Big Shot

“Kit, I can’t do it. You’ll have to find someone else.”

“What’s that I heard? You’d love to take care of Rosie for the full two weeks?”

“Kit...”

“Oh, that’s great, William. You’re the best brother ever.”

“I swear—”

“I’ll drop her off at 7:00 a.m., next Monday. So glad you agreed to this. Much love. Bye, bro.”

“Kit, you little—”

The line goes dead. I groan in frustration, putting the phone down and resting my head on the table.

How the hell am I going to get out of this one?

Three

India

Something is seriously off with William today. I haven’t spoken to him all day, but I can just tell. I mean it’s not like I have a lot of spare time on my hands between confirming his appointments and handling all of his calls, paperwork and expenses. But every time I glance William’s way, he’s pacing, muttering to himself or scrunching pieces of paper in his palm.

Something has wound him up, and for once it’s not me.

I spend the day keeping an eye on him through my peripheral vision. After all, when your boss is in a bad mood, it’s good to be alert. But when five o’clock rolls around, William is the first out the door. Which is also weird for him. But whatever. The workday has now ended. I’m not paid to care about what’s going on in his head.

I feel a weight lift from my chest as I leave the office. I guess most people feel relief to be going home at the end of a workday, but for me the feeling is incomparable. In the back of my head there’s an hourglass with sand running fast, marking the time to my next shift, but for a few minutes I can enjoy the fact that I’m out of that hellhole.

I guess part of the reason today hit me so hard was that William embarrassed me this morning. At least usually when he’s brusque with me, it’s in the privacy of his office. But today he patronized me in front of his entire team. And what did I do? I stood there and took it like an idiot.

Has it ever occurred to me to stand up for myself? Of course it has. I frequently dream about putting William in his place. I have visions of yelling at him in front of everyone. I fantasize about telling him where to shove his BS. I imagine the day when I slap his smug face for his rudeness and everyone cheers because, of course, he totally deserves it. The one and only thing stopping me is the inevitability that I will be fired.

And that, well, I’m not violent. I’m just creative. Blame the writer in me for these fantasies of revenge.

When I arrive home, the apartment is quiet. Montana won’t be home for a while, and I’m glad of it so I can de-stress with some writing time. I sit at the counter in the kitchen and open my laptop, hoping to get some quiet time to write. But before I can open my manuscript file, I notice that I have an email from an unfamiliar address. The subject line mentions a job.

I open the email in curiosity.

I can’t remember applying for a job recently—I gave up on finding something better a while back. But anything seems better than working for something like William. I read the contents carefully.

Dear India,

Deepest apologies for our late response. Several months ago, you applied for the staff writer opening with us. Unfortunately that position has already been filled. However our team has reviewed your résumé and we believe you would be a great fit for another role. Your writing is quite impressive, and we believe you would be an excellent contributor to the health-and-beauty pages on our website.

While the position is freelance and you’d be paid on a per-article basis, it could lead to great places. It would be a good way for you to get your foot in the door. You would also be working remotely, so you can work to a schedule that suits you. If you believe this could be something that would interest you, please let us know.

Sincerely,

Lauren Garvey

Freelance World

Oh, my god.

I reread the email, remembering when I applied a long time ago. I can’t believe that I’m not hallucinating, that this isn’t part of my novel. But this is real. This is an opportunity. I chew my thumb thoughtfully, my stomach skipping in excitement. What would I rather do? Take a job I might enjoy and get paid less or keep working for a jerk and have some spare pocket change?

Montana chooses the perfect moment to get home. She waltzes into the kitchen, holding a white box, no doubt containing leftover cupcakes from the bakery. She beams at me.

“Hey, girl. How was your day?”

I swivel on my stool, beaming for the first time in a long time. “The usual. But it might be about to get better.”

Montana opens the box and shoves them in my direction across the counter. “Spill. What’s happening?”

I take a chocolate-frosted cupcake and carefully peel off the wrapper. “I just got a job offer. From a media company. They want me to discuss writing for them. I could work from home and maybe give up my assistant job.”

Montana’s eyes widen. “India, that’s amazing! Tell me you’re saying yes?”

“I’m tempted. But the money is probably less than I’m getting at Walker Industries...”

“Screw the money!” Montana says in a very un-Montana-like way. “Look, money isn’t everything. You’d still have enough to keep up with rent, right?”

“Right...”

“And you’d still have time to write your novel, right?”

“Right...”

“And you’d even get to work from home. Or anywhere. That would be good, right?”

