“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, as I sprint around my room, tugging on the sleeve of my blouse, trying to find my bag. When I grab the strap, it wraps around my easel and almost knocks my most recent painting to the ground.
I right them and continue my panicking. When I run out into the living room, I nearly step on Pudding, who meows at me disdainfully.
“This is the third time you’ve been late,” Aunt Ruby muses, standing in the kitchen, awash in the morning glow coming in through the window, looking tranquil. Maybe there is something to working for yourself—you never have to rush around like this. You get to decide when your day starts.
But I don’t work for myself. I work for Dane Rourke—and Nico Hawthorne and Cole Davenport, though Nico I’ve only seen a few times, and Cole I’ve never met at all—and they are all waiting for me at the airport.
I don’t know about the other two, but Dane is surely checking his watch, wondering why I’m not thereearly. Usually, I would be. But the power in the building went out last night, which tripped the fuse for my outlet, which meant my phone didn’tcharge, went dead, and left me without the typical, grating alarm trill.
Luckily for me, I heard the general morning sounds—the clanging of Aunt Ruby making coffee, her radio emitting fuzzy tambourine notes, and Pudding meowing for her breakfast—and it jolted me awake just in time to not be late, if I skipped most of my morning routine.
“Here,” Aunt Ruby says, when I spin around and grab the handle of my suitcase, which I had the good sense to pack the night before. She stuffs a bagel with jam in my mouth, and I just manage to bring a hand up to catch it before it topples right onto my blouse.
“Thanks,” I say through the bite, too hungry and nervous to chastise her for almost ruining my top. Now, Pudding sits on the edge of the couch, judging me with her bright blue eyes, one of her ears turned slightly away, like my frantic energy is annoying her.
“It’s that new fig jam I got,” Aunt Ruby says, but I’m already pushing out the door, “and—oh, good-bye!”
“Bye! Love you!” I wave to her, feeling bad for cutting her off, but not having time for a discussion about the fig jam. I barely taste the bagel as I race down the hallway, then spend an agonizing several minutes in the building’s old elevator, waiting to get to the main floor.
The Uber is four minutes late. Traffic appears to be congested specifically along my route. The driver ignores my instructions to go to the private flight gate and instead tries to take me to a regular terminal, and I have to tell him again, through gritted teeth, that it’s not the right spot.
I end up getting charged extra for the ride, and he gives me a withering look as he unceremoniously dumps my suitcase on the ground next to me, and I make it on time, but just barely.
When I finally walk up, having gone through the very luxurious and simple security out here, Dane is waiting for me like I thought. The other two guys must already be on the plane. My heart skips at the thought of seeing Nico again.
“Sorry,” I breathe, as I reach him, and an attendant comes to take my bag, whisking it off to the luggage area. “I?—”
“Come on,” Dane says, turning and gesturing for me to take the stairs up. “We’re already late.”
Technically, we’re not, but it’s not like I’m going to argue the point with him, so I just do as I’m told, turning and climbing up into the plane. I’m acutely aware of the fact that he’s behind and below me, and if he wanted, could have a great view of my ass as I went.
Not that I think my ass is great—just that, if the tables were turned, I’m not sure I could keep myself from at least taking a peek at his.
Perv,I try to shame myself in my head,stop being a perv.
The interior of the private jet is just as luxurious as Ember’s offices and outfitted with the same high-tech lights. I recognize them instantly, the soft way they play with my eyes, lulling me into relaxation. As I emerge into the main seating area, I wonder which of Cole’s other inventions are integrated into these guys’ daily lives.
And, just as I have that thought, I realize the main area, with its rich leather seats and shining wooden tables, is vacant. The other two executives are nowhere to be seen.
“Where—” I spin around, nearly colliding with Dane. That same citrus and amber smell swirls around us.
“Sorry… I thought the other…”
“They’re not coming,” Dane says, stepping into the plane like it’s nothing, and taking the first leather chair. He sets his bag in the seat next to him and is already looking down at his phone.“Cole extended his materials trip, and Nico is being a pain in my?—”
He glances up, seeming to stop himself just in time, but I’ve already let out a surprise laugh.
The corner of his mouth twitches, then he’s professional once more, “Hawthorne isn’t coming. It’s just you and me today, Lucy.”
And why does the sound of that make my insides feel molten?
Thinking it will be a great way to get some space, I force myself to turn and walk to the back of the plane, not really knowing whether he wants me back here or up there with him.
My company handbook had a lot of information on how to abide by company policies and ethics, but nothing specifically abouthowto be an executive assistant. I guess it’s assumed I came here already knowing how to do this job.
I could use an EA handbook, or a Wiki, or something. A place to find answers to questions like—when you’re alone on the CEO’s plane with him, exactly how far away should you sit? Just eject yourself into the open sky to maintain his privacy?
“Lucy.” Dane’s voice cuts through the cabin just before I click my seatbelt, and I look up, only to see that he’s looking down at a folder, and not at me at all. I continue watching him, wondering if I imagined it, but then he does glance up and says, simply, “Over here.”
