AT THE TAIL end of a long day spent digging through the company’s financial statements from the past seven years, trying to identify what might be causing the persistent decline in profits, Rebekah walked into my office without knocking. “Can I help you?” I asked without looking up. “I think the question you should ask yourself is whether I can help you,” she said. Then I looked up at her, because she obviously wanted me to. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a bit of a vexed expression on her face. Rebekah always thought she knew everything. A sense of superiority had been written into her personality since bir th. To be fair, she was extremely smart, but not smart enough to know when to get the hell out of my office. “I’m busy,” I said. “I see that, but you will not find the answers in those r eports.” I flipped a manila folder closed. “I’m glad to hear that you think that, but I’m going to look through them, anyway.” “You could just, you know, talk to me. Talk to the other executives.” “You?” I asked. “Weren’t you in the marketing d epartment until recently? Were you fixing the company from there?” Her mouth slid to one side, not impressed, but before she could blast me for my snark, Evie popped through my door. Uninvited and smiling, the same way she had burst into my office two other times that day. “I know you’ve been buckled down all day, Mr. Claremont, so I got you a coffee — black, extra hot, with creamer on the side.” She set a cup on my desk, and I couldn’t help feeling annoyed. Because I was annoyed. We would have to have a discussion about popping into my office. In the morning, we’d have a talk about how useful communicating via the team chat on our computers could be. “Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked. I shook my head. “Just let me know. I got through the mailing list on the Q drive, your correspondence, and I scheduled three meetings for you next week.” “Thank you, Ms. Day,” I said.
After an awkward pause, Evie left, and Rebekah whipped her head between the two of us. “Don’t tell me you’re bothered by that sweet woman bringing you coffee.” “That’s not sweet. I didn’t ask her to bring me anything.” “She’s going above and beyond. That’s a good trait in an assistant.” “I don’t want a sweet assistant. I also don’t want above and beyond if it in volves barging into my office.” “Maybe what you need is sweet,” she said. “I should fire her,” I muttered. “Don’t you dare.” “Maybe I should fire you, too.” She laughed softly. “You can’t fire me. I’m the only person in this company who knows what’s going on.” “From working as the head of marketing?” “I’m not in the marketing d epartment anymore and haven’t been for a while. I’ve been going to board meetings here for years, too. But it’s fine. Sort it out yourself, Mr. CEO. I’m sure you’ll swoop in and save the company after being here for five minutes.” She turned and left. I felt like an ass. I knew she had much more experience than the marketing d epartment. For a few seconds, I thought about calling her back and hearing her out, but I didn’t. Whatever she had to say, I still needed to familiarize myself with this company. I couldn’t just ask her to give me the abbreviated version. I needed to dig in, learn, and take action. That’s what I’d been sent here to do, and that’s what I would do. EVIE FLAGGED ME down as I was leaving the office late. What was she even still doing there? I didn’t care. I was tired. My brain was numb. I was nearly to the elevator when I heard, “Mr. Claremont, I have a question for you.” I expected a question clarifying a task I’d sent to her. Instead, she offered me her usual bright smile and asked, “Did you get a doughnut? I know you were busy all day, but wanted to be sure you didn’t miss them.” “Doughnuts?” I asked, a little confused. Had she seriously flagged me down for doughnuts? “Well, they’re not just any doughnuts, but the most upscale doughnuts known to man. I might owe that bakery my firstborn child now, but it’s worth it.”
She raised a large, pink box up from her desk for me to see. I stared down at them, a little dumbfounded. Ask her about her job history — bashful stares. Walk innocently to the elevator — a giant box of doughnuts. I selected one with chocolate frosting and pea nuts on top. “I have a theory,” she said. “And what is that?” I didn’t want to play along. I wanted to continue on my way to the elevator without further conversation in volved, but she was smiling at me and waiting so eagerly for me to ask her about her theory that I couldn’t ignore her. I did ver y sincerely want to ignore her. “I think what kind of doughnut a person chooses says a lot about who they are. For instance, I offered Lochlan a doughnut, and he declined and said he doesn’t eat sugar. What kind of person doesn’t eat sugar?” “It sounds like Lochlan doesn’t,” I said dryly. “Of course he doesn’t.” Then she stared at my doughnut choice. I could see her trying to parse out my personality based on the fact that I’d chosen chocolate with crushed peanuts. I frowned at her. The woman was mildly infuriating. Or maybe more than mildly. “So what do you think my choice says about me?” I asked, and then wondered why I cared. She inclined her head and pursed her lips. The effect was more stunning than it should be. Her dark hair pooled on one of her shoulders and the shape of her lips got accentuated in a way that I wished I could ignore. I had a fleeting thought about what it would be like to kiss her, but then I immediately shut that down. “I think,” she said, “that you seem serious on the surface, all business, but really, you’re a kind and maybe even funny person. Because of the nuts. The nuts are an interesting choice for a CEO.” I quirked an eyebrow at her. And then she immediately backpedaled. “I shouldn’t have said that, sir,” she said, casting her eyes down. “I’m sorry. They’re just doughnuts.” I noticed a flush on her cheeks and found that... almost endearing. But I didn’t say that out loud. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Day.” She said goodbye to me, but I was already heading toward the elevator. I’d need to talk to Rebekah again. She had insisted Evie would be a good fit for me, but I wasn’t sure I agreed. I didn’t need an assistant who attempted to figure me out based on my do ughnut choice. I