“I mean, yeah...” I grudgingly admit, still feeling a kernel of doubt in my stomach at the thought of leaving William.

Because, honestly, what other woman will be crazy enough to put up with him like I do?

But why do I care?

“So, what are you waiting for? Email them back and take the job!”

I bite my lip, still reluctant. I think of his arrogant blue eyes, and my stomach twists even more at the thought of leaving the bastard. Which makes me even madder at him for enslaving me emotionally in ways I don’t even think he’s conscious of.

“I mean...should I be rushing into this so fast? I don’t even know what kind of work I’d be dealing with yet. And I don’t have much experience, really. What if I screw it up?” I ask Montana, truly confused.

She takes my hand. “I’m telling you now—you are not going to mess this up. I don’t care if you don’t have experience. I don’t care if you don’t think you can do this right now. You will figure it out as you go along. There’s nothing you can do to ruin this chance for yourself...except not taking it.”

She’s right of course. She always is. I nod vigorously, as though trying to convince my body to keep up with my brain. I’m doing it. I’m doing it.

Inhaling for courage, then exhaling, I type up my response. Montana squeals and claps as I hit Send, and then I watch as she sneaks to the fridge and removes a bottle of champagne. I grin.

“Champagne? Really?”

“Yep. We’re celebrating. Let’s get trashed.”

I laugh as Montana fetches two glasses for us.

“Don’t you think we should take it easy? It’s Thursday night. We’ve got work tomorrow.”

Montana shrugs. “Not for me. I’ve got tomorrow off. And who cares if you show up a little hungover now, right? You’ve got a new job lined up. Come on... What do you think?”

It’s not my style at all. Come to think of it, it’s not Montana’s either. We’re good girls. We stick to schedules and plans and don’t allow for chaos in our lives. What are we doing, getting drunk when I have to be at work at eight tomorrow?

But I’m too nervous about my decision, and I could use something to ease the stress. I’m going for it. Montana hands me a glass of bubbly and I grin, raising it up.

“Cheers.”

* * *

I wake up Friday morning and bet it’s 5:00 a.m., like clockwork. Except today, trying to open my eyes is like trying to lift rocks from my lids. I feel nauseous. My stomach is still protesting the copious amounts of champagne I drank last night.

I sit up in bed with a groan. I know I must be late for work. There’s no way on earth that I managed to wake up on time. I glance at my watch and my heart seizes.

It’s 8:43 a.m.

Body, oh body, you failed me!

I’m going to be late to work on the day I hand in my notice. Shit!

Still feeling worse for wear, I shower as quickly as I can, throw on some clothes and call a cab. No time for the “L” today.

I watch the streets pass outside the window with dizzying speed. This is not how I planned to leave Walker Industries. I pray that I can at least keep my dignity when I walk inside to hand in my notice.

My watch says that I’m forty minutes late. Not as bad as I expected, but I already know that William will be furious. I dash for the elevator as the receptionist at the front desk watches me in wonder. I furiously press the button in an attempt to make it move faster. Someone is yelling, “Hey! Hold the elevator—”

And oh, my god, I press the close button. “Sorry!” I yell as the doors seal shut.

The sooner I get this over with, the better.

I head straight for the top floor, fanning myself, trying to stop the sweat pouring from me, but when the doors open on the top floor, my skin is soaked.

I already know where William is. I can see him in his office with three men in business suits. I curse. I was meant to sit in on the meeting this morning to take notes. William is going to be even angrier than I anticipated. Still, there’s no turning back now.

I stride with as much confidence as I can muster toward William’s office. I watch his head tilt upward as he notices me. His professional meeting face melts into pure, unadulterated fury. He rises from his seat just as I reach his door. I don’t wait for him to invite me inside; I just enter the lion’s den.

The other men turn to see who’s interrupting their meeting. I can hear my own breathing, heavy and loud in the otherwise silent room. William’s jaw is set, his blue eyes gleaming.

“You’re late,” he snarls. I take a deep breath.

“Yes, I am.”

“You need to change that attitude before I fire you on the spot,” William snaps, not caring that the other men are listening to every word. Our eyes clash, my whole stomach churning in rage for how he always treats me like this. And that’s the moment I realize how much I need to do this. I can’t stay in a place where a man gets off on humiliating me.

“There’s no need to fire me, sir,” I reply, flashing him a smile that’s sweet as sugar. “I fucking quit.”

Four

William

What the hell?

I stare at India, wondering who the hell she thinks she is. She shows up here late, looking like she’s been dragged through a bush backward and then she has the audacity to stand there and threaten to quit? I watch her intake of breath as I take a step toward her. To her credit, she keeps her head held high, her eyes never leaving mine even though her breathing quickens.

