Strapped Page 3

  “Did you have someone else in this role before?”

  “Yes, she moved out of town a while ago. I was just beginning to search for someone new when we met.”

  “What was her name?” He looks at me as if I have a third eyeball.

  He hesitates. “...Emily, but I am not sure what that has to do with the matter at hand.”

  “I’m sorry, I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping, but you mentioned the name Marsha at the coffee shop and I was just wondering...”

  “No, Marsha is my receptionist. In fact, she has been taking on more than she should since Emily’s departure.”

  I am not sure what to make of this. I had no intentions of getting a regular job and now he wants me to be his “right arm?” Not to mention, I find that term just mildly creepy.

  “Mr. Holden, you have to understand how bizarre this is. I mean I feel as though you are insisting I take this job that I have done nothing to earn and I am not quite sure why. Then I sign this NDA for seemingly no reason because nothing you have revealed seems to be sensitive. Frankly, it makes me suspicious.” There. I said it. This is all so shady.

  He slowly exhales, trying to conceal that he is mildly annoyed by my question. “The NDA is procedural as I consider this offer to be a private matter for reasons you may not understand until you decide to work with H.I. If you reject the offer, I do not want it discussed outside of this room. I apologize if that made you uncomfortable.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off as accusatory.”

  “Do you think I am offering you this position just because I think you are a nice person? I know you went to University of Chicago and double majored in English and Computer Science. I know that you did this all while growing up in poverty with no father. I think someone like you is quite deserving of such an opportunity.” I gulp, and my eyes widen. This man is full of surprises. He went home and researched me, just like I did him. Except he probably hired a private investigator and I did a quick Google search. “I had a hunch about you,” Taylor says assuredly, “and I was right.”

  No, you are wrong. The wave of shame rolls over me and I feel that my secret has been unmasked. While most people may have been proud of the description he just uttered, to me, it is a reminder of what a disappointment I feel like. I was supposed to be a big deal, the girl that struggles to work her way out of poverty and become great. Instead, I work in my own little cocoon, accomplishing nothing of significance, allowing mediocrity to shield me from the possibility of reaching for greatness and failing. Many people would be happy to have my life, there is no doubt about that, but I am not. This could be my chance to restart, to work alongside greatness.

  “How did you know about all that? You researched my life?” A sense of ambivalence regarding whether or not he has invaded my privacy creeps into my gut. He doesn’t even acknowledge my question.

  “Ms. Ball, I have a proposal for you. If you accept this position, I will pay you one hundred and fifty thousand dollars as a starting salary, with benefits. I understand your concerns about working in a typical office environment, but due to my unpredictable lifestyle and business travel, that will never be the case.”

  One hundred and fifty-fucking-thousand dollars! That’s almost an executive salary. Holy shitballs!

  “There is one stipulation. This offer ends the second you walk out that door,” he gestures with his glass of liquor. “I am a busy man and I don’t have time for negotiations. I am offering a generous salary so that there won’t be any doubts. If you don’t feel this is right for you at this moment, then you should not take the offer. I want someone who is excited and committed to the opportunity. Of course, you will never discuss this conversation with anyone.”

  The NDA! The man knows how to sell. I know these tactics. He is creating scarcity and a sense of urgency, and he does it so well. I can’t even leave to get a second opinion; he covered both of those bases with the NDA and the ultimatum. I know he means what he says and he is willing to let me walk away to increase his odds of closing with me right now. I know every move he is playing, and yet I am helplessly falling for every single one. My god. I haven’t made one independent decision since I agreed to this meeting, or maybe even since he asked me to get into his car.

  I don’t have words at this moment. The experience thus far has been so surreal. I am not even sure who I will be working for. Will it be the gregarious man who gave me a ride after I spilled coffee all over him? Or will it be this man, in front of me...a shark of a businessman?

  “Can I have a few minutes to think about this?” My voice cracks as my confidence finally wavers.

