Anything To Be With You

1. I Can Do This

I Can Do This

Dani

I hate job hunting. Next to folding laundry and washing dishes, looking for work is something I loathe. However, my temp job finished over a month ago, and funds are stretched so tight; you could floss your teeth with them. And if my son would stop eating everything in sight, I wouldn’t have to go grocery shopping twice a week either.

I’m sitting in front of my laptop, scrolling through page after page of job listings and going crossed eyed from it that the ringing of my cell causes me to jump. I reach around the laptop and grab it.

"Hey Erin."

"Hey girl," my best friend sings. “What are you doing right now?”

Why the fuck is she so cheerful at—I look at the clock—one in the afternoon. I’ve been up since ten and I’m not cheerful at all.

"Job hunting. Why? Do you need an alibi?" I ask jokingly.

Erin laughs. "Not at the moment, but you’ll be the first I call when I do."

"Over Jakey? I’m flattered. So, what’s up?" I ask.

"I have a job for you." Erin states.

I look at my phone and put it back up to my ear. "I’m sorry, did you just say you have a job for me?" I ask her.

She laughs again. "Sure did. I just got a call from a woman named Carrie; she is the receptionist for Luke Archer."

The name seems so familiar. Did I date him in high school? I’m pretty sure I dated someone with an L name. Although, that was almost twenty years ago, and my memory hasn’t been the same since I had Mason.

"Um, okay. Do I know him?" I ask cautiously.

Erin sighs. "Seriously?"

You would think after being best friends for twenty-eight years, she would know that I never fully pay attention.

"Luke Archer. The owner of Archer law firm," she says.

It clicks then; he’s always in the papers for the number of personal assistants he goes through in a month. I think his record is eight.

"Oh. Yeah, I know who he is. What about him?" I question as I keep scrolling through the online job postings, not seeing any that snag my attention and the ones that do, are not paying what they should for the position.

"Carrie is desperate and heard that I have the toughest personal assistants around. Unfortunately, none of my staff want the job." Erin grumbles. " Apparently , he’s a hard ass, likes things done his way and anyone who’s fired by him can never find another job."

I roll my eyes at that last comment.

That’s not possible.

Right?

"And you thought of me." I remark, rubbing my forehead.

I do need a job, but working for a law firm, I don’t know. I know nothing about being a personal assistant.

"Yep, sure did. I don’t know anyone stronger than you. You raised Mason by yourself, worked two jobs and finished high school. Plus, he pays thirty an hour." Erin sings.

I drop the phone, wiggling a finger in my ear. Now I know I did not hear that right. "I think we have a bad connection. What did you say?"

Erin giggles. "Thirty an hour, full benefits after three months, life insurance policy and a college fund for up to three children."

I whistle. "Damn."

"Come on, Dani, it’s good pay, amazing benefits and he’s not bad to look at either," Erin replies and makes a clicking noise.

I shake my head, smiling.

Erin has been happily married to Jake for almost seven years, but she likes to live vicariously through me and my single ass. Which has been going on…six years now.

I run a hand down my face. "Oh, all right. Send them my resume." I sigh.

She screams into the phone. "Oh, I knew you would agree! I’ll text you with the time and date once I have it, talk soon, love you." She makes kissing noises into the phone and hangs up.

I close my laptop and drag my ass upstairs to go through my closet to see if I have any half decent, office appropriate, clothes. I might have to go shopping; I can hear my credit card crying already. Digging through the closet, I find five pairs of slacks, a dress, and three skirts. I only own one pair of heels and a pair of flats. I need dress shirts and shoes.

I change out of my pajamas, and into a pair of leggings and an old plaid shirt of Mason’s, putting my honey blonde hair in a ponytail. I hate trying on clothes, but with my breast and hip size, I need to. Shirts don’t sit right when you’re top heavy, and pants, if they fit my waist, they’re too big on the legs and vice versa.

I head down the stairs, swiping my purse off the end of the banister and walk out the door. I get into my incredibly old, held-together-with-duct-tape Honda Accord and say a little prayer. If I get this job, my first cheque is going towards a new-to-me car. I turn the key and after a few choice curses and a punch on the dashboard, it sputters to life.

My phone buzzes on the passenger seat.

Erin: Tomorrow at nine am.

The address comes next.

I let out a breath.

I can do this; I can do this.

