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“Ms. Serafini.” The semi-sharp voice jolted Chrissy into the present. “Did we hear back from Kosikov?”
James walked into the living room of his London apartment, wrangling the buttons into the buttonholes of his top-of-line Brooks Brothers $250-dress shirt.
So, she thought sarcastically. We’re semi-casual today.
In the past month, Chrissy had been unfortunately privy to a good dose of her boss’ idiosyncrasies and clothing choices. Because part of her job was making sure that his wardrobe was in tip-top condition, she became intimately acquainted with each piece of clothing. She knew where it came from and how much it cost. She still remembered as if it was a scar across her soul. His Emma and Willis $500 evening shirt suffered a gravy stain, and he’d had a fit when the grease stain set. Had he given her the shirt, she would have used her mother’s cleaning magic to disappear the stain. But no. He didn’t see his personal assistant as a laundress.
She was just supposed to be everything else.
“No, Mr. Pearson.”
“Then call him back.”
“I will, Mr. Pearson, but every call so far has gone to voice mail.”
“Then forget it,” Pearson snapped. “If you can’t handle a simple phone call—”
“Your latte is on the kitchen counter and getting cold,” Chrissy said, cutting him off. She used the calm tone she’d cultivated on her first day on the job. It was exhausting getting angry at him, and ultimately not worth it. “In fact, if you keep on like this, the foam will evaporate and then where will you be?”
Pearson huffed and then smiled.
“Damn. I love when I don’t rattle you,” he said.
“Good. Just remember I’m leaving in two days to visit my family.”
“Remind me again why this is necessary.”
Chrissy frowned. “My father is getting heart surgery.”
“Right. I guess that’s important.”
“I’m sorry; he pushed up the surgery a month. Don’t worry—Jessica will be here to pick up the slack. She’s coming in today, and I have an entire twenty-four hours to get her up to speed.”
Pearson’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t met Jessica yet, and oftentimes he scared off those who could do an otherwise good job. Jessica had done well supporting Chrissy from the New York office, but she hadn’t directly faced James’ wrath.
It was important to Chrissy to be there with her family, not only for her father, but given that her relations with them had smoothed. It had taken them some time to realize they needed to back up and soften on their stances of things, or else she wouldn’t visit at all.
The salary certainly gave her the freedom to travel, but it often came with a strict schedule and no days off. Ever.
“So, this means you aren’t coming to the Paris lunch meeting with me?”
“No, I won’t be there.” Chrissy sighed internally, but she wouldn’t let him see that frustration. “We discussed this yesterday.”
“You should have reminded me.”
“I’m doing that now.”
“She won’t be you.”
“You’re right, she’s not me. But she is very, very good. In fact, I worry I won’t have a job when I get back.”
“You have nothing to worry about there. Unless, of course, you can’t raise Kosikov.”
“I’ll call him now. What threat level should I announce: yellow, orange, or red?”
“Just make the damned call.”
“Drink your coffee,” she said as she dialed Kosikov’s number. As she waited for the call to answer she remembered something.
“Turner Trower cancelled the Milan meeting.” Chrissy held a breath as she waited for Pearson’s answer. Trower had been Mr. Pearson’s tailor for a number of years, but lately Pearson has expressed his dissatisfaction with Trower’s work.
“That's fine,” Pearson grunted. “I've been unhappy with his last couple suits. Here.” He hunted for a card in his wallet and handed it to her.
“Call this man and make an appointment.”
Chrissy took the card while she waited for Kosikov to pick up. “Voicemail,” she announced. “Should I leave a message?”
“No. Damn it. I’ll take care of this at the embassy dinner tonight. I do have the proper shirt for the event, do I not?”
“Yes, Mr. Pearson. It arrived from Trower’s office yesterday.”
“It had damn well be better than his last tuxedo suit, or I’m sending it back.” His eyes narrowed on Chrissy, weighing if her own suit for the day was appropriate for her to wear in public. He looked away without comment, which meant it passed inspection. Not once had he offered a compliment of her tastes. The best she could hope for was his silence.
“Then are you ready?” Pearson was already on his way toward the door. “Don’t we have a plane to catch?”
“Yes, sir.” It didn’t matter if it was his plane waiting for him at the airport, Pearson had no patience for lateness. She double-timed it to the counter where the latte she’d carefully prepared sat untouched. Chrissy tossed the liquid into the sink, rinsed the cup, and put it in the dishwasher. She couldn’t leave it in the sink, because the fastidious James Pearson wanted his kitchen perfectly clean at all times. Heaven forbid it ever looked like anyone lived there.
Her last move, as it always was when leaving his apartment, was to grab her precious iPad. It was her Bible when it came to the life of James Pearson, and without it she would be tossed to the wolves.
