I went back into my office and shut the door. Maybe more like slammed the door. Nothing like starting the morning with a scalding beverage spilled all over your pants, though I guess it was better that it wasn’t down my pants. Most of the coffee had splattered below the knee, and I’d been wearing jeans, so they’d done a fairly good job protecting my legs. But still. I didn’t drink the sorry excuse for coffee from Starbucks, but I thought I’d play nice and at least take the cup from her, and then dump it down the drain later. Worst, she’d put half-and-half in it, probably sugar too, which she’d probably done for hers as well, meaning she herself didn’t even like coffee—she liked coffee-flavored beverages.
There was a big floor-to-ceiling window to the right of my office door, which had blinds that I didn’t bother to pull as I took my jeans off. Let her have a nice long look at my ass; that was just the sort of thing that would make a girl like her squirm even more than she already was. Especially because she’d think I didn’t realize what I was doing.
I kept a spare change of clothes in the bottom drawer of my desk, and I pulled out a pair of olive green canvas trousers and put those on. I changed my socks and left my sneakers on the window sill to dry. The only other footwear I had here were my Timberland boots, so I put those on.
I sat down at my desk and pulled up my left pant leg and looked at my calf. The skin was a little red, but there was no blistering, no real burns. I couldn’t help but think about the time my stepfather, Pete, tried to knock a pot of boiling water onto me. I was eleven, twelve, maybe, boiling water to make spaghetti because Mom was working and Pete couldn’t be bothered to actually make any meal that didn’t involve a microwave. When Mom was around, he mostly ignored me, but when she was out, he had free rein to treat me however he wanted.
If Pete had started this shit with me when I’d been older, I’d like to at least think I’d hit him back or tell him to fuck off. But as it was, Mom met him when I was five, and he started knocking me around not long after that.
“Go ahead and be a pussy and go crying to your mother about it,” he’d sneered at me, as though daring me to rat him out. “Just like a little girl. You think that sort of shit’s going to save you? You think anyone would look at you and think you’re anything but a pathetic little fuck that no one will ever want to be around?” It was always some sort of variation of that—I was the world’s biggest pussy, no one would ever like me, there was nothing I could do about it.
I wasn’t the only kid I knew who had a stepfather—or father—that liked to treat them like a punching bag, but it’s not like it was something you’d talk about at school. Not back then, anyway. There was no after school support group for kids from abusive homes; there’d just be the kids with the black eyes, the bruised arms, the split lips, and were our gazes to ever meet as we passed in the hallway, we’d be quick to look the other way.
That night he’d tried to knock the water on me, I had stepped back at the last second. Had I not, I would have been scalded from the torso down; as it was, I still had a few tiny scars on my legs that no one would ever notice unless I pointed them out. He had tried to play it off like it’d been an accident, like it was my fault that it had happened, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes that it hadn’t turned out worse for me. That all I was going to take away from that particular incident were a few tiny scars that were barely even noticeable.
But they were there, nonetheless. No one else might have been aware of them, but I sure as hell was.
Chapter Four
Daisy
I tried to focus on what Jonathan was saying, and not think about the fact that I’d just spilled hot coffee all over Ian. So far, my first day wasn’t going that great.
“So,” Jonathan said, “I guess I’ll just start by telling you all the stuff that our previous admin used to do. I don’t think it’s going to be anything new to you.”
“You mean secretary?” I said, smiling. I felt comfortable with Jonathan in a way that I sure as hell didn’t with Ian. Maybe because I’d known him longer, or that I could just tell he was one of those guys that would go out of his way to try to be nice and accommodating, which he was doing right now, and I appreciated.
He made a face. “I can see you’ve been talking to Ian. He has some . . . outdated ideas about a few things,” he said. “I think admin sounds much better. But whatever you want to call it, your main responsibilities will be to ensure that things in the office are running smoothly. We employ a lot of people here, most of whom you will never meet.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. They’re out in the field, which could be any number of places. We do security for recurring events and one-off events, sometimes even for little things like birthday parties.”
“Birthday parties? Who would need security for a birthday party?”
Jonathan waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind any of that. They’re the sort of people you don’t want to get involved with, anyway. Come on; I’ll show you your desk.”
My desk ended up being not too far from Ian’s office, where the door was still closed.
“So, you’re our first line of defense when it comes to calls,” Jonathan said. “Pun intended. Really, though, you’ll be answering the phones, directing calls, some filing, some computer stuff. You familiar with the Microsoft Suite?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Cool. We have a wide range of clients here, from families to big corporations and everything in between, and we want to make them all feel like they’re the most important client. No one client is more important than another here.”
“Not even a billionaire from Dubai?” He looked at me in confusion. “I overheard Ian talking to someone—Dan, I think his name was—when I came in.”
“Oh, right.” The expression on Jonathan’s face tightened, making me think that he didn’t like this billionaire guy. “He’s not actually a client of ours, but he’ll be visiting somewhere that we do provide security. We do have some clients that . . . well, never mind that. We can discuss that later.”
I was about to ask him what he meant when the phone rang. He reached over and answered.
“Hard Tail Security,” he said. His eyebrows shot up. “Hey! Billy. Thanks for returning my call. Did you have a chance to talk to Seamus? You did. Okay, great. Uh . . .” He shot a glance at me. “Hold on one sec, let me just scoot over into my office. Yeah, thanks.” He pressed the hold button and set the receiver back on the cradle. “Pardon me one sec,” he said. “Important call I’ve got to take. Be right back.”
He hurried off into his office, leaving me there, not totally sure what I should be doing. He hadn’t given me enough of an explanation about anything to really get started . . . other than I was going to be answering the phones. So I checked out my new desk. The desk was an L-shape, with a cream-colored surface. There was a computer, and several letter trays, as well as a cup filled with pens. I sat down in the swivel rolling chair and looked at the phone. It was similar to the one we’d had at Shear Genius, so that made me feel a little less nervous.
It started to ring.
The light for line 1 was still lit up, so that meant Jonathan was still on his call, and wouldn’t, presumably, be answering this call. I glanced toward Ian’s office, where the door was still firmly shut. He’d gone in there after the whole coffee fiasco and hadn’t come out yet, though I did happen to catch sight of his behind when he’d been changing. I’d looked away before I really had a chance to process what I’d seen, and hadn’t said anything to Jonathan about it because he’d been in the middle of speaking.