Chapter 1
EARTH TO HANNAH.
Fingers snap in my face impatiently. Val Wouters looks annoyed, a furrow forming on his face as he draws his dark eyebrows together.
You’re needed at the board meeting to take minutes, he tells me.
I hurry to click away the notification about Dante and his rainbow dodo—Robin, apparently?—making things Facebook-official. I can’t believe they started hooking up last year in July. I can’t believe she has a flipping bird name.
Yeah, sorry. Just a second.
Val watches me scramble my laptop and papers into a sloppy stack. I can feel his steel grey eyes following my every move. When I pull a pen from my high bun, my copper curls tumble down to my shoulders. In a hurry, I scribble a few notes at the bottom corner of the meeting agenda before looking up.
Eyes pinched shut, he rubs a hand over his stubble, then straightens his tie. His dark hair is styled in an intentional tousle spilling down onto his forehead.
Why are you so scattered today? he asks.
The holidays would have been a great time to catch up on some rest. I need you focused, Hannah.
He nods at the documents I tossed on top of the stack.
Those are the minutes from November’s meeting.
You’re supposed to be bringing the handouts for today’s presentation.
I tighten my jaw. Oh. You’re right. I’m sorry. I pick up a few folders and start to leaf through them.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath in. Hannah, did you prep for this meeting?
His voice sounds threatening and I give him a startled look. He’s in a shitty mood again. Well, I guess that makes two of us.
I did, but I can’t seem to find the handouts, I explain.
Then print them again.
When I show no signs of getting up, he plants his hands on my desk, leans in, and stares me straight in the eye. Now.
I stare back at him in defiance. Jerk. I know I’ve been disorganized, but I don’t appreciate his condescending tone. I feel like I’m in grade 11 again with the teacher giving me crap for accidentally cremating my lab partner’s eyebrows.
Val can tell where my thoughts are headed. His nostrils flare as he gives me a look of warning, his handsome face twisted into a scowl.
This isn’t the time for one of your snarky comments, Hannah, he says. The meeting’s starting in five minutes and my patience is running razor thin today.
Ah yes. ‘Today.’ Definitely a rare occurrence.
De Haas . . . Oof, once Val starts busting out last names, it’s game over. If chatter around the office is anything to go by, his mood has taken a complete nosedive since taking over the company from his father.
I keep him locked in a pissy stare as I push my chair back and rush to the printer, my laptop tucked under my arm. I stifle a swear. I hate when I give him the opportunity to treat me like a little child.
Before long, the printer is spitting out one handout after the other. I bundle them together in a hurry, then speed over to the conference room.
All of the board members are gathered around the long, dark brown table. I quickly circle the room, passing out handouts along the way, before taking a seat between Val and Michael, the other executive assistant.
Michael taps a pen on his notepad, seeming irritated. Jeez, that took forever, he chirps as I open my laptop.
I look over to see Val frowning, jaw clenched and staring straight ahead.
Yeah, I reply. Logistical snafu, sorry.
Val told me you printed the wrong documents.
I shoot a glare at our CEO. Snitch.
You look kind of tired, actually. Rough night? Michael continues, undeterred.
Not at all. I got an excellent night’s sleep, I reply, obviously annoyed.
It’s none of Michael’s business that I was up drinking wine until 2 a.m. in an attempt to erase the memory of Dante’s pale white ass rhythmically thrusting away in the supply room.
Ah. Any chance you were dreaming about me? Michael teases.
Val shifts in his seat and the way he’s scrunching his eyebrows suggests that he’s had more than enough of Michael.
Hate to disappoint you, I say matter-of-factly. I didn’t have a single nightmare last night.
In a flash, I notice the corner of Val’s mouth tug up into a minuscule half-grin. Linking my laptop to the projector, I fire up the PowerPoint presentation.
Alright, Val says, kicking off the meeting.
As you’re well aware, building off the success of our department stores here at home in the Netherlands, we recently opened a Wouters location in London.
Our main goal there is to compete with the Winthrops brand and its long-established legacy as one of the oldest stores in the UK.
The first slide shows the enormous Wouters building. The stately storefront is embellished with curly design accents. I’m impressed with how beautifully it all turned out.
Val continues his presentation, adding context to all the charts and graphs along the way.