I head over to the Eaton Centre, the biggest mall in Toronto, much to the displeasure of my credit card.

Two hours and seven hundred dollars later, I have enough shirts, three more pairs of shoes, and another two dresses to keep me clothed for a month. I toss the bags from Kate Spade New York and Nordstrom’s on my bed and flop down face first, groaning.

Shopping zaps all my energy.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I open my phone and Google Luke Archer. I should learn a few things about the man that could very well be my boss as of tomorrow. My eyes nearly pop out of my head when his picture comes on the screen. This man is breathtakingly beautiful.

Not a word used to describe men much, but hot diggity damn. Tall, muscular, dirty blond hair. Eye’s the colour of a glacier and just as cold. I feel anxious just looking at his picture.

I scan the articles about him. He’s an asshole when it comes to dealing with his cases and apparently his staff. He only has one original staff member and that’s his receptionist.

In every picture I’ve seen, he has not smiled once. I guess after years of dealing with bitter divorces, you lose your reason to smile. I keep reading about him, looking at pictures of him and his woman, Sarah Hart. The last picture was from four years ago at a banquet. She is tall and slender, with jet black hair cut into a straight blunt bob that ends at her chin and has a look about her that screams entitled bitch.

I keep scrolling and the more I read, the more I realize that he’s a complete dick. The way he acts towards other people, the way he carries himself and the high opinion he has of himself. He comes from an extensive line of lawyers, his father, grandfather, great-grandfather, etcetera.

He has a younger brother, Gabriel, who is in the hospitality and tourism business, working for a few hotels in the city and managing another on Front Street. He is the complete opposite of his older brother. His hair is longer, more golden than dirty blond, his smile is charming, and he has one dimple in his left cheek. Makes me wonder if Luke has dimples too. I will say this, they both fill out a suit very nicely.

I find story after story about Luke Archer, and I come across a message board about working for Archer law firm. I open it and gasp. Over fifty pages of people complaining about Luke. I can’t see him being that bad. I scan through the posts when one catches my attention.

"Archer law firm is the absolute worst place to work. Luke is like an attack dog; you make one mistake and he’s on you like flies on shit. I was there for two hours and had my ass chewed out for an hour and a half all because I didn’t know how he took his coffee. How was I supposed to know he took it black with one sugar? No one fucking told me. There are only two good things about the company, the pay, and his receptionist Carrie."

I read the rest of the comments, trying to learn as much about him as I can. The more I read, the more I’m starting to debate whether I truly want this job. I haven’t read one nice thing about Luke. I’m starting to second guess going to this interview.

I call Erin. If anyone can talk me into doing this, it’s her.

"Heeeelllllooooo." She sings.

"I’m getting cold feet."

Erin sighs loudly into the phone. "You’ll be fine, Dani. This isn’t your first rodeo."

"I know that but read up on him. He’s a huge asshole with an attitude." I state.

"Point?"

"I’m tired of dealing with assholes." I mutter. After years of working with the public, I’m sick of dealing with people. Especially the ones who act like dicks.

"Help me. Talk me into going." I pled.

"Alrighty," Erin chirps, "here’s my sage advice. If he gives you attitude, you give it right back."

I roll onto my back. "That’s not advice."

"Shush and let me finish." Erin scolds.

I mock her under my breath.

"I heard that. Anyways, attitude, give it right back, that’s what men like him need." Erin says.

"Men like him?" I question.

"Yes. Stunningly handsome with a ‘ my shit don’t stink ’ ego. He needs a personal assistant, not a ‘ yes man .’ Treat him like you treat Mason," she states simply.

"I can’t ground the guy, Erin. He’s a grown man."

Erin snorts. "So not exactly like how you would treat Mason."

"Then how should I treat him?" I inquire, genuinely curious. I’ll take any advice I can get right now.

"Luke needs someone to put him in his place. You are that person. According to Carrie, none of his past personal assistants would, they were all too scared to."

I huff. "I doubt that."

Erin tsks. "Trust me, I spoke with Carrie this afternoon. She wants someone who can put up with his attitude and knock him down a peg."

I’ve been raising a teenager for the past five years; I’m confident I can handle attitude. However, teenage attitude and grown man attitude are two hugely different things. One is scary and the other is annoying. Guess which one is scary. It’s not the one you think.

"So, I just have to be myself," I say sarcastically.

"Yep, and he’ll be putty in your hands."