Three
Max
What a fucking pain in the ass to have to take this mustache off and on. I'd actually grown one out, and it looked mighty fine, if I did say so myself, if you were into that whole '70s porn star look. But I'd had to shave it off for an emergency, put-out-some-fires weekend trip to London as my actual self... Max Sterling, CEO of Echelon Enterprises, who most definitely did not have an alliteration addiction.
So now, I was stuck with a fake one that I had to stick on and pray that it'd stay on.
And this light, sandy brown shorter hair wasn't my favorite look either, and it definitely wasn't so easy to change up. So I'd had to just wear a baseball cap all weekend. Not the most professional thing in the world. But no one dared question me.
I walked down the long hallway, the smell of my grandmother's bacon filling up my penthouse, not to mention the coffee aroma. My stomach growled in appreciation. Good thing I'd already worked out this morning because I was ready to stuff myself.
When I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I spotted the feast laid out on the island, and as usual, the spread was fit for a king.
"Max!" she said when she saw me. "We missed you this weekend. Welcome back. Come give me a hug."
I gave her a quick embrace and a peck on the cheek, the familiar scent of her Chanel No. 5 filling my nose. "I missed you too," I said. "And thanks for cooking this morning."
Who needed a chef when she lived here? Especially when she thought I needed more meat on my bones. My bones were just fine though, thank you.
I filled up a plate, piled high with eggs, bacon, pancakes, plus some fruit, because it was the healthy thing to do, and sat down just in time for my mom to come in. I studied her face as she smiled at me. She looked well-rested today. Living here was good for her.
"Good morning, hon," she said. "What time did you get in last night?"
"Late. But I slept on the plane."
She kissed the back of my head before grabbing her own plate, my grandma finally taking a seat as well, the two of them looking at me intently.
"What?" I asked, wiping my mouth with a napkin. "Do I have food all over my face or something?"
My mom laughed. "No. I just can't get used to that thing over your lip."
I did my best attempt at twirling the edge of my mustache. "You mean you don't like it?"
She didn't say anything, but my grandmother filled the void. "Well, I happen to like it. It takes me back to when the men were all so handsome, just like you."
"Thank you, Nana."
"And Papa likes it too, don't you?" she said, turning to the blank space beside her, talking to my dead grandpa like he was there. As usual. Something my mom and I had discussed many, many times, finally deciding that it was harmless to still talk to your late husband after being married fifty-plus years.
For all we knew, the ghost of him was actually standing right there next to my grandma, listening to every word, enjoying our family breakfast even if he couldn't actually eat anything. Life was full of mysteries, after all.
"I'm glad he likes it too."
"At least it's only for a short time," my mom said. "You don't usually last long at these undercover jobs."
She had a point. Generally speaking, it only took several weeks, a month tops, to get the inside scoop I couldn't get as Max Sterling, CEO, who seemed to inspire fear, stuttering, anxiety attacks, and absolute acquiescence, everyone turning into the ultimate yes man around me.
"Are there any nice girls there?" Nana asked.
My mind immediately turned to Cordelia, or Dee, the nickname I'd given her just to annoy her. "No. No nice girls. Just a mean one who hates me."
Their nearly identical eyes widened. "What'd you do?" my mom asked.
I laughed. "Nothing. You know I'm a perfect angel."
"So are you going to give her the ax?" my somewhat bloodthirsty grandma said.
Guzzling some coffee, I pretended to give that some thought, buying time. Because truthfully, I liked that Dee hated me and treated me like shit. It was refreshing. No walking on eggshells from her, no instantaneous bowing to my authority. But instinct told me, if I said that, these two would pounce.
"You like her," my mom said.
Ah, fuck. I'd totally fumbled that by pausing for too long. "I wouldn't say that."
My grandma clapped her hands together. "Oooh, Maxie's found a new girlfriend!"
I shoveled in the rest of my eggs. It was time to retreat.
"It's about damn time," my mom said. "You haven't brought home a girl since Kimberly."
"We don't speak of Kimberly," I jokingly reminded her, not wanting to even think about my ex-fiancée, especially since I'd never had the heart to tell my mom and grandma the whole story, that she'd broken up with me when they'd moved in.
We were all a package deal now. If a woman wanted to be with me, she had to be okay with them too. And that was pretty much an impossibility, something Kimberly had made abundantly clear. No sane woman would want to marry a man who lived with his "mommy and granny." Those words still lived rent-free in my head a year later.
I said my goodbyes and headed for the door, my grandma handing me an iced coffee on my way out. And who needed Starbucks when she lived here?
Yet another nice thing about having them here.
Screw Kimberly. It was the right thing to do, and I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I hadn't taken them in.
My driver knew the drill about where I was headed and what I was doing, so after a brief exchange of pleasantries, he was quiet as he focused on the snarl of traffic, horns, and chaos that constituted the morning commute in Manhattan.
I checked my emails but soon grew distracted by the sudden urge to research ways to annoy your co-workers. What I found instead of the actual list I'd been hoping for was people complaining about their obnoxious cubicle neighbors. But it turned out to be exactly what I needed.
I'd have to bring nail clippers to work tomorrow. But I did have chewing gum with me today and an iced drink to slurp on. I smiled just thinking about the way Dee's eyes would narrow at me.
Whenever I did the undercover thing, part of the gig was going in and trying to rile people up on purpose, just to see their reaction. It gave me a lot of insight into the culture. But until now, I'd never had so much fun with it.
Ed dropped me off two blocks away so I could walk the rest of the way because Jared would most certainly not ride in a car to work. He'd be hoofing it for sure after taking a long subway ride in, wrinkled suit and all.
