Eight
Dane had invited me to lunch, and after my two-hundred-dollar cab ride the night before, I needed to eat for free a little.
Plus, being in his office and not working there was fun.
They had taken over two more floors in the building they were in, so now floors fifty-seven through sixty were all Harcourt, Brown, and Cogan.
I had worked for Dane for five years in the office he shared with Miles Brown and Sherman Cogan, and so I knew the two other assistants, Celia and Jill. My friend Piper used to be the receptionist, but she had quit when she became pregnant.
So, now there was a new receptionist at the front desk, and Dane had another new assistant—he went through them sort of fast—a secretary who maintained his correspondence, and a field liaison.
I used to be the only one he had working for him besides a typist since I could do, maybe, on a good day, thirty words a minute.
So, I came in, left my name with the receptionist as just Jory, and sat down to wait.
She had asked, “Jory what, with whom?”
But I’d said, “Just Jory,” and sat.
She did not approve of me, I could tell.
After about ten minutes, Dane’s assistant, Brooke Jessup, came out to see what I needed. She had worked for him for three months.
“Hi,” she said indulgently, forcing a smile. “May I help you?”
“Yeah, I’m here to have lunch with your boss.”
“Oh”—furrowed brows—“is he aware he’s—”
“Yeah, he knows. He called me,” I informed her.
“I see. And you are?”
“Jory,” I replied with a grin, “Harcourt.”
Her eyes got big. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. You’re his cousin?”
“Brother.” I grinned, stepping around her. “Is he in his office?”
“Yes, but he’s with Brett, his other assistant.”
Other assistant? I had no idea he had two. He’d never had two before.
“That’s okay,” I said, walking down the hall toward his door.
“I really think—”
But I stopped when I heard the yell. So did she. And it wasn’t Dane who had raised his voice. He didn’t do that. Not at work. Never at work. He was far too disciplined and professional for that. It was, I suspected, the aforementioned Brett.
“Oh God,” she groaned, “I knew he was going to overreact.”
I waited with Brooke, giving her time to figure out what she wanted to do.
From the wringing hands, lips pressed tight together, and huffs of breath, I was thinking she was at a loss.
I let it go for as long as I could, probably a good few seconds longer, but I was bored, and so I leaned in and opened the door. I breezed in and smiled.
“Brooke!” Dane said sharply. He was facing away from her and me, toward the window. “How many times have I—”
“Hey,” I greeted him.
When he turned, I saw him take a breath and noted the fall of his shoulders. He was relieved to see me—that was clear.
“Jory,” he murmured.
My eyes went to the guy I had never seen before in my life, who was, at the moment, putting things on Dane’s desk—a BlackBerry, keys, a fob, and three different credit cards. I understood at once.
“Listen,” the man began. “I’m sorry I yelled, Dane, but I—”
“Thank you, Mr. Taylor. That will be all.”
The tall, handsome man took a shuddering breath. “I just need to explain what—”
“Thank you, Mr. Taylor,” Dane repeated, his voice like an arctic blast.
He turned, looked at me for the very first time, and then walked toward Brooke.
Brett Taylor took a breath as he faced Brooke. “If you could have my things sent to—”
“He fired you?” She was aghast. “Over a dinner? He fired you for taking clients to dinner?”
“Don’t,” I cautioned her fast. Her eyes flicked to mine. “Just don’t say anything.”
“Ms. Jessup.”
I winced because she had been Brooke a moment ago, just as I was sure he had been Brett, not Mr. Taylor, yesterday. Dane always added the honorifics in front of your name when you were no longer in his employ.
“You may also see yourself out. Please leave all possessions of Harcourt, Brown, and Cogan on your desk and report, along with Mr. Taylor, to Melody Bruce’s office on LaSalle at Watts and Gardner. I’ll call ahead and make sure she sees you promptly. Mr. Taylor has the address.”
“What?”
“Thank you, Ms. Jessup.”
“Oh, no, Dane, I—”
“Thank you,” he said, using his clipped tone, which I had never been a fan of.
He turned his back on both of them; all you saw was the way the expensive wool suit looked like it had been handmade for him to cut across his broad shoulders, wide back, and narrow waist. You noticed his height, the way the jet-black hair tapered to above his collar and how glossy it was as it caught the light.
He was perfect and cold, and the waves of anger were flowing off of him.
“Come here.”
She began to move, but I stopped her, crossing the room fast.
“He means me.”
As soon as I reached his side, I heard him breathe. The phone on his desk rang, and I answered it.
