The Personal Assistant (2 page)

After clearing up the sick and organizing a cab for the young woman Caleb brought home, I pour myself a long glass of vodka and soda with four ice cubes and a slice of lime.

It's twelve thirty in the morning and I'm exhausted. "Time to relax."

Just before I turn go downstairs to my quarters, I glimpse Caleb staring silently from the staircase leading to the first floor where all his rooms are.

"Do you need something, Caleb? I'm just off to bed."

"Nope, just wondered if you'd like to catch up. It can wait."

"Catch up? I know what this is, you're bored because your entertainment for the evening is on her way home in a cab."

He shrugs and smirks irresistibly.

"You can come to my room if you like,” I state. “I was only going to read for a while before I collapse in a heap."

"Sounds great." Caleb runs down the stairs and joins me on route to my room wearing a vest, joggers, and a huge grin.

When I enter my room, I rest my drink on the bedside table and go to the en-suite bathroom he'd disturbed me in earlier, to change out of my maid's uniform into a pair of runners and a sweatshirt.

I brush my teeth, pinch my cheeks, and let my hair fall down my back in seductive waves.

There's no getting away from how hot he makes me.

When I leave the bathroom, Caleb's reclined on my bed and is now flicking through the latest in a long line of romantic paperbacks I've been reading lately.

"Hey, don't lose my spot."

Caleb reads from my book sarcastically, "
She enjoyed how Hugo's fingers toyed with her nipples while he bent her over the bathroom basin and fucked her like his life depended on it
."

Blood burns my cheeks, "Yes," I snigger, "I so need to catch up on what happens after they get sticky."

Jumping on the bed next to him, we laugh with one another, like we have a million times before.

"I admire your efforts to expand your mind with challenging literature," he reads on a little silently. "Oh, this sounds a little hard-core.”

“It’s romance – not hard core.”

“What ever happened to your first love, Little Em?"

“You?” I say playfully.

"Sci-fi," Caleb says. "You used to love that stuff."

"Oh yeah. I still read those books and watch those programs and movies. But hey, I'm not going to lie, I have other appetites too now. Doubt you've noticed. Why would you notice I no longer go to school or wear training bras?"

His gaze moves directly to my bust, "Can't really tell in your oversized sweatshirt but…yeah," he fidgets, and I'm sure he blushes. "I noticed."

We're so close on the bed I want to lean in and kiss him and for him to lean me over the bathroom basin and fuck me like the hero does in my book.

I grab my drink and take a sip to help my temperature cool.

His gaze reaches out to touch my face, and I want to return it.

When I do, nervously, I find him staring at me. "Um, you want to share or should I go get you something to drink?"

He clears his throat, "Think I've bothered you enough for one day. I'll take a sip of yours though, if…"

I offer him my glass, and the ice cubes tap against the inside of it as my hand shakes.

"Thanks," after a sip, he screws up his face. "Yuk, what did you give me?"

And the tension dissipates.

"Vodka."

"I love vodka, but what brand is this? Is this even legal?"

"The kind I can afford. It's good, what's wrong with it?"

"You need Chase or Grey Goose. I'll get you some of mine. Yours is toxic." He runs off and returns a few minutes later with a jug of vodka on ice with soda and two fresh glasses.

"Here, try this," he says, enthusiasm lighting up his face.

I do as he asks, pouring two glasses and taking a cautious sip of mine.

"Wow, it's such a clean, fresh flavor. You can hardly taste alcohol, only…well, vodka I guess."

"See, you get what you pay for; I've always said as much."

"Sometimes. Or you get ripped off - I’ve always say as much."

"Funny," he smirks. "Only I never get ripped off. I pay for the best and get the best. Simple."

"Price isn't always the best indicator of quality. Remember the classy lady you brought home with you?"

I snort and he elbows me in the ribs, but it doesn't hurt, "She wasn't for sale."

"Bet you spent a pretty penny on her before she climbed into your Aston Martin though."

