The Art of Awkward Affection: A Romantic Comedy, page 2
I needed to find balance and closure.
Except now I was adding one more concern to my plate—whether or not my oblivious assistant was going to end up on one of those unsolved-mystery reality TV shows.
Why didn’t Ms. Collins have any sense of self-preservation?
I fumed while I took a cold shower, fumed while I drove to the office, and fumed while I stalked to the glass-enclosed corner office. Employees scattered out of the way, the new hires from the fall still on edge from being in my presence.
I stood in my office at the window, an expanse of glass that offered some of the most amazing views in Manhattan. Millions and millions of dollars of glass on a tower with my name on it. All these billions, and for what? It hadn’t meant a damn thing, hadn’t gotten me what I wanted more than anything in the world.
At least it meant I could fire that redhead.
I sent a message to legal and HR.
Then she could be someone else’s problem, someone else’s worry to obsess over.
And when Lexi was gone, I was going to figure out how I was going to survive the rest of my miserable existence.
3
LEXI
The scalding-hot water sluiced down my hair, plastering it to my neck. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine that I was still in Florida, standing on the beach in the humid rain, the ocean soothing in the background.
Someone banged on the door of the bathroom.
“You’ve been in there an hour!” a man complained.
“Women need time to get ready,” I shot back over the sound of the water and the ocean music playing from my phone.
I turned off the shower and wrung out my hair. Technically these shower rooms were for people who biked into the office. Richmond Electric had developed a new way to connect decentralized green energy to the electrical grid, and the shower rooms were both a perk and a marketing opportunity to promote how much they cared, as much as a soulless corporation headed by a self-absorbed, coldhearted billionaire could care.
I let myself fantasize briefly about running a PR campaign, heartwarming and funny, about the company’s commitment to the environment. Ha! Like I was ever going to get to use my communications degree. I was just the girl who collected the dry cleaning. I wasn’t allowed to so much as proof a marketing brochure, let alone run a PR campaign.
“You’re getting paid,” I reminded myself as I smeared the steam off the mirror. Well, not that much. Free hot water was free hot water, and if it was on Grayson Richmond’s dime, all the better. Not to mention I didn’t have anything like this water pressure in my apartment.
There was more banging on the door.
“There are other shower rooms,” I shrieked.
Calm down, Squeaky Mouse.
That’s what my dad always affectionately called me.
I had really been trying to keep my voice from sounding like a sugar-high kindergartener’s, and usually I had it together, but Grayson Richmond had thrown me off.
How dare he? Sure, not everyone was appreciative of my compliments, but I liked to think that even if they brushed me off, at least subconsciously my kind words might brighten their day. But no one had ever gotten in my face and yelled at me for complimenting them.
“It wasn’t a catcall,” I said stubbornly. There was no way I’d think Grayson Richmond was hot. He was not. I wasn’t attracted to men just because they were good looking. I was in it for the personality. And Grayson Richmond had a terrible personality.
I gave my frizzy red hair one more twist with the towel then hung it on a hook on the wall and stared at my porcelain skin, highlighted by almost-glowing purple eyes … psych!
My eyes were muddy brown, the color of a neglected pool that was actively breeding mutant mosquitos. I was insanely jealous of Grayson Richmond’s eyes. He didn’t deserve those green eyes. I was a redhead. Green eyes should be mine. To be fair, green eyes would go better with red hair like my mom’s.
You couldn’t buy my color red in a bottle because it was so ugly no one wanted it. Curly and frizzy, my hair only looks good the first ten minutes after a shower at which point it dries out and goes floof. Was I regretting getting a layer cut? Yes. Yes, I was.
I rubbed sunscreen over my freckled skin. Even though Manhattan was perpetually overcast, I did not need another freckle. I didn’t have a sprinkling of freckles where you thought, how adorable. I had you’re-going-to-have-skin-cancer-in-your-early-forties freckles.
I swiped on mascara so I didn’t look like a naked mole rat. For me there would be no makeover moment where I’d dramatically pin my hair up, dust blush on my face, and turn into a bombshell. Been there, done that. Let’s just say that all talk of senior prom is banned in my house.
A lean man in his bicycle gear and glasses was tapping his cycling shoe angrily when I waltzed out of the shower room in a cloud of steam.
I couldn’t help but compare him to Grayson in his workout gear.
There was no comparison.
“I’m complaining to HR about this,” the cyclist told me in annoyance. “Showers are for bike riders only.” He adjusted his glasses.
Instead of taking the bait, I looked him up and down, flashed him a thumbs-up, and grinned. “I can tell you really do ride a lot. You got those biker buns.”
He blushed and puffed up. “Really? Well, yeah, biking’s actually kind of dangerous, but I love it. You know, good exercise and gets your heart rate up. Don’t worry. I won’t actually say anything to HR. Have a great day.”
See? The power of compliments. And most men liked it when you told them they looked good.
So there, Mr. Richmond.
I left my towel on the communal drying rack in the basement locker room then swiped my key fob up to the executive floor.
“Hi, Regan!” I waved to one of the HR employees as I passed her office. “How are your Spanish lessons coming?”