  “Absolutely,” he says, and without hesitancy, he rises from his seat and tells me he will return in a few minutes.

  He was so curt on the phone with Marsha. He wasn’t terrible, but very steely. I am not sure if I want to be this steely man’s “right arm,” whatever the hell that means. At the same time, this opportunity seems so rich, not just monetarily, but the way this whole situation just arose out of thin air makes me want to believe in fate. If I say no, I will walk out that door and wonder for the rest of my life what would have happened. Still, I am not entirely convinced of his reasoning. While I would like to think I am incredibly remarkable, I don’t feel deserving of this level of courting. Something does not add up. I guess he sees something in me that I don’t. Maybe that is the point of all this: He can show me what it is that he sees because I sure as hell have no idea what it is. The thing I do know for sure is that I am due for a change, and an incredible opportunity is here. Too many coincidences have lined up for me to just walk away. What a fool that would make me.

  There is a faint knock on the door and I startle from being so deep in thought. I turn to face it; Taylor is already halfway across the threshold.

  I turn again so that I am facing his desk, and I can hear his footsteps pacing calmly behind me. There is no haste in his gait. He is calm, confident, and measured. Everything about him, his dark hair, his glowing eyes, his long muscular frame, his calm aggression, reminds me of a panther stalking its prey. He sits back in the leather chair.

  “Did you have enough time to think about my proposal?” His relaxed body language is that of someone who already knows the answer.

  “There are a few minor logistics I would like to work out, but overall I accept.” Woah. I immediately feel an enormous amount of tension release from my body, only to gain an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

  “You have made a wise decision, Ms. Ball.” He smiles for the first time since the car ride, but this time, his grin reminds me of the Chestershire cat. “What are the logistics you would like to discuss?”

  We go into a conversation about vacation days, benefits, my responsibilities, and all the day to day details. He tells me not to worry about vacation days because when working with him, I will see more of the world than I could have ever imagined in my wildest dreams. I smirk with excitement: is this really happening to me? He reminds me that he lives a fast-paced life and he expects excellence and organization from me at all times. My hours will be odd, he may need me to attend a gala or spend a week out of town with him. The variety excites me. He’s right; this won’t be a typical office job. I still feel trepidation, but it is quickly being engulfed by the thrill of starting a new chapter in my career and life.

  When there is a lull in the conversation, he pulls out some forms from his desk. “Ms. Ball, I would like you to start your employment as soon as possible.”

  “I still have a couple of projects I need to complete. I may need a week or so.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Bring in your projects and my team will complete them in a few hours. Think of it as delegating now that you are my assistant. We need to get started right away, I have many important events coming up.” I didn’t realize my new position gave me that kind of clout. After all, the word “assistant” is in my title. That doesn’t sound very powerful. I agree as long as I can supervise the results as my name and reputation
are on the line.

  I flip through the employment documents and see the usual tax forms, and a contract. As I skim over the materials, Taylor -- I mean, Mr. Holden -- interjects. “The agreement is very straightforward. It states that you are at will, but if you quit, you will refrain from working for a competitive entity for two years, and of course, you have already signed the NDA.”

  He says it so casually, and for no specific reason I trust his intentions. I do take a couple of minutes to confirm the language in the document, which does seem to coincide with his description. The non-compete sounds like a reasonable request being that my position may make me privy to company secrets. Telecommunications and whatever the hell else he does cannot be so interesting that I would be clawing to work for a competitor if I left. Caution has done nothing for me so far. It has kept me wrapped in my cloak of complacency, with no potential for more. It’s not that I am not grateful for the job I have now, or that my life isn’t good, but there is a longing, a sense that I am not working up to my full capabilities that constantly nags me. I want to travel the world, I want to get out of my rut. Something is missing. All this time I haven’t known what it was, and I still don’t, but I feel like this set of circumstances is a key or a window of sorts. It’s as if a force has aligned us to this desk here on this lonely planet and if I don’t move forward, this will be it for me. Nothing will ever change. At the very least, if I do this, quit and go back to graphic design, I can say I tried. I am sick of being afraid to aim for more because of my fear of failure.

