At about two, there’s a knock on the door and once I give permission to enter, Hollie pokes her head in. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Clarke. I noticed it was getting late and you haven’t had lunch yet. Can I order you something?”
Yes, this was definitely going better than I had hoped.
I let out a sigh and run my fingers through my hair. “Actually, yes, that would be great. All my regular orders are saved with the delivery service, along with the payment information. Order yourself something as well.”
“Oh no,” she says while shaking her head. “I brought a muffin and granola bar from home and had that a while ago. I just wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”
Somehow, I’m both warmed and slightly annoyed at the same time. This girl wants to make sure that I’m taken care of. Sure, I have people doing things for me constantly but not things that I haven’t ordered them to do. She went out of her way and came in here to make sure I was fed. Yet, she somehow thinks a muffin and a granola bar is an appropriate lunch. Someone obviously needs to be taking care of this girl. My mind wonders if there is someone at home that should be doing the job. Does she have a boyfriend? Now I’m truly getting angry. If she has a boyfriend, he should make sure that she eats better than that.
“A muffin and a granola bar are not a lunch. They are a snack. They’re a breakfast at best. Make sure you order yourself something. If you’re not hungry, take it home.” My irrational anger at her maybe boyfriend not taking care of her, is leaching into my voice but I couldn’t care less.
“Ummm, okay. I will, thanks.” Her eyes are narrowed at me and I can tell that she doesn’t appreciate my tone or my high-handed manner. Too bad, I’m the boss.
“Order us something from Emilio’s.” She doesn’t answer, but closes the door a little harder than necessary. Well, now she’s annoyed. Welcome to the club, sweetheart.
I get back to work and barely notice when she enters the room and slides my lunch onto my desk and leaves. Good. This is how it should be. Minimal conversation, not caring what my assistant eats, working efficiently together but apart.
Six p.m. quickly rolls around, so I gather up what I’ll be taking home to work on for the next two or three hours before I exhaust myself enough to sleep. I step out of my office and see Hollie still stationed at her desk.
“You can leave for the day, Miss. Simmons. I’ll see you in the morning.” I don’t wait for her answer as I stride to the elevator. With any luck, at home where I have some distance from her, I’ll be able to get her out of my head.
Five
Hollie
The two weeks I’ve been working at Clarke Hotels have passed in a blur of phones, emails, and a hot as sin CEO with a bad attitude. The tasks aren’t that complicated, but Archer’s timelines and specifications are. He must have thought he hired a magician as his assistant. Still, I’ve managed to cram everything into the day. Sleep is for people with disposable incomes.
Archer has become a puzzle for me to figure out. The man is gorgeous but also the biggest grump I’ve ever met. If I was as rich as him, I’d smile every once in a while. I do my best to anticipate his needs and get him what he wants before he even needs to ask. Actually, “ask” is generous. Archer Clarke doesn’t ask, he orders. In the entirety of my two weeks as his assistant, the man has never said please or thank you. Not once.
There are stories and rumors everywhere about what happened to his previous assistants. I don’t know how much is made up and how much is true, but I get the impression they aren’t being exaggerated. If rumors are to be believed, he’s let go of assistants for everything from coming in late because of a sick pet to making a dinner reservation at the wrong restaurant.
Every day I’m expecting to be tossed out on my cushioned ass, but I’m surprised every time he walks out the door without handing me a pink slip.
I’ve made friends with Carl, the security guard downstairs. Now he texts me when Archer is on his way up every morning so that I can get his coffee on his desk while it’s still hot. Lord knows what he would do if he arrived to cold coffee. The man might burst a blood vessel.
Every morning I stand in front of his desk and give him the breakdown of the day’s schedule. He rarely even bothers looking up at me and answers most of my questions with grunts and head shakes. He’s not exactly a dazzling conversationalist.
For some reason, the grumpiest man I’ve ever met insists on buying me lunch every day. For the first few days, I brought lunch from home and tried to turn him down. After the third time that I told him I didn’t need him to buy my lunch, he put his foot down and told me that anytime I was ordering food for him, he expected me to order something for myself as well. No exceptions. I’ve stopped bothering to bring a lunch now since it would just go to waste.
There hasn’t been much time to socialize with other employees, but I’ve met the other assistants on the executive floor. They seem to have a substantial amount of sympathy towards me for putting up with “that man.” Then they usually go on a detailed analysis of his good looks. As if I hadn’t noticed. I’ve gotten pretty good at artfully dodging those conversations. The last thing that needs to get around the office is that I think my boss is hot.
Unfortunately, he lives rent free in my head anyway. Archer Clarke has starred in my fantasies every night for weeks. If he knew, I would die from embarrassment. I keep everything extremely professional and try not to give off any hint that I think anything about him at all, let alone that I think about what’s under those bespoke suits. Just the thought sends me into a blush and shame spiral.
We haven’t touched again since that first day when we shook hands and while I’m sure it’s a good thing, I’m also a bit disappointed. I want to see if touching him again would give me that thrill that ran through my body like last time. The man could make a nun ditch her habit after only a handshake.
I’m sitting at my desk after finishing my Turkey sandwich from the deli down the street and looking over the fresh batch of emails that came in. Archer got a rare roast beef sandwich. No onions. The one time his food arrived with an onion on it, he threw it in the trash and told me to call the place and have them send a replacement. Imagine not being able to pick the onions off a cheeseburger and needing a new one. Since then I always check his food before I send it in to him. Yesterday, there were onions on his Greek salad, so I quickly picked them off and added them to my own so he wouldn’t toss it into the trash again. Never shall an onion touch this man’s plate again on my watch. I’m sure if he knew I had picked them off and still served it to him, he would be horrified.
Someone clears their throat in front of me and I glance up to find a young man that looks to be in his mid to late twenties. His blond hair, blue eyes, and relaxed smile remind me of a California surfer.
“Hi,” I say. “How can I help you?”
“Hey there, you’re the new assistant for Mr. Clarke, right? I’m Lucas Brody.” He flashes his very white teeth at me and I’m suddenly wondering if our dental plan covers that kind of whitening.
“Hollie Simmons, nice to meet you.” He pops his hip and leans it against the edge of my desk. It looks like he’s settling in for a chat. While he seems nice enough, I have a ton of emails to get through and Archer will be back from his meeting any minute. I glance down at his hand and notice he’s clutching a large foam chord board. “Is that for me?”
He pulls the board up to chest level and flips it around so I can see what’s printed on it. There’s a large drawing of a hotel by the beach. It’s absolutely stunning. I can picture myself staying there and laying out on that beach under the tiny blue umbrellas depicted in the drawing.
“I work down on six in architecture. My boss wanted me to bring Mr. Clarke the latest rendering for the Santa Cruz property.” He flashes me another blinding smile and lowers the board back to his side.