile grows on my face as I stare down at everything below me.
Every cell in my body is tingling, and I can’t tell if it’s from excitement or absolute terror.
Dawson watches me, and I quickly try to make myself appear unfazed by all of this. Dawson flies all the time, and people in his position are used to flying private. They’re used to this luxury. I’m not. And I realize that makes me look a little foolish to him.
So, I look out at the leather seats and luxurious amenities with a level of disinterest. I try to play it off like it means nothing to me.
Dawson can clearly see I’m trying to cover up my excitement, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He just looks between me and his phone constantly.
His phone is ringing off the hook. The ringer was on at first, but after a few unanswered text messages, he turned it off. I can still hear the vibration as it rattles against his hands, though.
Time ticks by on the flight, and Dawson is very distracted by whatever is going on on his phone. I can only assume it has something to do with why we’re making such a last-minute trip.
I pull out my laptop and start doing some research on his clients to try to figure out who it is we’re going to meet. If anything, I assume that Dawson would be impressed with this level of dedication to the job. If he’s not going to tell me what we’re doing, I’m going to find out for myself.
“Oh my,” I say to myself as I open up Dawson’s work email to start my investigation.
“What is it?” Dawson asks, immediately leaning forward and looking at the screen.
His eyes narrow when he sees exactly what I’m seeing.
At least a dozen emails, all from his father that have come in within the past fifteen minutes.
While we’re looking, a new one pops up with the subject line where are you? ??
“Is that who’s been calling you?” I ask, feeling a pit growing in my stomach.
“Don’t worry about it. Just log out of the email until I tell you to log back in,” Dawson says, watching me as I drag my finger over the trackpad and log out.
When the email is logged out, he grabs my laptop from me and puts it in his briefcase, locking it away. I’m about to open my mouth to say something about it, but he tosses me a look that keeps my mouth shut. Whatever is going on, he doesn’t want me asking questions.
I lean back against the seat and try to put these pieces together.
He’s ignoring his father for some reason.
We’re making an emergency flight out of the city, and he didn’t tell anyone about it.
There’s something I have to be missing. Some kind of puzzle piece that would put all of this into perfect harmony and clue me in on whatever chaos is happening now.
Dawson is hiding something. He gave me access to every part of his life to be his assistant, and now he’s trying to take it away from me. But what could he possibly be hiding?
A man like Dawson is powerful, and he has a lot of things to protect. The idea of him hiding something from me makes my stomach twist, and I force myself to think about something else. I don’t want to know what he’s really getting himself into.
Not long after he takes my laptop, I find myself gripping the armrests for dear life as we rapidly descend. To my relief, the landing goes smooth, and I feel silly for being scared in the first place.
We’re escorted off the jet and into another limo that drives us through the gorgeous area around North Woods. I stare out the window in awe as I take in the scenery and wish I could share this with Dawson, if only he weren’t in such a bad mood.
The limo pulls up to a tall gate with two security booths and armed guards standing on either side.
Every cell in my body is immediately on high alert as I look out at the guards as they approach the limo.
Dawson rolls down his window and waves to them.
They seem to recognize him because they nod and gesture for the gate to be opened.
“Wait by the entrance, and Xander will send out a driver,” the guard says. Dawson nods in acknowledgment and opens the door to climb out, gesturing for me to follow him. He grabs both of our suitcases and waves to the limo driver to signal for him to leave as we walk through the open gate.
“What is this place?” I ask as the electric gate closes behind us, the guards still on the other side. Dawson doesn’t answer my question.
After a few minutes, a black Escalade slowly approaches, and an older gentleman gets out and grabs both of our bags.
“Mr. Price, it’s so lovely to see you again,” he says with an excited lilt in his voice. “Master Rossi has been getting everything prepared for you and your companion. They’re very eager to see you both.”
Dawson exchanges a few words with the man whose name I learned is Ian, and both of us climb into the backseat of the car. It’s pristinely cooled, and the air is lavender scented, which I imagine is to calm down the very confused guests who arrive here.