“Dane Harcourt’s office.”
I looked at Brooke as I responded to the questions about a vendor that I knew all about because I had given out the same information a million times, thanked the person on the other end, and hung up. I then took a seat at Dane’s desk, pulled up his schedule on his computer, and picked up the phone.
“You’re his brother who used to be his assistant,” Brooke muttered.
“I only have one brother,” Dane stated from behind me.
But he didn’t, not really. The man had two biological brothers as well as a sister, and I was the one who wasn’t really related to him, but to Dane, I was his one and only. He had picked me; the others had been thrust on him.
“I was his assistant, yes,” I replied. “Please leave everything on your desk, Brooke. Don’t lock your files. And is your laptop here at the office?”
“Yes, it’s—”
“I need it now, please.”
“But I have some personal—”
“There should be no personal files on the company laptop. That’s why you were given the portable hard drive when you started.
But along with your check tomorrow, you will receive, on a CD, any personal files that are currently there.
” I had given the spiel many times over the years and still had it mostly committed to memory.
“All passwords and locks are changed the minute someone leaves, so please do not return in hopes of gaining access to the building. You will be placed on restricted status from this site for a period of two months, and if you have other business in this building, you will need to provide the security guards downstairs with a written document to be allowed entry.”
“I—”
“What were you asked when you started here, Brooke?”
“I’m sorry?”
She was stunned, and I just needed to help her understand what was happening so she could wrap her brain around things.
“You were asked the same question I was back in the day, which was, Would your loyalty be to the man or the firm? What was your answer?”
“The man.”
“Just like mine.” I smiled. “But what did you do today?”
“I don’t—”
“You put Brett’s needs before Dane’s. Good day, Ms. Jessup.”
She stared at Dane’s back. He was a one-shot guy, and it was all or nothing; he was ridiculously rigid, but he had to really count on you and really believe there was no way you would ever let him down.
Dane led with his heart, and when that faith was tested and failed, he always backed off to Bermuda.
He pulled away so fast that it gave one whiplash.
How could he be there, be a rock in your life, this unmovable force, and then just be gone?
But what she didn’t know was that there had been other chances for her not to fail him.
And three months seemed tiny—was tiny—but to Dane …
it meant everything. He was like that with everything, love or hate, black or white; there was no gray in the man, except his eyes.
She left quickly, following after Brett Taylor.
I took a breath. “I’m off for a month—well, three weeks now—but I’ll take care of you for that time. I’ll be here tomorrow, and you should let me hire the next two people.”
“I didn’t need more than you and a typist when you were here,” he grumbled from behind me.
“Your client list was smaller.”
“Doubtful.”
“You weren’t married then and planning to be a father. Your private life is more precious now, and so your scheduling is tighter to make sure you’re home to see your wife and eventually you’ll need to get to Lamaze class.”
He grunted.
“Did Mr. Taylor take clients out on the company card?”
“Potential clients.”
“Translated: people he wanted to impress or fuck.”
“Tactlessly put, but yes.”
I turned in his chair. “Let’s go eat. Your blood sugar is dipping, and you’re being an ass.”
“Me? Did you hear her?”
“Yes, I heard,” I affirmed with a chuckle. “She has no idea that there’s cash and prizes for the assistant who can put up with your crap.”
“You’re the only one who’s ever been able to be the assistant I needed.”
“Yeah, well, it’s because you’re annoying, but I sort of like you.”
He mumbled something under his breath.
“How ’bout Japanese? You can take me for sushi and miso soup.”
“All right, let me get my coat,” he agreed, but stopped and turned to squint at me. “Why am I treating?”
“Because I’m poor,” I said with a yawn, emailing his schedule to my phone. “What the hell?” I said to myself. “Why do you have a three thirty and a four?”
“What?” he grumbled.
“Never mind. I’ll fix it,” I told him. “Where is the office BlackBerry?”
“Bottom drawer on the left.”
After I retrieved it, I plugged it into the computer and set it up to update all the contact numbers and his schedule. “This will all be done by the time we get back.”
“And you’ll wipe their phones when we––”
“I’ll take care of everything.”
“Good,” he muttered, and then said, “Why are you poor?” He was putting on his wool-and-cashmere topcoat, adjusting the sleeves. “You were solvent the last time I saw you.”
“Not after the cab ride from Lake Forest back to the city.”
“I’m sorry?”
I looked at his schedule. “Okay, so long lunch, and I have a ton of things to tell you.”
“Good,” he breathed out. “I want to hear.”