Chapter 15
Emma
Me:
Um. Did you forget to tell me something? Like you’d be out of town? And you hired my replacement without letting me know?
BossMan:
Miss me already?
Matt was right.
Sebastian is back the next day. It’s late morning, and he’s lounging against the kitchen island, downing an espresso.
I’m still annoyed with him for not updating me about his changed schedule and impromptu trip to New York, so I studiously ignore him and focus on Matt, who, as suspected, is an amazing assistant.
We’re sitting together as he shows me a new closet-organizer software that is blowing my mind. I’ll definitely use it for my business.
But even as I try to ignore Sebastian, I surreptitiously watch him out of the corner of my eye.
He looks damn good for someone jet-lagged. His day-old stubble only enhances the classic proportions of his face. His hair flops into sleepy eyes. He yawns and stretches, muscles pulling against the short sleeves of his navy-blue shirt, which rises and shows off a trail of hair leading down to…
I whip my head back to the screen. I thank the Lord that I’m constitutionally unable to blush. If I were a blusher, I’d be fully red right now because of the direction of my thoughts.
I have to focus. “I love this, Matt. I’ve been wanting to reorganize Sebastian’s closet for ages. I can’t believe I hadn’t heard about this app,” I say admiringly.
“It’s new. They only launched it a few months ago. But I got in on the beta version,” he explains.
“What the fuck,” my boss mutters. “You don’t care?”
I look at him, startled. “Care about what?”
“About him.” Sebastian waves at Matt. “That he’s here? That he’s sitting in your seat?”
“Matt? He’s awesome.”
“You’re not jealous?”
Matt holds up his hands. “Whoa, dude. I’m not into love triangles. Been there, done that. I’m in love with my boyfriend. Monogamy is where it’s at.”
“I’m talking about professional jealousy, Matt,” he says, heavy on the sarcasm.
“Don’t use that tone of voice with your new assistant,” I scold Sebastian. “He’s new. So he doesn’t understand that you’re grumpy and don’t really mean it.”
“Fuck it. I give up. This is not how this was supposed to go down, with the two of you best friends.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, stupefied.
“I’ve given you time to change your mind. Tripling your salary wasn’t enough. Fridays off wasn’t enough. Living in my awesome carriage house wasn’t enough. What will convince you to stay?”
Sebastian unfurls his large body, walks over to me, leans against the table where I’m working and, typical of his lack of boundaries, takes my coffee and sips, wincing at the amount of sugar I put in it.
I open my mouth, still confused. “Isn’t that insensitive, trying to bribe me to stay while Matt, my replacement, listens?”
“Oh, I’m not your replacement,” Matt says cheerfully. “So, no worries.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ask Sebastian.”
I turn to my soon-to-be ex-boss.
“What does he mean?”
He looks exasperated. “Matt, the terms of your hire are private. I thought you were supposed to be discreet.”
I glare.
He huffs. “Fine. He’s not your replacement.
He’s your assistant. Or at least he will be if you stay.
No offense to him. I’m sure he’s good. But he won’t kick my ass when I need it.
He won’t tell me the truth when everyone else is trying to pretend bullshit is gold.
He won’t push me to be a better person and help me know what direction to go when I have no fucking clue.
I don’t need anyone else, Em. I need you. ”
Emotions rush through me. There’s relief that he didn’t replace me so easily. That he still wants me to stay. And then there’s the guilt that I feel happy about that fact because I don’t plan on staying.
Shit, this is confusing.
“It’s rather rude to say that when poor Matt is sitting there,” I say weakly.
“Again, not a problem,” the young assistant says, still typing. “You should have heard Nathan Porter’s insults. I’m Teflon.”
“Take my offer. You know you want to. Matt can do all the menial stuff,” Sebastian encourages silkily.
He’s so close. I go giddy at the huskiness of his voice.
At the way he’s looking at me, as if I’m precious to him.
And my mind goes right back there, to the other night, to how gentle he was washing my hair and putting me to bed.
His lips brushing over my forehead… I take a deep, steadying breath.
I’ve been feeling shaky and off-kilter all morning, and this awareness of Sebastian makes it worse.
“Don’t use your seductive voice.” I attempt to make it sound snappy, but it comes off softer, more uncertain.
“I-I know all your tricks. I already gave you my answer,” I say more firmly.
“Are you done with denial and into the bargaining phase now? Can we skip anger and depression and go straight through to acceptance?”