definitely didn’t need an assistant who gave me fleeting thoughts about what it would be like to kiss her. And the talking. So much talking. Every time I’d asked her for anything all day, it had come with a full conversation. I wanted to tell her to quit with the questions and upbeat conversation every time I saw her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I got to my car and dropped my briefcase filled with the stack of files Rebekah had left piled on my desk. I’d been chipping away at getting through them all day and failing. Reading them was pointless. All of this was pointless. Rebekah was right. I could n’t just swoop in and save this company. I decided to take them home where I could focus better, without Evangeline Day popping into my office with her cheery smile to ask me questions or trying to figure out my personality. I’d never met anyone who had so many words inside of her, and so few fil ters for those words. As I pulled out of the parking garage, I noticed a voicemail on my phone. I let it play, but almost shut it off when I heard my father’s voice. “Rex,” he said, “your mother and I are hosting a family dinner on Sunday. We’re hoping to invite Anya.” My breaths came in hard, angry puffs. He already knew I was not interested in being with Anya Albrecht. We’d been over this, and it didn’t matter. She would probably be at Sunday dinner again, trying to talk me into marrying her to get her own overbearing father off of her back. I needed to call him back and make it absolutely clear that if he invited Anya, I would not be at dinner. I needed to make a stand, but I knew I wouldn’t. At least not yet. My father had just doled out his inheritance conditions. The timing was not great f or a confrontation. My hands squeezed at the steering wheel as I sat at a stoplight just outside of my building. I lived close to Quinn Financial. Living in the city — alone — suited me more than living at our sprawling family estate, where the rest of my family all lived. I enjo yed living alone, but sometimes I wished I’d moved farther away. Maybe if I lived on the other side of the country, my father wouldn’t be so intrusive with his conditions. Maybe I should skip Sunday dinner regardless of whether Anya was invited or not. I turned into my parking lot and rode the elevator to my penthouse on the top floor. My houseke eper left ready - to - eat meals in the refrigerator for me each day. I grabbed a container and pulled the lid off to find some kind of rice, vegetable, and shrimp dish. I popped my dinner into the microwave, grabbed a bottle of seltzer, and then too k my dinner to the table.
Dinner for one. Just the way I liked it. In utter and complete silence, also just the way I liked it. I had a small dining table set next to a large window, overlooking my deck and out over the city to the Puget Sound. City lights glittered fifteen stories below. Since no one could see me, I left the curtains open at all times. I enjoyed the view. I enjoye d the light in the mornings, the atmosphere at night, and, frankly, I enjoyed not having to open and close curtains twice a day. The shrimp dish was delicious. Perfectly spiced with the right amount of kick. I ate slowly, admiring my view, and trying to ignore the thought rolling around in the back of my mind. But I couldn’t. It was embedded in my consciousness. I didn’t want any of this — not being the CEO, not figuring out how to save this company, not dealing with an assistant who was the opposite of what I wanted in an assistant. And I did not want to spend another family dinner with Anya, who was intent on ropi ng me into a future I didn’t want, just as much as my parents were. I had to respond to my father, and I needed to say something that would shut down all the Anya pressure. For the past few days, since our last family dinner, I had been waiting for lightning to strike, a miracle solution to my Anya problem. But there really was only one way to get rid of her and get my parents off my case at the same time. I knew as I wrote the words that I did not yet have the logistics worked out, but I’d figure that out later. So I wrote: Don’t invite Anya. It will be awkward. I’m bringing a date. A bolt of regret went through me as I stared at my own words. I hadn’t dated anyone in a long time. Dating while wealthy was not easy. My options were mostly limited to money grubbers, actresses, and heiresses, and I had not found anyone I enjoyed in any o f those categories. All that to say — I did not have a date for Sunday dinner. My first thought was that I could find someone before Sunday. All I needed was a woman who looked like someone I might date, and who could sit through dinner with me and smile at my family. Any number of personal sites could help with that, and I almost do wnloaded a few apps to look around for candidates. But then I didn’t. The idea of bringing a woman I didn’t know into this situation — one who might decide to have feelings for me or who might throw an unpredictable wrench into the equation — was unappealing. The more I sat there and stared at those apps, the more I was sure I could not find someone I could tolerate, explain the situation to her, and get her to agree not to rat me out all before Sunday. What I really needed was someone beyond Sunday. What would one date for one Sunday dinner solve?
Nothing. It would solve nothing. I’d just backed myself into a corner with no solution. Fuck me.