11. Chapter 11 #2
“Always.” Luca said it so promptly and with such a mischievous twinkle in her eye that Sarah knew she was more facetious than some of the young interns who walked into work.
“Figures. That’s why you conduct business in sex clubs.”
“You must know better than most that ‘sex clubs’ are some of the most relaxing, most private places to hold an after-business conference. Plus, my associates and I are European. We’re not fazed, unlike you uptight Americans.”
“I told you, I’m American only in birth city and accent. You should meet my mother sometime. She’ll English the shit out of you.”
“Ah, yes, the British. Europe’s America.”
“Not everyone can be a magnanimous Dane.”
“We’re the happiest people on the planet. Not even the Swedes can say that anymore.”
“I thought that used to be the Norwegians?”
“Either way, the Finns are still not invited to our parties.”
Sarah only vaguely knew of Nordic politics, but she would take her word on it.
“How’s the food?”
She shrugged. “You’re not a bad cook, but I’ve had better.”
“Ouch.”
“Hey, I didn’t say it was bad.”
“You know how to gut a woman, though.”
“Maybe if I’m mean enough to you, you’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble.”
Instead of asking her why she continued to berate her like this, Luca took another, more unexpected approach. “What is it that you want to do with your life?”
Sarah sat back in mild surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you content to be an assistant for the rest of your life? Because it certainly is a good deal you seem to have. The retirement benefits alone would be worth hanging on for a couple more decades. But do you want to do something else? Is this a steppingstone to some greater career that you want to have? Most of the assistants I’ve met over the years are either super passionate about it or learning skills to start their own businesses.
I don’t get either vibe from you. What is it that you want? ”
Sarah snorted into her wineglass. “It’s a job.
A good one, yes, but I can’t say I’m passionate about it.
It’s what I’m trained to do, and I’m good enough at it that I can work for someone at Ms. Moreau’s level.
I do admit it was somewhat less stressful when my brother worked with me…
” She stopped. Why did she bring up Nigel?
He was one of the last people she wanted to talk about when it came to the people she slept with.
“That’s right. I remember hearing that your brother also worked there until he resigned last year. What’s he doing now?”
“He’s…” Sarah struggled to remember her go-to explanation that was neither a lie nor entirely the truth.
“He’s a manager elsewhere.” She would leave it at that.
Nigel’s impressive résumé had been enough to shoot him straight to manager of the boutique pizzeria he now worked at, but it was still leagues beneath where he had been before, in terms of both pay and prestige.
The insurance was also so laughable that Nigel had to go from a private doctor to one of those churn-em-out clinics five blocks away from their apartment.
He had tried to keep paying his share of the rent, but took up the utilities instead.
Now, Sarah was saddled with paying $2500 a month for their two-bedroom.
Didn’t sound like that much at first, when one considered she made three times as much working for Mr. Moreau, but there was also the renter’s insurance and her student loans.
Oh, and Nigel’s loans, because he could barely afford those now, too, and they had both run out of deferments.
At the end of a long month, Sarah could not save that much money.
Certainly not enough to start her own business, let alone qualify for a loan.
Besides, what in the world would she ever do?
“Good for him. Sounds like he’s on to better and bigger things.” Luca pushed aside her now-empty dinner plate. “But what do you want to do?”
“I have no idea.”
“Really?” Was Luca scoffing at her? “I find that hard to believe. You seem like the kind of woman who has grand aspirations.”
“You have to understand that my life has been all about practicality. My mother was an heiress who gave up a lot to marry my father. My grandparents… did not really support her choice in a husband.” They had been nice enough to Sarah and Nigel, even invited them over for holidays, but it was with the understanding that they would never be a part of that world – unless they worked for it.
Elizabeth Brown-Clayborn had sacrificed more than a bare-bones inheritance so she could cross the pond and raise two children in a middle-class setting.
She described it to her children as “the peak of mediocrity.” They went to the best public schools, had the occasional tutor, were supported in their extracurriculars…
but they were not given much beyond that.
They never worried about food and shelter, but they also weren’t given cars for their sixteenth birthday and had the understanding that not much could be done about the esteemed private school they wished to attend.