We’re not hitting our sales targets. Winthrops is such a household name and so many people are drawn to the air of status that surrounds it.
It’s where the Queen—RIP Liz—used to buy her unmentionables.
We’ll have to find a way to distinguish ourselves if we want to dethrone the uncrowned king of department stores.
So, he continues, Hannah and I are heading to London for two weeks at the end of January to see how things are going over there. It will also give us some time to get to know the staff.
I choke on my coffee. Mid-cough, my eyes whip up to Val who’s looking at the board members with a steely expression.
I clearly missed that memo. A business trip to London?
Hell yeah. A business trip to London with Val?
Thanks, but no thanks. If he had that sour pickle that’s been wedged up his butt for years surgically removed, then maybe I’d consider it.
Looks like this might be news to Hannah, Van Henegouwen remarks. His watery eyes are trained on me. He takes a moment to slick his remaining stringy, greasy hair over the growing bald patch on his head. Val lets out an exhausted sigh as he shifts his silver eyes back to me.
I sent you an email this morning, he says, picking up on my stunned expression.
Oh. I didn’t read it.
For the second time this morning, Val closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. I can almost hear him counting to ten in his mind.
Yes, that much is obvious, he finally utters.
Can I still get out of it?
She doesn’t want to go to London with you, Val! Van Henegouwen cackles. He slaps a hand down on the table as his lips curl into a wide grin on his pudgy face. This must be the first time a woman has ever said no to you.
Val fires an irritated look his way. No, Hannah, you can’t still get out of it, he replies, returning his attention back to the presentation and ignoring Van Henegouwen in the process.
But . . . He turns my way, shutting me up with a pointed glare.
If there’s anything you want to discuss later on, you can come by my office after the meeting.
How the hell did you wrangle that? I hear Michael mumble in an envious tone as we’re leaving the conference room.
Wrangle what?
Your little business trip with Wouters. I thought he didn’t like you.
I huff. I know Val doesn’t like me, but he doesn’t like anybody.
I’m the only executive assistant who’s ever worked directly below him and managed to stick it out for more than two months before being fired or storming out of the building in tears.
For whatever reason, he can at least stand me.
I generally do a decent job and don’t usually give him any reason to complain.
Today is a pretty rare exception to the rule.
I don’t know how I ‘wrangled this’, I snark. But I do know that I won’t be taking him up on the offer.
I’m still way too out of sorts right now to be spending two weeks with a man who could easily reduce the Grinch to tears.
What if I suggest that he takes you instead? I propose. That makes Michael perk up a little.
That would be great. I mean, if you’re really not interested . . .
Yeah, absolutely not. I arrive at my desk and put my things down.
Val makes his way from the conference room straight to his office, lets the glass door slam shut behind him, and takes a seat behind his desk. Michael takes it all in, eyebrows raised.
Might as well get this over with, I say, dragging my feet as I head towards Val’s office.
Good luck. He seems to be in an awful mood.
Tell me what else is new, I scoff.
It’s best to just rip off the bandaid. I knock twice before stepping into his office. He was staring at the screen, brow furrowed, but he looks up as I enter. He pulls up his eyebrows, crosses his arms, and gives me an inquisitive look.
What is it, De Haas?
Ah, crap. Here we go again with the last name approach. My odds are fading by the second here.
Um, about those two weeks in London . . .
Yes . . .?
You see, it’s like this . . . I can’t go . . .
And why is that? Are you having kidney surgery? His eyebrows climb a little higher up on his forehead. Heart transplant?
I huff. No, I reluctantly admit. If anyone here is in need of a heart transplant, it’s definitely him. I open my mouth to announce just that, but he gives me a look of warning, like he once again knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Well, then you’re coming, he says firmly, turning his attention back to his work.
I’m not about to give in just yet. I was actually just talking to Michael about it. He’s really eager to go to London, so we thought—
He stops me mid-sentence with a sharp look and an unreadable expression washes over his face. He seems almost disappointed that I’m trying to get out of this trip. Almost.
De Haas, I want you to go. If I wanted to bring Michael, I would have sent him the memo, wouldn’t I?
I open my mouth, ready to reply, when he adds, Hannah, I don’t pay you four thousand euros a month just for you to wiggle your way out of your responsibilities. You’re coming to London. Period.
I clench my jaw in anger, spin on my heels, and let his door slam shut with a bang.