Chapter 10
chapter ten
Kai
I've never seen Denali move this sluggishly before in my life. When we finally pull up to the company, however, she's suddenly kicking into high gear, and in her haste to get out of the car, she kicks the flowers over and nearly knocks them from the car.
I let her go. Clearly there's something there she doesn't want to talk about with me. So I can't force it. I just have to let it be for now. Maybe she'll tell me, maybe she won't.
But I know who will.
I glance down at my phone, waiting, hoping that just like always, thinking about him will make something happen. But like usual, I'm left waiting for what I need.
There's no time to follow Denali, so I make a mental note to look for her after and make my way to the meeting room, where I'm sure a lecture awaits me.
I've fired quite a few people recently, or had them quit on me, and I've got the sneaking suspicion that Jun's girl isn't happy with that.
I mean, if it were my job, I wouldn't be, either, but she has to understand, there are reasons why things panned out like they did.
It's not just because I don't like them, or that they're too problematic for me, or that I'm insufferable. It's—
It's got a lot to do with communication, and capability, too. And that's not even counting the stylist I fired Friday via text for her shitty attitude.
Denali was only trying to help. And yet, Sasha felt the need to snap at her, as if she were trying to take her job, or outdo her.
I have no patience for selfish, possessive people on my team.
You can work together peacefully, cooperate like adults, and get the job done, or you can go work for someone else.
Arista will have to learn to deal with that aspect of me as a client. It's written into my contract that I can hire and fire whoever I want, whenever I want, for whatever reason I want. If she doesn't like that, she has only herself to blame for how negotiations turned out.
The door's cracked open when I arrive, but for some reason, I hesitate outside, hearing voices on the other side. A curious side of me takes hold, and I lean in, hoping to glean just what kind of atmosphere I'm about to walk into.
The voices on the other side of that door are not happy.
"I don't care how popular he is, or what he's capable of. None of our other talents have been this much trouble." Whoever that is, she's pissed. I don't know that voice, though, so it must not be someone I've met before.
"Listen, I understand your concerns, ma'am, but I need you to trust me when I say I've got everything under control—"
That's Arista. She sounds . . . tired. I wonder if Jun's knocked her up yet. Maybe she's just overworked. That's one woman who's always been a hard worker. She's like Denali like that. The two are kindred souls, in a way.
"Ma'am, may I suggest mentioning his contract?
He's got a section in there that stipulates he maintains a positive public persona, and there's no doubt that the whispers have already begun in the ranks.
There's always a threat to our connections when one of our talents becomes .
. . shall we say, undesirable to work with? "
That's the lug they gave me as a touchpoint in the legal department. I think his name is Jack. He's a decent guy, but I despise most lawyers. Their only goal is to look out for their client, and right now, their client is the company, not me.
Undesireable to work with. As if I'm some kind of monster or something. I'm difficult, sure, but I'm not as bad as they make me out to be.
"Whatever you do, make sure that he's not firing another twenty people before the end of the week.
I'm running out of contractable employees who are willing to work with him.
And if we have nobody willing to work with him .
. . well, I don't need to tell you how useless an idol is without a team behind him to maintain his status and image. "
I step up to the doors and put my hands on their smooth surface. Like the woman making all the demands, the metal is cool, almost icy under my palms. The nervous energy burning through me right now is enough to choke me, but I have to work past it, in order to get what needs done, done.
Arista's eyes find mine the second I step into the room. She looks almost ashamed, but she quickly schools that expression and clears her throat, gesturing to a nearby empty chair.
"Please, Kai, have a seat. We've been expecting you."
I'll just bet you have. I know it's not her fault, but the urge to be a snarky asshole about it is almost overwhelming. "Ah, sorry to keep you waiting. Traffic was hell this morning."
By the time the meeting is over, I've been thoroughly chastised. They've elicited a promise from me to maintain my working relationship with all current employees, and I've promised to try and be less demanding and more friendly toward them, too.
It'll be hard, but I can manage.
Now that I'm free, it's time to return to the business at hand—finding Denali.
Preferably sooner rather than later. There's a blank spot on my schedule she's blocked out for something, and she didn't bother to tell me why.
Until I find her, I have no idea where I'm supposed to go or what we're doing. And I don't like that.
I try texting her, but I get no answer, so I call her instead. When she refuses to answer, I start to worry. Denali always answers me. No matter what day, the time, or what she's doing, she's never once ignored my calls.
Something is wrong.
Just as I'm about to call her again, I get an email notification—DS Intel. It's from Choi's burner email, so I open it quickly as I make my way to the security office in the hopes that someone there can find Denali on the cameras and point me in the right direction.
What I find in that email makes my blood run cold.
Blacklisted in the entertainment industry. Former social media manager for high-profile clientele. Extensive list of references, which seem to make no dent in the black cloud of unhireability hanging over her head.
Ex-boss has fingers in a lot of pies, made it impossible for her to find work anywhere. No intel on why, though. No open criminal or civil cases against him, or her. No company-filed cease and desist. No NDA's to mention.
Family-deceased. Mother died when she was 12, father went when she was fresh out of high school. No siblings, but a cousin she doesn't have contact with across the ocean in France.