Not because Elizabeth didn’t want to give her children a debt-free education or further opportunities, but because she realistically could not afford it without her parents’ help.
She had been raised to be a high-society wife and had chosen to instead marry a business manager from New Jersey and take up a part-time job as the assistant to an interior decorator to help make ends meet.
It was that job that inspired her twins to go into administration work.
It was always needed, paid decently, and we didn’t have to worry about specialized education.
“That’s too bad to hear. Your mother sounds like an interesting lady.”
“Her biggest aspiration in life was to marry for love, so that’s what she did.”
“Are they still together?”
“My parents? Yes, but my father never counted on the type of woman he married. She went to finishing school, all right? She runs that house, and my father goes along with everything.” What Elizabeth wanted, Elizabeth got, even if that simply meant HBO being added to the cable packaging.
“This Game of Thrones tosh is bloody hilarious. Their accents are all over the Queen’s country! ”
“At least I know why you say ‘bloody’ when you think nobody’s listening.”
“It’s like fucking. Only more violent.”
“Well, then.”
Sarah wasn’t sure how she felt about being so relaxed in Luca’s home.
While the penthouse wasn’t that well-lived in – let alone matched to the woman’s tastes – it had a hominess to it that invited a person to sit for wine and a movie before taking a luxurious bath for an hour.
A lot of that had to do with Luca’s general geniality.
She could probably take an impersonal hotel room and elevate it with her natural charms.
“I have no career aspirations,” Sarah continued. “I take things one week, one month at a time. Things change so quickly in our lives. Even if I don’t like my job most days…”
“Why don’t you like your job most days?”
“Because I have to deal with pushy suitors like you, clearly.”
Luca held up her wineglass for another toast. “Indeed, you do. I’m glad to see that my pushiness has pushed through for me, though.”
Sarah withheld her glass from the toast. “Say something in Danish.”
“Excuse me?”
She leaned against her hand. “Tell me something you think is true. In Danish.”
“Ah…” Luca looked up to the right, her profile illuminated in the light shining above her. “Du er smuk.”
“Dare I ask what that means?” It sounded like “Deers smoke.”
“It means that you are beautiful. You told me to say something that I thought was true, so I did.”
Sarah still would not give in to a toast. “Why that?”
“Because you are.”
“Surely I’m not the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.”
“Honestly?” Luca withdrew her offer for a toast. “No. You’re not. You should come to Scandinavia sometime. Bevy of beauties there.”
Sarah sighed with the hopes that the sarcasm dripped from her breath. “Sorry. About my busted Brit genetics, that is. You should see my mother. Real munter.”
“How can you insult your own mother like that… and not use the proper accent?”
“My apologies.” Sarah cleared her throat.
When she repeated her insult, she made sure to use the proper, ladylike accent Elizabeth Brown-Clayborn would use and approve of.
I almost sound like I belong in some low-class boarding school.
Sarah was no natural when it came to British accents.
Nigel could do it and get away with it. Helps him score chicks, I’m sure.
Sarah saw no advantage to speaking with a British accent – outside of Europe, anyway.
If anything, it upped her chances of being made fun of in a country that did not take too kindly to those damn foreigners, Anglo or non.
“Not quite what I expected.”
“What did you expect, Ms. Blackbourne?” Sarah put down her glass. “Utter complacency?”
“With you? God forbid.”
Sarah hated it when Luca got a smile out of her. Why show her this side of me? Girlish, fun, vulnerable. People saw those things in a woman and instantly attempted to quash them. Why give her the satisfaction? Why put herself in that position again?
Why trust anyone at all?
“Damn. Got you to smile for a whole three seconds.” Luca leaned across the counter. “But it was a good three seconds.”
She collected the dirty dishes while Sarah remained in her seat. Whatever. She pulled out her phone and found a text from her brother. “You still gonna be out late?”
Sarah glanced in Luca’s direction. She rinsed off and stuffed flatware in the dishwasher, her body flexing with every mundane movement. “As I said, don’t wait up.”
She put her phone away the moment Luca turned around, drying her hands on a clean towel. They shared nothing but a few seconds’ worth of looks before Luca crossed the kitchen, rounded the island counter, and nearly pulled Sarah off her stool.