Evie
A WEEK AGO, I had known nothing about women’s suits. After a few furious sessions online, I knew enough to go shopping, and the results were my outfit the morning of Rex’s Quinn Financial tour. I emerged from the elevator wearing a dark charcoal skirt suit and some new red heels. When even Lochlan noticed my outfit and didn’t scowl for a fraction of a second, a de ep sense of satisfaction filled me. He had spent the past week glaring at me as I set up the tour. His jealousy was so palpable that I could barely stand my work days, but this moment made it all worthwhile. “So it’s today, is it?” he asked as I sat down. “It is.” I smoothed my skirt and crossed my legs at my ankles. I rarely sat like that, but it felt so right in this outfit. I didn’t look like myself at all. I looked like corporate royalty, like I was ready to help the CEO fire half the team, or at least help him fire Lochlan. That would be the only thing that could possibly make my morning better. “I hope you’re not too nervous.” “If you think you can psyche me out, think again. I’ve literally worked in half of the places we’re visiting today. It will be like going home.” “I wonder what all your old coworkers will think about you following Mr. Claremont around like a dog.” “Like a dog? Hardly. I’ll be walking right next to Rex the whole time, if not leading.” I slipped in his first name rather than calling him Mr. Claremont. After doing it a few times over the past week, I’d figured out that Lochlan couldn’t stand it. Whether he was jealous or whether he thought I was disrespectful, I couldn’t tell, but I didn’t care. I enjoyed watching as he pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at me. Rex came out of the glass door and breezed past the desk without looking at either of us. “Ms. Day, let’s get going,” he said. I hopped to my feet. Lochlan caught my eye and mouthed the words, “Like a dog,” at me. I did the only sensible thing I could think to do. I stuck my tongue out at him and ran after my boss, trying not to giggle at the look on Lochlan’s face. I stood in one corner of the elevator, and Rex stood in the other. I realized I was leaning back against the bar, slouching. Then I straightened up and folded my hands in front of myself. I had to have posture worthy of my suit.
His eyes lingered on me. I have never been great at holding eye contact, but this was my boss. I tried to hold his gaze, but my heart rate sped up as I did. Looking him right in the eye was doing something to me. I wondered what he’d do if I threw myself i nto his arms — if he’d pin me up against the wall or if he’d push me away. Then I inwardly chastised myself for thinking about him that way. “Thank you for setting this up,” he said. “You’re welcome,” I said, fisting my hands behind my back, where they stayed as the elevator descended. The elevator doors opened. I broke our eye - contact then and finally exhaled, but my breath came out a little shaky. He frowned. “You seem nervous.” “I’m not nervous,” I said, probably too quickly. There was no way I could tell him that being alone with him in an elevator was giving me... thoughts. His frown stayed in place. “If you’re nervous because of what you told me the other day, don’t be. I won’t betray my source. I’m here to learn about this place and to improve it. I look forward to meeting the managers — and everyone else — in both buildings t oday. But I also plan to investigate past HR r eports made against these managers and do some digging into their work histories.” “I’m really not nervous,” I said, even though I wasn’t thrilled to see some managers we would visit that day. “Okay,” he said, clearly not believing me. “I want you to know that what you told me is going to bring about changes here.” “Thank you,” I said, and I kind of wanted to hug him. Then I wondered what Rex Claremont would do if I actually gave him a hug. I’d worked in the sales, financial, and marketing d epartments in Seattle — and we had plans to visit all of them, as well as others, before we headed down to Tacoma. We started with sales, my least favorite, but had planned it this way to get it out of the way quickly. I told him why it was such a bad d epartment to work for as we waited for the elevator. “They don’t care at all about their employees. It’s all numbers to them. No sales, no sympathy.” “Well, it is the sales team.” “But it goes too far. No one on that team is allowed to have a life.”