“Oh my gosh. Well, I have apparently been telling people I want to buy a pickle when I really was asking how their day was going. So you know. Not great.”
“But you’re trying,” I said encouragingly. “That’s more than me. Here.” I peeled off a sparkly fairy sticker from my sticker compact and handed it to her.
She beamed.
The assistant and the secretary to Mr. Richmond had their desks off to the side of a mezzanine that overlooked the accounting floor.
Notice I said the assistant and the secretary had desks. I, as the assistant to the assistant, had a stool next to the assistant’s desk.
McKenna was already working.
“You made it just in time,” she whispered to me out of the corner of her mouth. “Anthym has been complaining you weren’t in yet.”
“I do so much unpaid overtime it’s not even funny,” I said, opening up her bottom desk drawer and riffling through for the Oreos I had stashed there.
Don’t judge. I ran a whole sixteen minutes today, and on an empty stomach, no less.
“Anthym had me trekking all over town last night so I could pick up a set of very specific snack items for the fancy gift basket she’s putting together for one of Mr. Richmond’s clients.” I twisted the Oreo and licked the cream off.
“Like, why didn’t she know sooner what she needed? I had to go to one guy’s home to pick up this freaking wedge of cheese.” I dunked one of my Oreos in my specialty coffee mug that was shaped like Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage.
“So sue me if I come into work at eight instead of six thirty like she does. I don’t even get paid that much; I don’t even have a desk.”
“Don’t let her hear you complaining,” McKenna warned. “She read a text message I was writing to Grenadine and bitched me out about not being grateful to be in the presence of Mr. Richmond because I complained that this office was freezing cold and I wanted to use my space heater.”
Space heaters, blankets, and hot-water bottles were verboten in the office. Maybe on the lower floors people could sneak them in, but here on the executive floor? Don’t even think about it.
I balanced my laptop on my knees.
At least I could sit down. Anthym forced us to wear heels, skirts, and pantyhose. She said this was a conservative office and we represented Mr. Richmond, and therefore we needed to do the company proud.
My hose were from the dollar store and held together by prayers and clear nail polish. My feet were pinched in the knockoff heels.
My inbox pinged with an incoming message. It was one of those mass emails that goes out—you know the ones where they’re like, “Please make sure that all employees use a lidded microwave bowl when heating eggs,” but everyone knows it’s about microwave-abuser Albert.
Yeah, that’s this email.
And it’s about me.
From: Brittany Dawn, HR Director
To: Ladies of Richmond Electric
It has come to our attention that some people have been seen catcalling men around town.
I just want to remind everyone at the Richmond Electric family that even during nonwork hours, you still represent the company and its values. Let’s keep it classy, ladies!
Brittany Dawn
“Oh my god!” McKenna was snickering behind her hand. “You catcalled him?”
“I told you on the phone, it wasn’t a catcall,” I hissed. “I was paying him a compliment. He’s just too much of an antisocial grump to appreciate it.”
“Did you tell him he had a nice ass?”
“No.” I took a swig from my coffee mug.
“Because Mr. Richmond does have a nice ass, doesn’t he?” My friend waggled her eyebrows.
“Anthym never keeps me here long enough to get more than a glimpse,” I reminded her.
We both looked across the floor of the minimalist office space to Grayson Richmond’s office.
He paced behind the glass, like a big jungle cat. Or the Beast.
McKenna sighed longingly. “He’s so hot.”
“He is not.” I cleared my throat. My voice was starting to squeak.
“Yes, he is.” McKenna poked me.
“Just because he has money, everyone thinks he’s attractive. I know the real Mr. Richmond.” I glowered.
Mr. Richmond was staring out one of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, striking and imposing. His strong chiseled jaw and straight nose made him look like a Disney hero.
Or villain. Belle’s nemesis Gaston had a strong jaw, I reminded myself as I sorted through the day’s emails, twenty of which were from Anthym with various demands. I think it made her mad that I’d never failed to meet a request of securing an item.
The fancy aged Portuguese cheese almost did me in, but the doorman remembered me from when I’d spotted him two dollars at a bodega and let me up to the French cheese importer’s apartment.
My inbox pinged with an email. It was from Brittany Dawn.
Hi Lexi!
Please come see me in my office for a chat.
“Godspeed,” McKenna whispered to me as I slowly stood up and pulled at my skirt.
Anthym, my manager, was sitting in one of the white chairs in Brittany Dawn’s office. The HR director had a glass-enclosed view over the mezzanine to the floor below, all the better to look out over Grayson Richmond’s subordinates and remind them that HR was always watching.
“Lexi, let’s chat,” she said, with all the false perkiness of a middle-school mean girl.
The HR director patted the desk in front of the empty chair. There was a copy of the employee handbook on her desk, mocking me.
I sat.
“I cannot believe you would embarrass me like this,” Anthym snapped before Brittany Dawn could get a word in. “How dare you! Mr. Richmond is god here. Your actions make us all look bad.”
Do not squeak, I warned my voice. If you do, I’m going to be fired, and then I’ll never be able to afford that fancy tea you like.