“So you’re saying I’m going through the five stages of grief over you quitting?” Sebastian asks, lifting a brow.
“No. I’m not that important. Grief for the loss of your frictionless life,” I explain.
“You are that important,” Sebastian says, utterly serious.
“To your smooth-running work,” I counter.
“To me. I was an ass, and I didn’t let you know enough how appreciated you are.
So, this is me rectifying that. This is my final offer.
Quadruple your salary. You can have two extra days off for your other…
endeavors. So you’ll only have to come in three days a week.
And you won’t have to be on call on those other days. ”
“You’re crazy,” I say shakily.
“You’re worth it. To me and my frictionless life,” he says, teasing. “Look at Matt over there. He wants you to stay too. He’s quaking in his very practical shoes at the thought of being stuck with just me.”
The young assistant finally looks up from his laptop.
“If I convince Emma to stay, can I get quadruple my salary?” Matt asks.
“In your dreams, Chen. In your dreams.”
I shake my head, though not without sadness at the thought of the paycheck I’m leaving behind.
I’d be insane not to take the offer. Of course I’m tempted.
Would two days a week be enough to run my business?
With an incredible salary and more time off to mitigate the risk of entrepreneurship, life would be much safer. Stable.
But something deep within me balks. No, this job would never be part time. It would be more of the same. I want to go after my own goals. And that takes a risk, I remind myself.
“Damn, you play hardball. Fine,” Sebastian says. “You can call yourself whatever you want. Assistant manager. Or life coach. Or master of the spreadsheets.”
I let out a gust of breath. “No.”
“No to assistant manager, yes to master of the spreadsheets?”
“Just no. To it all. No is a complete sentence.”
“Stop using my lines.” It was one of Sebastian’s favorite sayings whenever I scolded him about being too abrupt with people.
“I’ll start a production company. You can be a producer. That’s a kick-ass résumé booster. And the work will be challenging. You can organize things to your heart’s content.”
“You don’t want to have a production company. You said, and I quote, ‘Producers are assholes, and that shit is boring.’ You only want to be an actor.”
“That’s not strictly true,” he hedges. “Plus, I wouldn’t be running the company. You will. Win-win.”
“I can be your producer,” Matt pipes up.
“Stop playing with that closet organizer. I need you to complete the very important project I assigned you,” Sebastian orders.
“It will be completed the day after tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“What project?” I ask Matt.
“It’s a secret,” my boss answers. “He signed an NDA.”
“I did also. So it’s not a secret to me.”
“Forget it, Em. Focus on the task at hand.”
“Which is?”
“You thinking of all the fun things you can do with the piles of money I’ll give you if you stay,” he says before sauntering out of the room.
“Surprise!” Sebastian says two days later.
Matt, Sebastian, and I are standing in the carriage house’s library.
But I don’t recognize it.
I’ve always loved the room, with its view of the Pacific and all the historic eighteenth-century details.
I look around. Before, it was a masculine space, with dark wood.
Now it’s been revamped into the office of my dreams. The chandelier, the huge white wooden desk, the organizational supplies in gold, just waiting to be used, the massive pin board, the framed photos of my favorite inspirational quotes, and the perfectly organized bookshelves, color-coded, which make my heart happy just to see.
I think of the sad little shelves and the slightly sagging desk that Sadie and I tried to put together back in my apartment.
I may have whimpered.
“Is that an Aloe chair? In camel?” I ask, pointing to the furniture I’ve been lusting over on Pinterest. Then I pull one of the books off the shelf.
Productivity Code. “I love this book.” I pull the next book down.
“Closet Dreams? This features the most fabulous, most organized closets of women around the world. It’s out of print,” I say in wonder.
And then I see another book I’ve been wanting to read. And another.
My mouth forms a perfect O. I feel a little dizzy, but I’ve been feeling that way lately, so I chalk it up to low blood sugar. Or needing more caffeine.
I turn to Sebastian in confusion.
“Ta-da. It’s your dream office.” His smile is proud, like a little boy presenting a picture that he spent hours painting himself.
“But… how?”
“It wasn’t easy. Most of your Pinterest boards are private. But Matt hacked them. By the way, some of your pins make me think you might be a serial killer. Who else has a board featuring the insides of refrigerators?”
“Refrigerator organization is very calming. And don’t change the subject. You hacked my Pinterest account? Who does that?”
“I didn’t hack it. Matt did. If you’re mad, it’s all his fault. Matt, back me up here.”