  My instincts tell me this is the right move. I now understand what Mr. Holden means about being all in right now and not delaying the decision. I pick up the heavy pen and sign all of the documents presented to me. It is now official.

  I shock myself with how hard I slam the pen down onto the table and exhale, only then realizing that I have been holding my breath the entire time.

  “Congratulations, Ms. Ball.” He says. “Shall we toast?” He finally seems to warm up a little. He won. He got what he wanted and now we can celebrate.

  “Sure,” I resign. Frankly, I could use a drink.

  “Brandy?”

  “Yes, please! On rocks.” I say the only thing I know about liquor to make me sound knowledgeable with a bit of humor in my tone. Honestly, I am not a big drinker and I would have accepted whatever he offered to bring some levity into the room.

  “No, you want this straight. Brandy this fine is never served on ice.” He flashes a grin, which makes me feel a little less embarrassed about my faux pas. My god, he sparkles when he grins. He rolls up his sleeves. Oooh. He runs his hands through his dark hair. Just when I start to come to terms with Mr. Holden’s business persona, his behavior bewilders me yet again. One minute he is a focused, stoic, businessman and the next he is rolling up his sleeves and pouring me a drink.

  He hands me the brandy and sits back on his chair, his posture much more relaxed. As quickly as the warm liquid burns my throat I feel a buzz. “So, is drinking on the job a regular occurrence? This feels very sixties.” I ask with a smile trying to lighten the air in the room.

  “Very rarely, and only at my home office, but it felt right today. So Ms. Ball, you don’t have a vehicle do you?”

  “No, I never really needed one. I guess I can...” Before I can offer up to buy one for myself he jumps in.

  “That means we will have to get you a company car.” Is he friggin’ kidding me? I get a car in addition to my salary? I try to contain my face-splitting smile; after all, this is for business purposes only. I can tell he is trying to hold it in, but he smiles back, revealing a boyish grin. Stop thinking about how amazing his smile is. He takes another sip from his glass. He has a pensive expression on his face and then says: “Come with me.” He is as enigmatic as ever. Why can’t he just tell me where we are going?

  He leads me past the great room, which is grand. One wall has an enormous fireplace; opposite that, there is an open gourmet kitchen. Another wall is all glass, and it makes that entire side of the room appear to be one with the forest. Towards the middle of the hallway we come to an elevator. Yes, this man has an elevator in his house. It opens almost immediately and I step in. He punches the lowest button, which is two floors below us and must be a subterranean level. Maybe he is a serial killer!

  I utter what anyone would say to a strange man taking him or her to an underground lair: “Why don’t we just take the stairs?” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, with an amused expression. Shortly thereafter, the doors slide open to reveal a massive underground garage. There must be 15 to 20 cars in here! Out of the corner of my eye I see him looking at me, his overall demeanor and expression seems lighter now. I must look like a wide-eyed child. I think he is getting a kick out of this.

  “Let’s find you a car,” he says as he slides out of the elevator. “Tell me, which one do you like?” My eyes scan the room. It is really overwhelming. Admittedly, I don’t know much about cars, but most of these look really expensive.

  “Is this your personal fleet? I am not sure if I feel right taking one of your cars...”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret: I have plenty of cars. If it’s one I drive regularly, then I’ll let you know. I promise. Just pick something.” He almost sounds forceful in that last sentence.

  I walk up and down the rows of perfectly polished vehicles. I see a some SUVS, a couple of convertibles and even a few classic cars. Then I see her. A cherry red MINI Cooper with black racing stripes and checkered side view mirrors. Her size will be perfect for city driving. She’s the one.

  “What about this one?”

