4. Travis
Travis
Iwake up one minute before my alarm is set to go off. It’s an annoying problem—that one lost minute of sleep grates at me—but I haven’t found a solution for it. No matter what time I set it for, my body always wants to be one step ahead.
Instead of waiting for the alarm or ruminating on the problem, I force myself out from under the comforter and into my routine. The lights come on as I stand, the curtains automatically parting to reveal the awakening of the city.
The sky is all gentle pinks and blues. Beautiful against the towering, imposing figures of the skyscrapers around me.
Now that we’re solidly in May, Manhattan no longer feels like it’s emerging from the ice age. Instead, the mornings are only chilly enough for a light jacket, and the afternoons are warm enough to make commuters sweat and shed outer layers.
My morning routine is simple but effective, and my home gym comes to life the moment I walk through the doorway, the motion-activated sensor turning on the lights, opening the blinds, and starting my music.
Years ago, I worked with a personal trainer, but one day it occurred to me that I didn’t need to.
I know the sets and reps and prefer being on my own.
I’m halfway through the workout, under the bar and staring at the ceiling, when my wrist starts to buzz with an incoming call. There are very few communications that come straight to me instead of filtering through my assistant, so I rack the bar and glance at it.
Graham.
I consider answering him—Graham typically wouldn’t call unless it was something important—but decide that if it is important, he’ll text. Or keep calling until I answer. He’s never been known for his patience.
It’s rare that he has cell service, and when he does, he makes a point of touching base with me. He must be out of whatever wilderness he’s been exploring lately.
So, I go back to my workout, then to my shower, then to my green smoothie.
When I’m finally in the back of the car, on the way to the office, I call my brother back.
“About time,” Graham grumbles, his voice somehow an entire octave lower than mine. “Did you just wake up?”
“What can I do for you, Graham?”
He laughs, tone lightening slightly. I picture him as he probably is, shirtless and on the side of a mountain somewhere. Cave diving, kayaking, bouldering or flirting with the local women. “Thought I got Travis. Apparently, I’m speaking with Mr. Oakley.”
“You’re not going to be speaking with anyone for long with that bullshit,” I say, but I can’t stop the corners of my mouth from curling up.
“I’ll be in town soon for a thing with the non-profit. That new park.” Now I’m picturing him on a plane or maybe boating across the Atlantic to get home. It’s always something with him. “Was hoping I could borrow one of your spaces for it. Big charity event, should look good for you.”
“Sure. My assistant will be in touch.”
“Travis.”
“Yeah?”
“We’ll get drinks, too,” Graham says, matter-of-factly.
“You got it, man.”
The car pulls up outside Onyx, and I drop the phone from my ear, typing quickly. First, to text my assistant about finding a space for Graham. Then, I send a text to Ryan.
Travis: Still on for tonight?
Ryan: Better be, I wore my nicest shirt today
Ryan: ;-)
Shaking my head, I climb out of the car. Security is at my side in an instant, walking me into the building. My assistant meets me in the lobby.
“Good morning, Mr. Oakley,” she says, passing me a green tea. I take it and use it to wash away the taste of the green smoothie I forced down. My nutritional choices are just that—nutrition over taste. And most days, I hardly think about what I’m eating or drinking.
But today, I tasted the kale in that smoothie. Not my favorite…
As we walk, my assistant runs me through my meetings for the day. It’s harder to sink into my tasks and duties because there’s something in the back of my mind reminding me that she is going to be here today.
Which shouldn’t matter.
There are a million reasons to avoid thinking about her at all. She’s a contractor for my company. Likely at least a decade younger than me. And most importantly, she’s dating my brother.
My assistant follows me onto the elevator, reading out objectives, meetings, and current projects. We step off the elevator and onto the top floor, and she trails me right up to the door of my office.
“Hold my calls until noon. I have some business to straighten out for the hotel launch.”
“Of course, Mr. Oakley.”
Turning, I walk into my office—dark woods, matte gray paint, a calming, minimalistic environment in which I can do my best work—and try to center myself. There’s too much going on at Onyx right now for me to be distracted like this.
I pride myself on being the kind of man who’s always in control, thinking and acting in accordance with my goals, but this is one area in which I’ve found myself floundering.
Since the day my creative director swept Serena MacKenzie in here for an introduction, I’ve been unable to keep myself from fixating on her.
It was at the end of last summer, the beginning of autumn, when the days were sweltering at noon, but frosty overnight.
Serena was wearing a long white skirt, the kind that looks almost like a table doily, paired with inky black combat boots and a long-sleeved black top.