I could tell by his reaction that maybe he didn’t have a life either and didn’t think anything about it, but that was not my problem. Maybe he would realize the error of his ways as well. I was of the opinion that no one should ever sell their soul to a jo b, but especially not to a job that paid a mid - level salary. The sales d epartment had been one of my least favorite as it had the biggest collection of toxic bosses in the company. I hadn’t intended to point those guys out to Rex along the way. I’d given him their names. He knew. But St ephen Jones saw us. He approached and introduced himself to Rex, but k ept his eyes on me. I stood just behind Rex, where I could give St ephen a stone - cold stare without fear of retaliation. He wouldn’t dare now. After I’d r eported him for backing me into a corner and trying to kiss me one day after work, he’d made my life miserable until I’d moved to a different d epartment. “St ephen Jones, eh?” Rex asked. “I’ve heard about you.” “All good things, I hope,” St ephen said, extending his hand. Rex took it. From the look on St ephen’s face and the flexing tendons in Rex’s hand, I could tell Rex had just given him the handshake from hell. I wanted to let out a gleeful cackle, but I held it in. “Well, a mix of things,” Rex said. He didn’t say much more to St ephen, but as we turned the corner and got out of earshot, he said, “I read the r eport you filed on him. He won’t be here much longer.” He didn’t offer more than that, but he didn’t need to. His words filled me with a relief that I didn’t know I needed, one long overdue from not being heard by HR years ago. We took the stairwell to the next floor down for the finance d epartment, which had many branches, a given since it was Quinn Financial. The company provided highlevel financial guidance and management for individuals and businesses all around the country, which was ironic given just how bad I was at my own finances. Still, I’d been popular in that d epartment. I’d gone out with a fair number of the analysts. Maybe it was precisely because money management was a skill that es caped me that I thought this team was on the sexy side. They all possessed the secret knowledge that I would never obtain. So when we walked in, I waved to a guy I’d parted amicably with, avoided eye - contact with another, and fought off the urge to giggle at yet another. I wanted to say
hi and chat, but couldn’t figure out how to break away and certainly didn’t want to chat with a few ex - booty calls with my new boss and fake - boyfriend in tow. “How long did you work here?” Rex asked, glaring at a guy I was smiling at. “Oh, not too long. This was definitely not my forte.” He shook hands with a manager. Then he listened as the manager spoke about what the d epartment had been working to improve over the past quarter and where they thought they excelled. But his eyes lingered on me, oddly intense. We finished our tour of the Seattle building in marketing, where my former supervisor, Angela, greeted me with a hug and Rex with a handshake. “I’m so honored that you’ve come to see what we do today,” she told him. “The honor is mine. This has been an eye - opening day, courtesy of my new assistant,” he said. “You’re lucky to have her,” Angela said. “I hope she’s as much of an asset to your team as she was to ours.” “She definitely is.” So far, this compliment - fest was my favorite part of the day. I hoped it might continue awhile, but instead Angela gave him a tour of the d epartment and explained what it did. And that wrapped up the d epartments we planned to visit in Seattle. Next up was Tacoma, where it had all started for me. I followed him as he strode through the parking lot on the A level, the finest of all garage levels. It had windows to the outside. He stopped in front of a black sedan. This was not the car he had picked me up in for Sunday dinner. While it was not as flashy, it was still pristine and perfect. Not a speck of dust on its dashboard, not a smudge, not a single stain from eating in fast f ood parking lots. I knew next to nothing about cars, but I knew enough to know that this one was far out of my league. He clicked a remote in his hand and unlocked the doors. We climbed in, and I couldn’t stop myself. I trailed my fingers over the leather upholstery. He backed out of his parking space. I watched the backup video feed in the dash, wishing my car had any sort of modern technology in it. Despite the camera, he stretched his arm over my seat and turned to look. I noticed the tension in his jaw, and how clo se his hand was to my shoulder, but he didn’t touch me. Not even by accident.
