Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Shaye
“I got this,” I whisper, pushing the button for the elevator. “Settle down.”
I slide my palms down my black trousers and avoid Genevieve’s stare from behind. She was really sweet this morning and helped me find Toni—who was clearly not expecting me. But Genevieve’s excitement on my behalf at working for Oliver Mason personally was a little more than I could handle.
My nerves are nearly shot as it is.
The onboarding process with Toni went well. She gave me a quick tour of the building and introduced me to key staff. It all went swimmingly. But as soon as I finished my paperwork and headed toward the elevators, my anxiety surged again.
The elevator dings, and I step inside. My black heels hit a staccato against the floor. I press the button for the fourth floor.
I grip the thin strap of my purse at my shoulder and look up to see Genevieve’s smiling face. She offers me a little wave; my hand does a version of a wave back. I try hard—really hard—not to absorb the excitement rolling off her in waves.
Breathe in, breathe out.
The doors roll to a close, and the elevator begins its ascent.
I watch the numbers light up. There’s a slight pause on the third floor, but a man in a suit jacket tells me he wants to go down, not up, and apologizes for the slight inconvenience it causes me. I tell him it’s fine and clutch my purse tighter.
My brain races faster than the elevator and, by the time I reach the fourth floor, I simultaneously decide that this is both the worst and best thing I’ve ever done.
What was I thinking? Surely, there must’ve been an easier way to climb out of the hole I’m in. Working closely for the one man who I’ve felt an attraction to in years? I thought that was a good idea?
I force a swallow down my throat and try to temper the thundering of my heart.
Ding! The door opens and a woman with long red hair greets me with a smile.
I step out of the elevator and onto the shiny floor. The room is airy and smells faintly of lavender. Under normal circumstances, the scent of lavender helps me calm down.
Today is not a typical day.
A long black desk made of some kind of stone faces me. There are two closed doors behind the desk, one near each corner of the room. Two more doors—one on each side wall—are open with the lights off. There are two more on either side of the elevators.
I glance swiftly around the room as if Oliver might suddenly appear out of thin air. I can’t decide if I’m excited to see him or if I’m dreading the moment. It’s a wild mixture of apprehension and unreadiness that makes me a little unsteady on my heels.
“Good morning,” the redhead says, getting to her feet. “You must be Shaye. Toni said you were on your way up.”
“I am.” I give her my best smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’m Kelly.”
She comes around the side of the desk. Her body is slim and wrapped in an emerald-green dress. With her red hair and green eyes, it’s a stunning package.
“Welcome to the team,” she says.
“Thank you.”
My eyes dart around the room. The four cups of coffee I had this morning—double my usual intake—aren’t doing me any favors. My hands are shaky as I take my purse off my shoulder.
“Hey,” Kelly says, a laugh buried in her tone. “Relax. Don’t be nervous. You’re going to do great.”
I blow out a breath as my shoulders drop. “Is it that obvious?”
“A little.” She smiles. “First-day jitters are normal.”
I wonder if being awake, dressed, hair and makeup done, and being overcaffeinated by six thirty in the morning is normal, but I don’t ask.
“On my first day here, I vomited in the first hour,” she says, wincing. “I blame the bagel that I got at this sketchy place in my neighborhood, but it might’ve been nerves. Maybe.”
I laugh.
“So, you know, don’t do that, and you’re ahead of me.”
“I’ll definitely try not to,” I tell her. What I don’t mention is the bubble of bile sitting at the top of my throat. “It’s been a long morning already.”
“I know that this can be intimidating …” She smiles knowingly. “The Masons are truly the best bosses I’ve ever worked for. They can be loud and expect a high level of efficiency, but they’re good men, and they employ good people. Trust me.”
The phone on Kelly’s desk begins to ring. She sighs.
“Give me just a moment. This office is understaffed and it just gets busier.” She moves gracefully around the desk again and picks up the phone. “This is Kelly.”
I turn away from her and take in a long, deep breath. The chaos in my brain and body settles slightly thanks to Kelly’s genuine words—and I know they’re true. If I doubted them at all, I wouldn’t have accepted Oliver’s offer.
Trust your gut.
I take another cleansing breath and try to adjust my focus from my anxiety to what I have to do—work.
I spin in a slow circle and take in the reception area.