Her hair, a waterfall of copper and gold, fell down over her shoulders in waves.
“This is Serena MacKenzie, the new photographer we’ve brought on,” the creative director said, his voice tight and nervous.
He had the right to be—I’d never usually involve myself with something as granular as a photographer, but our past two portfolios had not been up to my standards. And that was on him.
Onyx is different from most other real estate companies.
Rather than grasping at any property we can, we’re more selective.
Marketing, branding—they’re essential here.
There’s a reason Apple is so valuable. It’s the brand that customers recognize.
Trust. Onyx takes that approach with NYC properties.
And, if the hotel launch goes well, we might just expand outside the city.
So, marketing and visuals are important. That’s why I tasked the creative director with either hiring a competent photographer or finding himself a new position at another company. “I think you’ll find her adequate.”
Serena let out a sharp, quick laugh, glancing first at the director, then at me. My first thought was that her laugh sounded like a wind chime my mom used to have on our back porch.
“Better than adequate,” she’d said, stepping forward and thrusting her hand—pale, with freckles running up the back—toward me. Serena MacKenzie was one of the first people to readily meet my eye in a long time. “I’m going to make your shit dazzle, Mr. Oakley.”
Not only did she meet my eye, but she actually stunned me into silence.
The creative director had practically yelped, grabbing her and tugging her away, surely thinking he would lose his job anyway.
And, for the rest of the goddamned week, I could think about nothing but the tiny gold ring on her finger, the delicate swirl just along her knuckle.
I could think about nothing but the fact that I didn’t get to hold that hand in mine.
And then, exactly one week after she started working there, Alex called me, pissed off and demanding. Pretty typical from my youngest brother.
“It’s weird,” he’d said. “Like, a HIPAA violation or something.”
“That’s for healthcare.” Finding out he was dating the whirlwind photographer was not welcome information.
Except it was—the last thing I needed was to be thinking about her all the time.
This was exactly the perfect roadblock. “And I don’t see why she wouldn’t work here.
We pay better than competitors and it’s great for her portfolio. ”
Alex’s voice took on the slightly whiny, entitled tone I’d heard throughout his whole life. “I don’t want her working with you. Take care of it.”
“Deal with it yourself. She’s your fucking girlfriend,” I’d replied, filling my voice with as much venom as I could muster.
It’s not like Alex and I had a bad relationship, but we’d never been close.
Maybe a product of the age difference. Or maybe he’d just experienced a much lenient version of our father than I had and that led to two very different personalities.
Still, I care about him. It’s why I’ve allowed him to live in an Onyx property, rent-free, while he finishes school. And why I’ve never thrown a fit about his mother staying in our late father’s house while she burned her way through the estate’s money.
I have my own money. And, unlike Alex, I have no interest in meeting the requirements for the trust Stephen Oakley left behind.
Alex hung up on me, and I ignored his follow-up texts about firing Serena. He demanded that I give her an excuse for why we wouldn’t need her services anymore.
I told myself I hadn’t fired her because Alex was in no position to order me around, that he could learn a lesson about how he spoke to me.
It certainly had nothing to do with me seeing her in the marketing department.
Nothing to do with her presence, her scent, the way the light caught on her hair.
Stupidly, I kept thinking about her hair. The curve of her hip under her skirt. What it would feel like to tug the collar of her blouse down, expose a pale, freckled shoulder?—
“Hey!” There’s a commotion outside my office door, and my head snaps up just as Serena MacKenzie herself pushes through the door, breathing hard and looking frantic, her hair wild around her face. She’s appeared out of nowhere as if she could tell she occupied my thoughts.
Today, she’s wearing high-waisted green pants, a floral blouse, and a pair of strappy sandals. Her camera bag is ever-present at her waist. She smells amazing, like some kind of flower, but I have no idea which one.
Fucking ridiculous, the thoughts I have when she’s around.
Her eyes meet mine, shining and determined. I’m surprised to catch, somewhere in her expression, a ghost of hurt. Betrayal. Tears. I stifle the urge to ask her if she’s okay.
I should not be asking her if she’s okay. Especially not when she just barged into my office unannounced. I should be standing, telling her to get out. Firing her on the spot.
My security guard comes bumbling in a moment later, embarrassingly slow.
“Sorry, sir, I—” he cuts himself off and grabs Serena by the arm, starting to physically remove her.
The hurt vanishes from her expression and she seems to remember what she’s doing. Digging her heels in and yanking back against the security guard, Serena turns her bright, determined eyes on me and says, “If you’re going to cut my contract, just do it now and save me the waiting.”