“Why do you look behind yourself if you have a backup camera?” I asked. “I don’t know. I guess I prefer trusting myself over a video camera.” “But it can probably see more than you can, twisted around like that.” “You’re right. I guess I still prefer it,” he said, driving through the garage to the exit. “If I had a backup cam in my car — and that’s a big if — I would use it all the time. I might just drive backwards so I could enjoy it more.” He laughed softly, and I felt like I’d just won the jackpot. He didn’t laugh often. “That’s a sight I’d love to see.” As we pulled out into the light of day, his laugh faded away and he added, “I have been driven around so much in my life, when I drive, I like to really drive. I like to be in control of the car.” “I don’t think I’ve ever had a thought about being in control of my car.” “Maybe control isn’t as big of an issue to you as it is to me.” “But aren’t you pretty much always in control?” He snorted. “I guess it might look that way from the outside, sometimes, but the entire reason I’m using you as my girlfriend decoy is because you were my only way to take control of that situation.” “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t assume being rich means having control.” To me, being rich would mean having control over a lot of things, namely my mortgage. “But for the record, I rarely feel in control of my own life, either.” He glanced at me with a soft smile. My stomach flipped a little at that. “Maybe no one feels in control of their lives. Maybe that’s just how life goes.” He merged onto the freeway and pressed his foot to the gas. This car could pick up speed far faster than I was used to, and he seemed to have no shame doing almost eighty in the fast lane right in the heart of downtown Seattle. It made me nervous, though. I stayed at the speed limit and k ept to the right lane when I drove, the middle if I was feeling saucy. We were in Tacoma a lot faster than I would have been. The Tacoma building was de eply familiar to me. I’d worked there for years before I’d transferred to Seattle, but hadn’t been back since. Pulling into the dark and dingy parking garage reminded me just how done I’d been with the place when I’d moved on. For all of those years, I’d parked in the bowels of the garage, but he drove to the top floor, the one that got some natural light and didn’t require extra time on the elevator. He parked in a spot reserv ed for the CEO that I never knew existed.
“So what are we doing here?” he asked me as we walked side - by - side to the elevator. “We’re going to visit the data entry d epartment. It’s the engine of the entire company.” “Data entry is the engine?” “Yes. Definitely. These are the people grinding away every day to make sure everything is where it should be. If you didn’t have them, a lot of menial work wouldn’t be done well or done at all, and everyone at the top would have to figure out a better way to do it. Most of these people have never seen a CEO, much less their own CEO. This is the only d epartment with no one on their team in Seattle. They’re overlooked and overworked. None of the executives have ever come down here. No one says thank you to these guys.” He threw a doubtful look my way, and my resolve to tell it like it is faltered. “No, don’t do that,” he said. “Tell me the things I don’t know. I want to hear them.” “How did you even know what I was thinking?” “You have a very transparent face.” The corner of his mouth twitched. I tried to force my face blank, the way he always had his. No one had ever told me I had a transparent face before, but he’d read my thoughts so easily that I must. That wouldn’t help me in this situation at all. “Tell me more about data entry,” he said as the elevator doors opened. So I told him all about the nitty gritty of data entry, what my days had been like as a beginner and a supervisor, and by the time the elevator reached the fourth floor, he was a fast - expert on the life and times of a data entry team member. I readied myself with my work phone, where I could take notes as directed for things he wanted to review later. The managers of the d epartment had changed since I’d left, but I saw many familiar faces — most of them gave me wide - eyed looks as I trailed behind Rex. The head of the d epartment took over the tour, explaining to Rex what the d epartment did, how they did it, and giving him a rundown of the cubicle hell that had once been my work - home. As always, I couldn’t read Rex’s expression as he took it all in. I wondered what he thought. The Seattle building had its issues, but the Tacoma building was even less shiny than the Seattle building.
“Thank you so much for showing me around,” he said to the new manager, a woman in her mid - 40 s with a nice smile and a permanently frazzled look on her face. “I will see what I can do about the printers. You’re right. They should have been upgraded by now.” “Thank you,” she said. As we headed back toward the elevator, he stopped me. “Evie? I want to see these break rooms.” “Huh?” I hadn’t expected this. “You mentioned the break rooms from the nineties the first time I met you. She mentioned that the break rooms were getting rough as well. Let’s see how bad these break rooms are.” I led him to the break room I’d frequented during my years in Tacoma. St epping inside was like going back to high school — nostalgic, but weirdly unwelcome. Worn checkerboard linoleum tiles. A tiny bank of lockers in the corner with locks that mostly didn’t work. A permanently foul smell coming from the microwave. I glanced at him, but didn’t need to ask him what he thought. The room spoke for itself. “I used to eat lunch in here every day,” I said, and rested my hand on the edge of the table. “It’s a