With a gentleman’s manners, Pearson held out her light coat and she shrugged it on. She did the same for him. Chrissy gave up on trying to figure out why Pearson, who lived extravagantly in all other aspects of his life, refused to keep a butler. He could have at least hired one for the London condo, which was where they spent most of their time.
There were, though, many things she didn’t understand about her boss. His hours were very irregular, and he came and went at the oddest hours. There were times when he insisted she accompany him, and other times when he told her she wasn’t needed. It was difficult to imagine he could ever function without her, given all she did for him when she was present. Chrissy generally handled everything, from calling the car, to wrangling the types of tables he liked from the maître d’ at restaurants, to paying the bills.
When he called her the “mistress of his life” in their first interview, he wasn’t kidding. The only thing that was missing in this somewhat husband/wife relationship was the sex. And she didn’t miss or want that one bit. Pearson didn’t appeal to her all.
Oh, he was handsome enough, and dressed well, but his attitude would put off most women, except the ones who only wanted him for his money. As far as she knew, though, he hadn’t been indulging in that either, unless that was where he’d been going on his late-night excursions.
The entirety of the way to the airport, Pearson’s fingers tapped impatiently on his leg. It was a tick of his that she forced herself to ignore, or else it would drive her insane. Without fanfare, they arrived at the airport with time to spare.
Still, James was on edge. Though most people would think he was calm and collected, Chrissy recognized the tightness in his jaw that signaled his tension over the upcoming lunch meeting.
“Did you send me the sales projections?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Pearson. Last night.”
She darn well did them last night. She had to wait up for Marta, the New York office assistant, to send them. Since there was a five-hour difference between London and New York it was well after midnight, London time, before she got them.
He checked his iPhone. “Yes, here they are. And the reservations at the restaurant are made?”
“Yes.” She didn’t add that she ordered the car for tonight. That she’d have a tuxedo and the new tuxedo shirt set out for tonight when he returned or that she’d cleaned his tuxedo loafers. She didn't inform of these and the dozens of other details done and checked off on her list. She was grateful for all the other assistants before her who’d kept detailed lists of various tasks. Chrissy, after a week of studying them, was able to get through the day without looking at those lists every five minutes. They’d already become ingrained in her mind.
At the gate nearest to his plane, the car came to a stop.
“Thank you, Miss Serafini,” James said as he exited the car.
Wait. What? Chrissy’s brow wrinkled. He’d actually thanked her? What was that about? A thank you from his mouth was unheard of. But the driver shut the door quickly, without any further comment from her boss.
But the door opened again, and Pearson poked his head in.
“You should find a package from Harrods upon your return. I want you to wear what’s inside tonight.”
The door abruptly shut again.
Well. What was that about?
“Only eleven months to go,” she said under her breath.
The chauffeur opened the privacy window.
“Heathrow, Miss?”
“Yes, thank you.”
They made it to the airport before Jessica’s plane landed. She pulled out the small sign she’d made from her brief case.
“Let me out at Arrivals.”
“Yes, Miss. I can’t park here, but I’ll keep circling around until I see you again.”
“Thanks.”
She quickly found the gate on the arrivals board and hurried toward the receiving area. Travelers poured from the roped areas and it was difficult to see.
“Chrissy!” she heard.
Jessica came through the roped area, waving her arm.
“Jessica!” Chrissy flushed with excitement at seeing her friend from home. It seemed forever since she’d seen anyone she knew. Though she talked to Jess on the phone nearly each day, it was different laying eyes on a familiar face.
Chrissy held up the sign she’d made that said, “Jessica Saunders.”
Jess laughed.
“You. Look at you all dressed in London fashion.”
Chrissy blushed. Pearson did make her upgrade her wardrobe “to present the proper image.” It wasn’t a hardship, though, since he sent her to a top woman’s designer and paid for the new wardrobe.
“Oh, not everything is London. I have Parisian pieces, too.”
“Looks good.”
“Don’t worry; Mr. Pearson, if he takes you around, will buy your clothes to dress ‘appropriately.’ But you look good, too. When did you go blonde?”
“Shortly after you left. I’ve always liked your hair color, but I didn’t want to be a copycat.”
“Well, it looks great on you.”
“Yeah, but we could be like twins, can’t we?”
“Yes. The sister I never had,” Chrissy said sarcastically.
Jess rolled her eyes. “You have a sister.”
“Yeah, but not a sweetheart like you. Thank you so much for coming to help me out so I could go home. Especially when I’ve told you how impossible Mr. Pearson can be.” In fact, Chrissy almost felt a tad bit guilty about pitting someone so nice against Pearson.
“You told me some good stories, but I don’t believe them.”
Chrissy chuckled, and took her arm. “Oh, you’ll see.”