Riding the elevator up, I found myself oddly excited, more excited than I ever was going into my real office, even though I loved what I did. I really liked the Insight Ink office, the open layout, the brightness of it, the energetic, positive vibe. I'd have to see who'd planned it out and commend them for a job well done.
Cordelia was already at her desk, hard at work, her blonde hair perfectly straight, not a single strand out of place.
"Good morning," I said.
"You're late."
"Five minutes is not late."
"It is in my book. There's a fresh stack of manuscripts I just added to your pile."
I wiggled around in my chair, making that squeaky, squawky sound I could tell drove her crazy. "What, no 'How was your weekend, Jared?' 'I had a lovely weekend, thank you. And you?'"
She turned to finally look at me, fire burning in her amber eyes. "My weekend was lovely, thank you. And you?" she spit out, venom in her voice.
"Just lovely." I took a sip of my drink. "Went to London for a little weekend jaunt."
"Haha. Very funny. And I went to Monaco for a shopping spree and high stakes gambling."
Monaco. Now that was interesting. "You like Monaco?"
"Never been," she said shortly. She picked up a deflated balloon from her desk, chopped it up into several smaller pieces, and stuck it all in the trash can under her desk. "By the way, it's Marcella's birthday this coming Friday."
"Who's Marcella?"
"She works in design. I'm sure you met her last week."
I racked my brain, vaguely remembering the tour I'd been given and all the people I'd met. "Right. So it's her birthday?"
"Yes. And as the person who had the most recent birthday, it's my job to collect and plan for the next one. We have a pay it forward policy."
"Wouldn't that be more of a pay it backward policy?"
She aggressively rolled her eyes at me. "Whatever. Anyway, if you could donate toward the cause, that would be great."
"Donate?" Was this a normal thing in offices that CEOs were usually exempt from? "You want money from me?"
"Yes. If you can spare some."
"How much?"
"Twenty dollars."
"Twenty dollars? Are you joking? How many people work in this office? And we each give twenty dollars? What are we buying her, a Louis Vuitton bag?" Goading her was too much fun, and I couldn't resist.
"I'm getting her custom bookends with her favorite quote," she replied, her voice so icy it could freeze the sun. "And you know what? Never mind. I don't need your twenty dollars."
"Oh, no. I'm donating. I'll give you fifty to cover the cost of these custom bookends. And I simply must know, what is her favorite quote?"
"A room without books is like a body without a soul."
"And what about those of us who prefer to read digitally who don't have any books in our homes?"
"You read in your spare time?"
"Yes, I do. Believe it or not. I'm not just a pretty face."
She shot me an unamused look. "Well, since this quote was written by a Roman philosopher centuries ago, I think it's safe to say the sentiment is the same."
And with that, she was clearly done with the conversation, turning away from me, putting in earbuds and typing away at her computer.
It didn't sit right with me that employees were putting in so much money for birthday gifts. I thought back to when I'd first graduated from college and I really had been struggling in an expensive city, doing an internship that paid me practically nothing, my dad telling me I had to tough it out and earn my own way.
I'd struck it big pretty quickly. But for that short time, if someone had asked me for twenty bucks every other week, it would have meant even more ramen noodles for dinner.
For a long moment, I was lost in thought, wondering what could be done.
Cordelia cleared her throat loudly next to me, drawing my attention to her stern expression as she looked pointedly at my slush pile. I nearly laughed out loud but managed to smother my amusement.
Taking the not at all subtle hint, I picked up a manuscript, but her haughty expression nagged at me. There was something strangely familiar about her, the heart shape of her face, the arch of her brows. It'd been bugging me all weekend, to be honest.
Another aggressive throat clearing next to me, making me smile.
Trying to shake off the déjà vu, I got to work reading about the benefits of garlic, not exactly the most riveting subject. Remembering my main task today, I picked up my drink, slurping the shit out of it as I finished it, doing it again and again and again.
There was a loud thump next to me, and I glanced over at a glaring Cordelia. "Oh, sorry," I said, not meaning it in the least.
"You know what? I thought of a new project for you," she said in a tone full of forced cheeriness. "There's a bunch of paperwork in storage that needs to be sorted, and you are the perfect person for the job."
Man, I hadn't even broken out the gum or snacks yet, and I was getting locked away in a storage room already?
I played along, though, because this woman amused the hell out of me. Following her down the hall, she smiled and waved to a few people, an actual real smile that made her face light up, a smile that I knew would never be directed at me.
We entered a dark room, and she flicked on the overhead lights to reveal a shit ton of file storage boxes crammed onto metal shelving units, which lined the walls and practically groaned from the weight of it all. The air was musty with the smell of old paper and a whiff of mildew.
"Here you go," she said with a sweep of her hand. "Everything needs to be organized by year and then by author. The files and papers are completely mixed up, so you'll have to go through each box carefully."
I looked at the boxes to see that each one was labeled with scrawling handwriting, some almost illegible, and stacks of paper were poking out from several open lids.
"Oh, and make sure to alphabetize within each year. It's a bit of a mess, but I have total faith in you to get it all sorted out." She gave me a too-bright smile, her eyes gleaming with suppressed satisfaction.
Well played, Cordelia. Well played.
With that smirk on her face, she shut the door behind her, leaving me to stare at the chaotic sea of boxes before me. I inhaled deeply, reminding myself that I was a smart man and I could figure this out. Because the last thing I wanted was to be locked away in this room for a month. It would completely obliterate the whole point of working here undercover. Plus, I'd miss out on annoying her, something I'd been looking forward to immensely.
Sitting down on a random box, I did my best attempt at brainstorming. And it hit me suddenly. I knew just what to do.
It'd maybe take the whole week, but it was still better than a solid month. And in the meantime, I'd actually get some real work done sitting in here all day.