  “That’s the one I would have guessed.” He turns to a metal case on the wall, punches in a few numbers and opens it. He runs his finger along the rows of keys. “Catch,” he shouts as he tosses a set to me. I use the keyless entry to unlock the door and slide into the driver’s seat. Oh no. It’s a stick shift. I am a little embarrassed that I can’t drive one. Shit, I really wanted this car. As I sit there, wondering how to break the news, a shadow casts over me and I look up to see Mr. Holden standing over the still-open driver side door, his right arm resting on the roof of the car. Even though his posture is relaxed, I feel intimidated. He reads my expression rather well.

  “Is there a problem with the car Ms. Ball?”

  “On no! It is amazing, I just, I don’t...know how to drive a stick shift.”

  “Well we’ll have to change that,” he says, stepping away from the car. “All of my vehicles have a manual transmission. I prefer to have control over my vehicle when I am driving, not the other way around. I could certainly get you an automatic car, but that would take a couple of days. Anyway, I think it is an essential skill to learn. Think of it as on the job training.”

  He walks over to the passenger side and opens the door. “Scoot on over this way, Ms. Ball. I’ll pull the car out, and then we are going to give you your first lesson.” He pulls the car out to the driveway and then switches places with me. It’s nerve-wracking enough to be unexpectedly taught how to drive a stick shift, but to be taught by your hot, cryptic, and unreadable boss is too much. Doesn’t he have empires to run?

  “Ok, what do I do?” I say, through a large sigh.

  “Well, that pedal on the far left is the clutch. It disengages the transmission so you can switch gears. Then you have of course your gas on the right and your brake to the left of it. Your shifter has numbered gear options as well as reverse and neutral...” I watch his lips move, they are so full and I can’t help but stare. His role as driving instructor has loosened him up. He is not nearly as gregarious as he was in the Mercedes, but he appears to have adopted the role of supportive teacher, probably to keep himself alive in the passenger seat as I drive.

  “Let’s start.” I cautiously disengage the parking brake, move my foot from the brake to the clutch... “Wait a second,” he says and I hurriedly slam my foot down on the break. “Relax, everything is fine. Safety first.” He reaches over me and p
ulls down my seatbelt. I stiffen and look straight ahead as his arm ever so slightly grazes my chest. The click of the seat belt securing into the buckle is the only sound to break the awkward silence. I feel his warm breath on my neck as he reaches and I take a deep nervous inhale. His scent fills my nose, it is clean and warm, just like in the coffee shop. The smell of his skin is delicious. I try to stop these thoughts, but they are invading my brain in a way that has never happened to me before. Not even with...Rick. I try push him back out of my mind at this moment because I feel a sense of guilt. Rick and I are frozen. That’s the only way I can describe us. He is faithful, he is steady, he is nice, but he is not like this man in front of me: new, mysterious, and unpredictable. Rick and I are in a state of comfort, but like much of my life, I am becoming more and more discontent with comfort. Mr. Holden then proffers a disclaimer. “Normally, we wouldn’t be driving after drinks, but I noticed you didn’t really touch your brandy.”

  “I’m sorry, it looked great, but then we came down here and I didn’t have time to finish.”

  “No need to be sorry, I just don’t want to give the impression that drinking and driving is something I condone.”

  “It can’t be hard to avoid when you have your own driver.” Oops. That wasn’t supposed to sound disdainful. I mean it as a matter of fact, but that’s definitely not how it sounds. I should shut up. His eyebrow cocks. “That came out really bad! I meant that it must be great not having to worry about those things. I think it’s great that you have a driver. He is really nice.”

  “You mean Mr.Belvedere?” he asks sarcastically. I don’t know how to react to his deadpan remark.

  “Oh...yeah, I mean that’s the only butler I knew growing up...I have a big mouth, don’t I?”

  “No, I thought it was funny. He’s technically not a butler by the way. He doesn’t serve me tea and crumpets.”

  “You’ll have to forgive me, I know nothing about the finer things in life. Whatever I know, I learned from Robin Leach.”