Just like my damn heartbeat.

“What did you just say to me?” I ask, my blood boiling with rage and something else. Something I’ve never wanted to feel for her but can’t seem to control.

The closer I get, the more her scent reaches and teases my nostrils. Damn her. Still, she tilts her head back, refusing to break our stare-off.

“You heard me. I quit,” she says defiantly. I can feel my neck and jaw heating up. How dare she humiliate me in front of my clients? I push past her to open the door to my office.

“Out. Now,” I tell her. She folds her arms, smirking a little. She’s finally letting loose with the rebellious side I knew she had. At the worst possible time.

“You’re not my boss anymore,” she says, pouting a little. She looks cute as hell. It’s kind of turning me on, which is annoying. I seriously need to focus.

“We need to talk about this. Wait in your office for me.”

I push the door open and motion for her to leave.

India looks like she might protest, but after a few moments she does as I ask. She casts a defiant glare around the room before heading to her office. Behind me, one of my clients, Theodore, lets out a throaty chuckle.

“Looks like you’ve got a dangerous woman on your hands,” he says, smirking. “Not ideal in an assistant, but—”

“Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen,” I interrupt, not in the mood to hear this guy’s leering comments. “If you’d like to read over the contracts in the meantime—I’ll be right back.” I take a deep breath, hoping to keep my cool as I head out to speak with India.

She’s pacing when I enter her office. Her face has taken on a grayish color, but I can tell she’s still angry. She casts a glance back at my office and I see that the men are watching us. Great. An audience is the last thing I needed for this conversation. Still, I need to remind India of her place.

“Sit down, India,” I say quietly, but firmly. She sinks into her chair, watching me carefully.

“India, you’ve been a good employee,” I begin.

She looks surprised at the compliment, but she tries to keep a straight face.

Suddenly more nervous than when I’m facing an army of corporate suits, I shove my hands into my pants pockets and give her my most commanding look.

“Which is why I am willing to give you another chance here. It was rash of me to make that comment about firing you, and it was rash of you to consider quitting. After the way you’ve just embarrassed me, I would say you’re lucky I’m feeling so generous.”

India’s face quickly flits from surprise to anger. “Generous? Are you serious, William?”

I frown. “You’ve displayed some pretty questionable behavior today, India. Not many people would give you a second chance.”

“And what about all the second chances I’ve given you?” she counters.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

India laughs, shaking her head. “Of course. You have no idea. No idea at all of the consequences of your actions. You treat me awfully and you expect me to have respect for you? To be grateful when you give me a second chance? You’ve shouted at me for being five minutes late in the past, William. Five. You’ve called my home in the middle of the night just because you can’t find some paper that I left on your desk the day before. You dislike it when I serve your coffee black and dislike it when I add cream. Nothing I do can possibly please you. And never, ever, have I ever felt motivated to do better, because no matter what I do, it’s never good enough for you. I’m done. So done with you and your bossing me around!”

I’m starting to get seriously annoyed now. “I’ve always been fair to you, India. Don’t turn this around and make it about me.”

India stands up, shaking her head. “Why am I still here? Why am I bothering to argue with a man who clearly has no idea how cruel he really is? Well, I don’t need to be here anymore.”

“You can’t leave. You’re my assistant.”

“Was your assistant. Keyword—was. I just quit. In front of your clients, so there were witnesses.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have anyone else who can do the work.”

India smiles smugly. “Not my problem anymore, Mr. Walker. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home.”

“India,” I growl softly, a tone that usually has her jerking back around to do my bidding.

Instead she’s gathering her stuff from the desk. I can feel my eyes getting wider and wider by the second.

And just like that, she walks out.

Just.

Like.

That.

I narrow my eyes, confused by the urge I have to chase her.

Obviously I won’t. There’s nothing more that I can do. I watch as she walks out of the office. And part of me is relieved to see her go. Relieved to know I won’t see those big, bright eyes nor the whole tempting package that is India Crowley anymore.

Fisting my hands at my sides, I watch her sashaying away and I know that she’s too good for this place. Too good for running around after me. Too good for being boxed in with a man who treats her so badly. And as she leaves, I finally understand everything I’ve been doing wrong—here and in my love life. Why has it taken something so dramatic for me to understand that I’m the problem?

I head back to my office in a daze. As I open the door, my clients laugh at my expression. I stand in the doorway, unable to figure out how to respond.

“I tried to tell you, Mr. Walker,” Theodore says with a grin. “Never mess with a powerful woman.”