little weird to be back.” “I’m sure it is.” “Without the nostalgia factor, this probably just looks like a plain, gross room to you.” “Quite the contrary. I want to know what will make Quinn a better place to work.” He took a st ep nearer to me and touched the table close to where my fingers lingered. I pulled my hand back and crossed my arms. I looked up at him and swore there was an actual crackle in the air — this was like the elevator, but now he seemed to be feeling it, too. Unless he had been feeling something in the elevator as well and just k ept it locked down better than I did. “I’m fascinated,” he said, and the words definitely had more meaning than face value. I inched my way to the other side of the table, behind the chair where I’d usually sat while I ate my lukewarm lunch out of a plastic container. “I’m sure it’s not that fascinating, but I’m glad all my job hopping is finally useful to someone.” “No one gets anywhere by staying in the same spot forever.” He moved to stand next to me again, like he was merely wandering around the room. And yet he was wandering to the same
places I was. There was definitely a crackle in the room, and it was between us, and it seemed to pull him closer to me. I wasn’t sure he realized it. “A strong argument could be made that I haven’t gotten anywhere, either.” But then I held my tongue. I didn’t want to talk about my desperate financial straits with him. He knew a bit about my struggles, but not much. I didn’t really want anyone to know — mu ch less him — just how much of a hot mess I was with money. “What exactly does that mean?” he asked. “You’ve gone from punching numbers in data entry to being executive assistant to the CEO. You’ve come a long way.” I smiled weakly and shrugged. I didn’t want to say that I was still an assistant, that my life’s work was still propping up other people instead of myself. There’s no way that would come out right, but it’s the thought that went through my head. In the sam e thought, I was glad I was an assistant. I was glad I was his assistant. He stood closer to me than he probably should have, and I didn’t move away. Not at first. I thought about what it would be like to touch him, but then I just as quickly banished that thought. What it would be like was me losing my job. Not worth it, Evie. Get it together. No matter how much I could see the definition of his chest under his shirt. No matter how well his pants fit. No matter how the stubble along his jaw was just enough to totally do it for me. Not! Worth! It! Evie! I st epped toward the bank of lockers. I didn’t think he realized how close we stood together, but I knew if I didn’t back away from him, I might not be able to talk myself out of putting my hands on his body. At the moment, I wasn’t too picky about where. “These really could use r eplacing. The ones in the Seattle break rooms are just about as old. Half the locks don’t work anymore.” His eyes followed me as I moved. “We’ll see what we can do,” he said, and he might as well have told me he wanted to take me on that break room table from the way my heart hammered. I needed to be back in public with him. Stat. “We really should head back to Seattle,” I told him. “Otherwise, we might get stuck in traffic for a long while.” He nodded, but said nothing. The drive back to Seattle was quiet, and I would have given anything to know what he was thinking. Was he thinking about what we could do on that break room table, too? But I didn’t ask. He was my boss. More than my boss. He was everyone’s boss.
I focused on remembering that and not thinking about whatever magic was dancing between us not so long ago. Maybe he was focusing on the same thing. And what would it mean if he was? By the time we got back to Seattle, the workday was nearly done. As we pulled off the freeway, he glanced at his watch. “I have a video meeting I want to take at the office in an hour, but I just realized I left my laptop at home. I need to run up and get it. Do you mind? I live just a few blocks from here.” “Oh, that’s fine.” He turned a corner onto Fifth Avenue, and I wondered where he might live, right in the very center of downtown. All around us were tall buildings. It had to be one of those. I was curious what kind of home he had, and why he might choose a place like this over his parents’ mansion. He took a right into a parking garage, then parked soon after in a spot under a sign that read “Penthouse.” I wasn’t surprised, but I was impressed. “Are you coming?” he asked, and I nearly choked on my own spit. “I’m all right. I can wait here.” “Nonsense. Come along.” He was already out the door and waiting for me. I got out as well, not wanting to argue with him when he had a meeting to get to. As I opened my door, I saw the guard hustling toward Rex. “Sir, I’m so sorry, but you’ll have to exit and go in through the main lobby. The floor in front of the elevator needed some maintenance this morning, and the cement is still drying.” There were signs for wet cement right in front of the elevator doors. “Thank you, Mike,” he said, and then turned to me. “It’s not far.” Walking next to Rex out into the light of day in downtown Seattle felt odd. Casual. Like I shouldn’t be there. I was about to see his home. As we made our way from the garage entrance to the front doors, I noticed a couple of guys standing off to one side. One of them raised a large camera at us and took a photo. “What is he doing?” I asked. Rex put an arm around my shoulders to usher me through the doors a guard had opened for us. We hurried inside. The sound of shutter snaps followed us in, but the men stayed outside. “Sorry, sir. I’ve asked them to leave, and they refused. The police are on their way to escort them off the property.”