She's got a cat, according to her lease, whose name is Taco—weird name for a cat, by the way—lives in a run-down neighborhood, has a bad rap with her landlord because of being late on rent a lot recently. Probably due to her blacklisting. Personal contact inside of kNight Ent–Arista Simmons.
Valedictorian, despite her struggles. One thing that her former client tried to bury in his company—a sexual harassment complaint against him.
By Denali. No details, no police report to speak of, the only trail I could find didn't actually have an attached complaint anymore.
My guess is, he buried it. Paid good money to, too.
Things like that don't usually go away on their own.
Some medical documentation turned up, surprisingly—I spotted a diagnosis for PTSD, though I'm not sure what it pertains to. I'll keep digging there, but you know how hard it is to get medical details without personal connections or alerting the wrong people.
You need anything else, you know where to find me.
I close the email and promptly delete it. Things like this can't stay connected to me in any way. The intel was what I needed. I don't need the trail.
The security office is only around the next corner, but before I can make it there, I run smack into the woman I'm searching for—Denali. And she's—
She's shaking.
Her forehead is wet, like she splashed water on her face, stray tendrils of damp hair clinging to her skin.
Her makeup has been washed off, and though she's no longer wearing any, her natural beauty is still remarkable.
Her eyes, though, are sunken in, and the light she usually has radiating from them is gone now, replaced by a dim, low shimmer.
They're red-rimmed and swollen, and her cheeks are red.
She's been crying.
"Oh, hey," she says quietly, looking up at me with a half-smile. "I was just coming to look for you."
"Sorry about the delay," I tell her, my eyebrows furrowed at her off-kilter appearance and obviously fake personality. "Meeting took longer than I'd planned."
I don't tell her about the fact that I have to play nice now.
She'll figure that out on her own. And besides, what's important now is fixing my assistant.
Denali isn't at all her usual self, and eventually, that'll start to affect performance.
And by association, my reputation. Which currently is in the shitter with the company.
And beyond that, I'd have to be a pretty shit person to not want to help her if I can.
She's important to me, after just a month.
I don't know where I'd be if she hadn't fallen from the sky and landed in that conference room when she did.
I can't watch her go off the deep end. Not when I can do something about it.
"There's a block of time in my schedule that's blacked out for some reason.
Care to explain what you have me doing?" I'm slowly guiding her to the car, hoping that if I can get her alone, I can ask her what's on my mind.
I need to understand how bad off she is, so I can make adjustments.
Hire a replacement and have her take a few days off, if that's what she needs.
She's been going nonstop since I first hired her, and that has to have taken a toll on her no matter how much she's used to working.
I don't get the chance.
"Oh, you're scheduled for a meditation and massage session at a little spa I used to frequent," she mutters, lifting her tablet like she's fine, and this is any other day working for me.
"It's about a half hour away, which is why there's such a huge time chunk sectioned off.
" Her eyes, still dull and lifeless, lift to me, and I see the first hint of genuine emotion in them.
"You told me once, when I first started working for you, that you liked to meditate.
To calm yourself. I figured, since you haven't had time to do that like you used to, maybe it would be nice to squeeze in a relaxation session. "
I think back to last week, when I skimmed my schedule, and realize she cancelled one of my other engagements to make this happen. It was one I wasn't particularly eager to attend, so there's some relief, mixed in with appreciation, but I'm also confused.
How did she get the company to agree to take that interview off my schedule? And why would she go out of her way to make me happy? It's not like I've made her life easy these days.
"You booked me a spa visit?" I'm speechless. Well, not entirely. "Why did you do that?"
She shrugs, like it's a stupid question. "You needed a break. I made you one."
I don't like that she assumes I needed saved from myself.
That I was running myself into an early grave.
She pities my workload, and I'm the one who set it.
I don't need rescued, dammit. I can handle myself.
But beyond that, if I deserve a spa day, then she deserves three, with how hard she works. I intend to tell her that. Instead—
"You should have consulted with me first," is what comes out of my mouth instead. I should be grateful for her consideration, for the work she put in to make it happen, but all I can feel is defensive.
I hear the voice of my old manager in my ear, the asshole from Korea that I'm running away from by being here. The one my company insisted on keeping around, even when I begged them to replace him.
You're working too hard. You have to know your own limits. Nobody is perfect. Especially not you. We can't all be superstars; be happy with what you have. You'll only be disappointed if you shoot for stars you can't reach.
The man was just filled with motivational speeches, for anyone but me. When he spoke to me, it's like he took one look at me and had already decided I wasn't worth the work.
"Well, I'm so sorry for giving a damn about your health and well-being, boss man," she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. "If you don't want to go, I'll cancel the appointment."
There's no point in wasting money, or a perfectly good appointment for a relaxing block of time I wouldn't otherwise have. "I'll go," I grumble out, leaning back in my seat. "At least I'll get something good out of it. But for future reference, please check with me before making such decisions."
"Oh, will do. But heads up, if you don't like this adjustment, you're not going to like the schedule mindfuck I had to pull off to make next week's appearances all fit in there.
" When I shoot her another death glare, she rolls her eyes and looks away.
"Hey, if you don't like it, take it up with the company. I'm just the assistant."
And just like that, the conversation is over, and I'm left holding all those questions that just a few minutes ago burned at the back of my mind.
I'll ask her later.