Dane begins his nighttime routine at six-thirty with an evening workout and is in bed promptly at eight-thirty. I know this from our years of friendship, and also because on the few occasions I’ve tried to contact him with urgent updates about a project past that time, his phone sends me straight to voicemail.
So who would be on the executive floor on a Saturday night?
My body tenses up, and I think of the last fanatic who got up here—a woman in a bright pink tracksuit, running in and trying to take photos of Dane before security finally got to her. We’ve increased security protocols since then, so there’s no way anyone without a keycard should be able to gain access.
Standing slowly, I walk toward the door, preparing to defend myself.
But when I reach the door to my office and look out, I don’t see someone acting like an intruder. I see someone acting as if she belongs here.
The woman is setting her things down carefully on the assistant’s desk. She’s short and blonde, her hair pulled up into a bun at the top of her head. She’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt that readsLancaster Softball. In her left hand is one of those massive water cups with the straw and handle, and she slowly pulls out several files, setting them on the desk before waking up her computer and turning to drape a jacket over the back of her chair.
That’s when she sees me, jumps, claps a hand to her mouth, and lets out a muffled scream through her fingers.
“Who are you?” I ask when she’s done screaming. Carefully, I look her up and down. Dane hasneverhired a woman to be our assistant before. “What are you doing in here? You should know that I’ve already alerted our security team.”
Breathing hard, she drops her hand from her mouth to her chest and lets out a puff of breath. “Holycrap—you nearly gave me a heart attack! And I said hi to Gerald on my way up. He knows I’m here.”
When I just give her a look, she clears her throat and says, “I’m your new assistant. Dane didn’t tell you?’
Without answering, I pull out my phone, tap over to the company email, and scroll until I find an email titledLucy Sullivan—new assistant.
I compare the company-mandated employee photo in that email to the woman standing in front of me. Though she’s not wearing make-up now, and hasn’t straightened her hair, it’s definitely the same person.
“The question still stands,” I say, lowering my phone.
“What question?”
“What are you doing here? In the middle of the night on a weekend?”
The woman—Lucy—blinks at me, then smiles. “Well—the same thing you’re doing. I just got back from that conference with Dane in Amsterdam. And… well, I got behind on work while we were traveling. I thought I would come in to try and catch up.”
“Alright.”
Now that I know this stranger in the office isn’t going to try to attack me—or, worse, photograph me—my mind is already returning to the problem of imbuing our material with copper to improve anti-bacterial performance.
We have another lab test coming up, and I want to have solved the problem by the time the third-party evaluators review it.
I return to my office, bend my head back over the problem, and am surprised, hours later, when I emerge from the room to find the assistant still sitting at the desk, her face illuminated by the screen.
From here, I can make out the gentle shadow of her fine nose, the slight pink flush on her cheeks, the place where—I’m sure, from her bone structure and facial features—dimples will pop when she smiles. I hadn’t realized it at first glance, but she’s really quite attractive.
My natural assumption would be that a man hired her for that beauty, but Dane isn’t normally so fickle. There must be something else about her that would push him to hire outside of his normal employee profile.
You’re being really creepy, Cole.
As always, it’s Claire’s voice in my head. Also as always, she’s right—I shouldn’t be staring at the new assistant, cataloging her facial features. So, what should I be doing instead?
Be nice to her. Ask if she wants a coffee.
“Would you like a coffee?”
“Oh,Christ!” she jumps again, bringing her hand to her chest, which only draws my eyes to her breasts, hugged by the worn t-shirt. It’s slightly too small for her, like it could have belonged to her a long time ago. “Sorry—you move so quietly.”
“I’m going to get a coffee,” I say, trying to ignore the irritation of having to take time away from my project. It niggles at the back of my mind like a parasitic worm trying to gain access to my brain stem. “Would you like one?”
What I mean is that I can fetch her one when I get my own from the lobby, but to my surprise, she nods and pushes back from her desk, taking a moment to stretch with her arms heldabove her head before she grabs her massive cup and starts walking in my direction.
“Yes,” she says, her hair just brushing my arm as she passes. “I’d love one—I can fill my water, too.”