“I didn’t catcall Mr. Richmond,” I explained, trying to sound calm and in control. “I was paying him a compliment. There was a misunderstanding, but we’ve worked it out. Believe me, I am very anti-catcalling. In fact, whenever I’m out and I hear a man actually catcall a woman, I always yell at him and tell him I’m going to tell his mom.”
Brittany Dawn clasped her hands in front of her on the desk.
“Now Lexi, I understand that you’re just out of college—”
“A master’s degree,” I interjected. “I’m twenty-three and have a master’s in communication.”
Her mouth curled up into an impression of a smile.
“Just out of a master’s degree program,” Brittany Dawn corrected, voice syrupy sweet. “But that doesn’t mean you have real-world experience. You’re basically a child. And as such I know that you don’t understand how adults in a corporate environment behave. You can’t sexually harass your boss.”
“The boss,” Anthym railed, unable to fake Brittany Dawn’s calmly patronizing tone.
“I didn’t know it was him,” I insisted. “He wasn’t in his suit, and I know Mr. Richmond’s suits. I pick up his dry cleaning, after all. He was in workout clothes. Also, why does no one in this city appreciate the power of uplifting declarations?”
“You said he was hot,” Brittany Dawn reminded me, drawing her finger down the text written on an incident report.
Minnie’s tits. I’m getting fired, aren’t I?
“I said he was looking good, but I didn’t mean it like that. And I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known who he was. This morning was the first time I’d ever met the man.”
“Lexi’s lying; she called him hot stuff,” Anthym snapped. “She did it because she’s trying to become the next Mrs. Richmond. But guess what? It backfired. You made him very uncomfortable. He felt threatened. You should have seen how upset he was when I talked to him.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Stop squeaking.
I cleared my throat.
“Are you kidding me? Grayson—”
“Mr. Richmond,” Anthym interjected.
“Mr. Richmond,” I seethed, “felt threatened? How dare he? I’m five feet tall when I stand up straight. I look like I’m twelve, and people constantly stop me and ask me if I lost my mommy. He’s the richest man in Manhattan and literally owns multiple city blocks and one of the tallest skyscrapers in the city, which is totally a phallic calling card, by the way, if we’re really going to get out the magnifying glass and suss out who’s being sexually aggressive to whom.”
“Mr. Richmond takes these matters very seriously,” Brittany Dawn warned.
“Believe me, I am not making a mockery of this company or of him.” I saluted the HR director. “Me and my credit cards are very happy to have this job. In the future, I will never talk to Mr. Richmond in a sexually aggressive or any other capacity ever again. If you can just let me off with a write-up, I will return to my duties as Mr. Richmond’s lowly assistant of the assistant to the secretary forthwith.”
Brittany Dawn’s nose scrunched up like I’d dumped a wedge of that very pungent cheese from last night on her desk.
“You can’t just write her up,” Anthym insisted. “She needs to be fired.”
Crap.
“Please,” I begged, my voice threatening to go full chipmunk. “Please don’t fire me.”
Brittany Dawn’s phone rang. She held up a finger as she answered it.
“Understood … Yes, sir.”
She pressed the end call button. “Mr. Richmond would like to see you.”
“Uh, he would?”
“He would?” Anthym was shocked.
“When?” My stomach churned.
“Now,” Brittany Dawn said, picking up her key card.
“Like now, now?”
4
GRAYSON
The door opened then closed with a soft click. Marius stepped into my office.
“What did this girl do, exactly, where you had to get the legal department involved to fire her?” he asked, coming over to stand next to me at the window.
Marius and I went way back. We had been roommates at Harvard then had stayed in contact. I appreciated him tolerating my presence as his roommate and had offered him the position as head legal counsel when I had formed my company.
I always trusted Marius’s judgment, and he had been worth his weight in rare earth metals just in structuring the initial contracts with the venture capital firms all those years ago.
I was sure what he did now was probably beneath his skill level, and I expected him to leave any day.
People always did.
There was always a better opportunity.
And better assistants.
“I cannot have my assistant working for me anymore, and Ms. Collins seems like the type to cause trouble. Hence legal.”
“Uh-huh.” Marius crossed his arms. “This is technically an HR issue, but it’s been a slow morning. So sure, I’ll be your emotional support lawyer.”
I glanced at him.
A smirk played around his mouth.
“You didn’t hit on her, did you?”
The anger, always close to the surface of late, rose up.
“I would never.”
“Dude, you have to lighten up.” Marius clapped me on the shoulder. “Why don’t you come out for drinks tonight?”
“I have to work,” I lied.
I had plans, but not work. It was Tuesday, after all.
Marius sighed. “I thought after you built all this, you’d take a break.”
“I can never take a break.”
“The world won’t end.”
“It might.”
The door opened.
There she was. Taller now in those ridiculous heels, Lexi tottered in like a helpless baby foal.
Absolutely kidnapping bait. A liability.
She crossed her arms. The buttons on her blouse strained and the shirt fabric gapped.
Stop staring at her chest. What the hell is wrong with you?
I met her eyes. Brown. Defiant.
“Narc,” Lexi whispered.
My eyes widened.
“You wanted to see her?” Brittany Dawn asked expectantly.