It’s masculine and sophisticated, decorated in blacks and grays with copper-colored accents.
The windows to the right of each door are covered by blinds from the inside.
Soft music plays overhead—some kind of instrumental that’s not really noticeable until you listen for it.
“Sorry about that,” Kelly says. Her heels click against the floor. “Okay, from what Toni told me, you’re Oliver’s executive assistant. Is that correct?”
I nod.
“That’s his office.” She points at the office behind her desk on the right. “And that one is yours. They connect on the inside, which you’ll see shortly. The offices to my left are Holt Mason’s and his EA, Miriam’s.”
“Okay.”
“One of the offices back there is Boone Mason’s. He’s … he’s fun. Keeps things lively. The other is used for meetings.” She stifles a smile and motions for me to follow her. “Let’s get you situated before Oliver gets out of his meeting.”
My gaze lingers on Oliver’s door as I follow Kelly to my office. She flips the lights on and steps inside.
The first thing I note is the prominent, deep-colored wood desk. Nice. Behind it, a cabinet is set up along one wall, and another connects to the two on one side, forming an L. As Kelly noted, a door on the other wall is closed that apparently leads into Oliver’s office.
I fight off a surge of anxiety that threatens to creep up my spine.
Two chairs face the desk, and a coatrack stands next to the door. Besides a piece of art in the same vein as the one in the conference room yesterday, there’s nothing else to note except a computer and a stack of folders.
“Take a look around and get comfortable,” Kelly says.
“There are office supplies inside the desk. If there’s anything you need that you don’t have, let me know.
There are some files on the desk with basic project information, a few things that just came in that need Oliver’s attention—that kind of thing.
It would probably help you to skim over that.
It’ll give you a good feel of what’s to come and then I’ll come in and check on you in a little while. ”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Kelly.”
“Absolutely.” She glances over her shoulder at the phone that starts ringing again. “Oliver and Holt should be back any time now. I expected them already, to be honest.”
“It’s fine. I’ll just get settled.”
She gives me a final smile before scooting off toward her desk.
I blow out a breath and sit in the brown leather chair. I pull open the large bottom drawer on my right and plunk my purse inside.
My heart races as I give myself a second to become acclimated to my new setting.
It’s reminiscent of my office at Monroe Companies, yet a level or four up.
Every detail from the light fixtures—a sleek modern chandelier in my office—to the faint flecks of gold in the otherwise dark tile seem intentional.
Even though I had nothing to do with it, it gives me confidence.
I can do this.
Riding the wave of confidence, I ignore Oliver’s office door and turn to the computer instead.
The log-in information Toni gave me works and I start clicking around on various icons.
There are already a couple of emails from Toni with copies of things I signed downstairs, as well as one from Kelly with a list of names and numbers of people I might need.
I find the calendar and take a quick glance at Oliver’s schedule.
Everything is color-coded. I don’t know who is responsible for the hot-pink notes, but they’re hilarious and very needy, from what I can tell.
Also, whoever controls the olive-green notes doesn’t seem to find Hot Pink funny.
“These have to be Oliver’s brothers,” I whisper, looking for a color key and coming up empty.
I do a little more investigating on the computer, checking out the shared drive as well as the systems that the company uses. It’s all pretty standard. That’s a relief.
My attention shifts to the stack of papers on my desk. I’m sorting through them, familiarizing myself with things, when a knock raps softly on the door to my right. I glance up from a memo about a project called Greyshell and bite back a gasp.
Oliver leans against the doorway. A pair of dark denim encases his thighs. A bright white button down that looks soft and silky is fitted over his chest. On top of that is a steel-gray blazer that hangs open.
His hair is perfectly coiffed in an I just rolled out of bed, or I took fifteen minutes on this look kind of way. My mind shifts to the fifteen minutes option because visualizing Oliver and bed at the same time is not the way to start my day.
Or, rather, it is but not when I work for him.
“Oh,” I say, the single word somehow becoming multi-syllable.
He lifts a coffee cup to his lips and takes a sip. He watches me over the brim, his eyes twinkling.
I kick myself for just reacting and not being prepared for him to look this delicious. It’s not like I didn’t know. What I didn’t account for was the way his gaze feels welcoming, nearly caressing me from across the room.
Don’t go there, Shaye.
It’s wishful thinking … because, let’s face it, it’s been a while.