Chapter 1 #2
I initiated contact, secured the best tables at top restaurants, and sent “looking forward to seeing you” bouquets a few days in advance, followed by a box of handcrafted artisanal chocolates on the morning of the date.
By the time I was through, all Iain had to do was show up at the carefully selected restaurant I’d secured with his obnoxiously good looks and get laid in a nearby hotel afterward.
“Anything else?” he demanded.
“No, that’s all,” I answered, feeling even smaller than usual today. Just a speck in the great Iain Scotswolf’s universe.
“Alright, then leave. And tomorrow don’t be late, or I’ll have to dock your pay.”
Stability … superior benefits … ability to pay the rent and eat regular meals …
I silently listed the string of reasons why I absolutely needed to keep this job as I turned to walk out of the office.
But before I could make it to the door, the clicking of Iain’s fingers over the keys suddenly stopped, and he issued a sharp “Millicent.”
I turned back around and inwardly started. Iain had stopped typing, and his piercing gray gaze was trained on me like a laser beam.
Okay, I am not anything close to a British Vogue cover model. I wasn’t used to him looking at me in this way. Or in any way, really.
“Yes?” I asked when he didn’t immediately say anything.
“You’re not wearing the fragrance.”
Crap. Another one of his stupid “standards.”
Turns out my insensitive boss had a surprisingly sensitive nose.
So much so that something about my natural body odor disturbed him.
Before I’d left his office after our one-sided interview, he’d told me to buy an obscure German perfume called KeinWulf.
It was a brand I’d never heard of, but according to Iain, it worked to neutralize the scent of other staff members so he was confident it would work for me.
In any case, I was expected to wear it every workday per Iain.
Weirdest job requirement ever. But I’d done as he’d asked, reminding myself that I needed the private health insurance and above-average pay his company offered.
And the fragrance wasn’t that bad. Kind of smoky and dark. Even my roommate Tara liked to use it when we went out to clubs because she said it made her smell “like a straight-up spy.”
Only this morning, I woke to find the thin roller bottle of KeinWulf empty.
I’d known I was running low, but I was sure I’d get another week or so out of it before I needed to buy another bottle online.
So much for that. After a few seconds of uncertainty, I finished dressing and headed out the door, hoping Iain wouldn’t notice. But he had. Of course.
I winced. “I’m so sorry. I had a lot going on last week and didn’t notice I was almost out. I’ll put in a rush order, and hopefully, it will get here by Friday—”
“You’ve a doctor’s appointment, today,” he said, veering abruptly onto an entirely new topic.
It was a statement, not a question. “Yes, I’m sorry, but I didn’t have a chance to put it on the calendar. How did you kno—?”
“You always wear that yellow jumper when you have a doctor’s appointment,” he answered tersely.
I blinked. Not because he’d cut me off—that happened nearly all the time with Iain. But because he’d noticed anything at all about my habits.
“Yes, well ... the doctor’s office is usually a little chilly so I like to wear layers to keep comfortable.” I hated lying, but I wasn’t about to try and explain my lucky cardigan. “I had my annual last week and today is my follow-up.”
“It was just a routine physical?” he asked, his tone unusually harsh even for him.
Well, no it wasn’t exactly a routine physical.
But I typically tried to avoid discussions about why I had to do the needle dance at the oncologist’s office every six months.
After spending most of my college years in hospitals back home in the States, I relished not being known as that “poor sick girl” here in Scotland.
Even my current role as the meek, near-invisible executive assistant of the genius CTO and founder of AlgoFortune was a much better alternative to the life I’d been leading before.
“If you want, I’ll work from home until the perfume arrives,” I said, returning to the original subject.
Iain glared at me as if I’d offended his sensibilities as well as his nose. “No, that’s not what I—”
He was cut off by a quick rap on the door. The graphical user interface team had arrived for their stand-up with Iain. It was 4:15 A.M.—on the dot.
I opened the heavy oak door to Ians’ office and let them in, still feeling the weight of his eyes on me. I rushed past the four men who, unlike our kilted CTO, were dressed in the standard uniform of software engineers around the world: t-shirts and jeans.
In any case, there was so much to do when I got back to my desk, I found it easy to lose myself in all of it for the next few hours.
Too easy, I realized when my phone lit up with the Edinburgh Cancer Care Centre’s number flashing across the Caller ID screen.
Right above the current time of 12:15 P.M.
Crap! I’d missed my noon follow-up appointment.
I picked up the phone and immediately began apologizing before the person on the other end could say anything. “I am so sorry I forgot my appointment. Can we reschedule for tomorrow? Or even better, next week after the bank holiday? I’m really slammed at work right now, and that—”
“Ah … hello, Millicent,” a male voice with a gentle Scottish burr cut in.
“This is Dr. Keller. It’s no problem at all about the missed appointment.
I understand how busy things can sometimes get.
The good news is I can still squeeze you in this afternoon.
And … well, I really must insist you come in today, if possible. ”
I stopped breathing, a terrible dread replacing the air in my lungs.
This wasn’t my first rodeo, as they say back in my home country. Doctors never made personal calls to patients. And they never insisted a patient come in immediately.
Not unless the news was bad.