Rex waved that away with his hand. “What was that?” I asked again, as Rex guided me toward the elevators at the back of the lobby. “That was a couple of paparazzi waiting around to see if anyone who lives in this building might give them a shot they can sell. I doubt my arm around your shoulders is the best thing they’ve gotten today. They probably won’t even be able to sell their pho to.” I stood in the corner of the elevator with my mouth hanging open. I knew that because the elevator walls were mirrored, reflecting each other back and forth forever. There were about one billion Evies with their mouths hanging open, standing in a row and a ll looking back at me. “The paparazzi just took a picture of me?” “I should have warned you that was a possibility,” he said. “I am not the most exciting catch for the paparazzi. I’m no actor. I’m no playboy like my brother Remy. They love him. But if they happen upon me, especially if I’m with a woman, they don’t ignore me, either.” “You’re not concerned about that?” He frowned. “People are going to know! People at work will find out. You didn’t want that, did you?” He let out a breath. “No one really reads the tabloids, do they?” “You’re kidding, right?” He didn’t answer, probably because half the people at Quinn would know within a week or two. Maybe it didn’t really matter what the whole building knew. It mattered if anyone on the tenth floor would find out. I tried to adopt his approach — trusting that no one would ever see that photo. But I had a feeling that’s not how things would go. He pushed a keycard into a slot and then pushed his floor selection. The elevator whisked us up the floors faster than any elevator I’d ever been in. I tried to process what had just happened and tried to ignore the queasy feeling in my stomach. The elevator opened up not to a hallway, but to a tiny lobby with a single door. His door. “I shouldn’t — ” I started, but he moved past me. “This will only take a minute,” he said in such a commanding tone that I followed him. He wanted me to see his home. I was sure of it. I could have waited in the lobby downstairs. I could have smiled and waved to those paparazzi for a few minutes. I could even have waited in the car. Instead, I was here, standing in the most pristinely beauti ful penthouse I’d ever seen — floorto - ceiling windows opening up to a view of the city right on out to the Puget Sound, a stark,
dark blue sofa set, a kitchen so spotless and shiny that I wouldn’t question if it had never been used. I froze near the entryway, as he disappeared around a corner next to his kitchen. I tried to imagine what it felt like to live in a place like this. It was too perfect. I wanted to mess it up. I could hear papers rustling and him muttering to himself. Obviously, he was comfortable bringing me into his space, so I pushed myself out of my frozen state near the door and followed the sound of his muttering. I found him flipping through a stack of papers on a giant glass desk next to an equally giant window. “I would never get any work done with a view like that,” I said. “Yes, well, I won’t get any work done if I can’t find my laptop cord, either.” “Is that it?” He glanced up, and I pointed to a black cord sticking out of a drawer. He snatched it out of the drawer and nodded. Then he pulled out a black laptop bag and began filling it with his laptop, the cord, and various papers, while I stood there with nothing t o do other than stare at that view. “Why don’t you live with the rest of your family?” I asked, and then immediately regretted it. That wasn’t any of my business. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t ask.” “I don’t care if you ask,” he said, bag now assembled. “I just wanted my own space.” “That makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is why the rest of your siblings don’t feel that way.” I probably shouldn’t have said that, either, but he didn’t stop me. Instead, he shrugged. “I suspect they do. They’re all adults.” “You’re the oldest, right?” He nodded. “I am.” “You all look the same age.” “We’re all a year apart, starting with me at thirty.” “Your parents must like having children.” At that, his openness seemed to end. His fingers traced the stitching on his laptop bag. “I’m sure they liked it at one time. Now, I’m not as sure.”
“What does that mean?” I should have stopped asking questions, but I could tell I’d tapped into something interesting. He was a person, a man, from a complicated family. I wanted to know more. “It means my parents have firm ideas of who they want us to be and we’re not always great at going along with those plans,” he nearly growled. “How about we get back to the office?” He made his way to his door and waited for me there. “Come along, Ms. Day. ” I’d gone too far, I was sure of it, so I said nothing more as we retraced our st eps back to the elevator, back downstairs. Rex said goodbye to the guard, who opened the door. When we left the building, the paparazzi were no longer there.