* * *

Driving home takes longer than usual. I hit a bad stint of traffic and am delayed for over an hour. It gives me a lot of time alone with my thoughts. Most of them center on India.

How could I have been so stupid? So cruel and manipulative and completely oblivious to my own selfish behavior? Now I’ve lost the best assistant I’ve ever had. Not just that—I’ve lost a huge chunk of my ego. I guess I deserve that much, at least.

But the woman pushes my buttons in ways no one else ever has.

I wonder what she’ll do now. I’m concerned that she doesn’t have a job to fall back on. Will she be able to keep up with her rent? Will she get a similar job elsewhere, or will she do something more with herself? I hate myself for wanting to know, but after she walked out like that, I just can’t forget her. Something tells me that woman will be on my mind for some time.

I pull up in the driveway in front of my house. Not for the first time, I glance at the mansion before me and realize how big it is for just one person. Two stories tall with double ceilings, sweeping columns, large custom-made windows, thick wood doors and brass light fixtures. This is the product of years of hard work. Years of isolation and late nights at the office. I lock up my car and head inside.

Inside is pristine. The imported marble floors shine like mirrors. The windows are so clean, you think there’s nothing between you and the exterior. My cleaner—a woman in her late fifties whom I barely ever see—must have been here. She’s cleared all of my take-out cartons and organized all of my notes that I left scattered on the large oak desk in my study.

I decide after the day I’ve had that I could use a drink. I head to the fridge and find a bottle of champagne. It’s been there for over a year—my father bought it to celebrate my birthday but canceled our plans to go to some company party of his instead. I spent that night in the hot tub on the roof, pretending I was content with ordering takeout. I didn’t have any friends to invite along. Kit and Alex were busy. Heading up to the rooftop to get in the hot tub now feels more than a little like déjà vu.

The sun is setting over the Chicago skyline. I fire up the hot tub and strip naked. There’s no one to see me up here anyway. I slip into the bubbles and close my eyes, but even with the jets massaging my knotted back, I can’t seem to relax. It’s like the feeling of trying to catch your breath after a long run. I try to concentrate on the sensations of the water against my skin, but all I can see running through my mind is India’s face. The anger in her eyes.

The shock when I finally said something nice to her.

I don’t like the idea that someone could feel so strongly about me. Especially when I know none of the emotions she’s harboring are pleasant.

I’m so lost in my thoughts, it takes me a moment to realize my cell phone is buzzing.

After a few moments of deliberation, I ease out, grab a towel, get my phone from inside and pick up. “Walker,” I answer, not checking to see who was calling.

I can hear Rosie crying in the background and Alex trying to soothe her.

“Hey, brother. I didn’t plan to call and pester. Honestly. But, William? I need this. We need to leave. Like, right now,” Kit says. He sounds tired, concerned, and like he hates having to call me.

“And why are you...?”

“What do you mean why? You’re my brother. Alex’s sister has had an accident. I need to take her to see her. Alex is distraught. Are you really going to bail out on me when I need you?”

I inhale, frowning as a sliver of panic seizes my chest.

What do I even know about children? Is my brother insane? Or simply desperate? I wouldn’t put it past Kit to be lying through his teeth in order to get me to agree just so he can go on his honeymoon worry-free.

“Look, Kit, it’s not that I don’t want to help out—”

“Good. We’ll be by in an hour.”

He’s about to hang up when I stop him, the panic seizing me by the balls now. “Wait! So this is you asking me to babysit or telling me? Seriously?”

“I’m telling you, I need your bloody help.”

I grit my molars. Remembering what happened with India. Knowing that I’m an asshole. That it’s time to make a change. I see that now. Starting with my home life. I think about my brother, silent on the other end of the line. Would it really be so bad to spend some quality time with my niece? After all, I can’t be fussy about the company I keep.

I stare out over my garden below. I’m already planning the games I can play with Rosie, sitting on the lawn. My quiet evenings are about to get much more interesting.

“Fine,” I growl, almost too softly to be heard.

“Fine?” Kit repeats, obviously shocked.

I rethink my words for a minute.

Maybe I’m making a mistake. Without an assistant, my job is about to get only harder. And looking after a child is a 24/7 kind of arrangement. But I need this. This could be my opportunity to prove to myself—and everyone else—that I’m more than some moody workaholic who cares only about himself. This is my chance to make things good again, to remind myself there’s more to me than work. I sip my champagne as the sun finally sets, and I finally relent.

“I’m serious. Bring on the babysitting,” I answer.