"Are you suggesting she wouldn't be interested if I was poor?" he laughs, knowing the answer, but says, "Anyway, I'm not talking about people, I'm talking about places, food, entertainment, customer service, products. Money gets you the best."

"My local Chinese restaurant offers tasty take-out food at a reasonable price, and they're all friendly in there. It's my absolute favorite."

"That’s disgusting, Em. I'd never eat from one of those takeaway restaurants places. They seem… dirty.”

“No way. The atmosphere is what makes a place. And Yu Lin’s Chinese restaurant is the best. It’s the place all my friends and I go every week.”

“To order the same rice dish every time?”

“No way. I have been going there with my best friends for the past three years, once a week, and I still haven’t tried everything on the menu.”

He shakes his head, “Takeaway restaurants just don’t do it for me.”

“Have you ever even been in one?”

“Um… no. I don’t think so.”

“Then how would you know?” I laugh.

“I’ve seen pictures. And I’ve driven past them. Any restaurant that can’t keep their sign clean isn’t going to get my patronage.”

“You can’t judge a place if you’ve never been. You should come with my friends and I one Friday night.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs. “I want a flavor explosion, and the experience of a lifestyle. I want to walk into a restaurant and be treated like a king. I want someone to take my coat, read the menu to me and be available to dance on my every whim."

“Sounds ridiculous. Yun Lin, the owner of the takeaway, is the nicest man I have ever met. He is always smiling and always happy to help his customers. And he knows all our names. That’s true customer service – it’s personal and happy. I wouldn’t want any of that cold, heartless, distant service you talk about.”

“Nope. Give me a Michelin Star every time. Wouldn’t eat anything less.”

"I cook for you, and you love it, and all without a Michelin Star.”

“But it is made with love,” he grins.

“Well, what about the joys of a friend’s BBQ's or a day at a fairground?"

"What about them?"

"The fun and laughs available at both, often for little cost, without even a ghost of any awards, would knock your socks off."

"No way.”

"I go to a BBQ at least once a fortnight and enjoy good food and excellent company every time. And my some of my favorite memories are at a fairground."

“But they look so dirty…”

“Your parents never took you to a fairground, did they? And I can’t ever remember you going to a casual friends barbeque.”

Caleb frowns and takes another slug of his fancy vodka. "Yeah, but you never ate at a Michelin-starred restaurant or ate oysters or lobster served with the best champagne money can buy."

"Nope, I never have. Honestly though, if it lived on reef scum, I wouldn't want to eat it no matter what drink it's served with."

We laugh, and our upper arms touch as we naturally lean toward each other. My skin sizzles at the connection.

"Ahem. What is your favorite restaurant?"

"Easy." He looks off into the distance, imagining it. "Kinugawa in Paris. As soon as you enter you're swept up in muted lighting, gentle music, Zen décor, air conditioning, warm hand towels, and candles. Perfect for a little romance." He does something sexy with his eyebrows. "The staff are attentive, your glass filled without the constant need to order it or ask for more."

Is this a restaurant, or what?

"Yeah, but what's the food like?"

"Ah, well first come chilled entrées like tai sashimi à la Kinugawa, which brings out the subtle flavors of the sea bream to the full." He gesticulates, his skin brushing accidentally against mine. His enthusiasm is so sexy. "There are also hot starters if you prefer, like the nasu dengaku—that's half an aubergine coated with a sweet miso crust—or the ebi aspara apuri—a dish of grilled prawns and green asparagus tossed in a spicy lemon-garlic dressing."

"Sounds incredible, and my stomach's rumbling. You may not realize this, but I don't live in Paris, and the chances of my ever eating there are slim," I shrug. "I'm happy with a good fried rice or a chicken chow mien."

He shakes his head. "We've known each other forever, yet we're so different, you and I."

"Because although we've lived together, we've lived different lives, had very different experiences," I tap the lip of my glass against his in a toast. "That's probably got a lot to do with it. To loving our differences."

"Indeed," we sip to seal the toast. "I guess you're right."

"Usually am," I say, holding my gaze on him.

One more gulp of vodka and he's finished. "I can't think of anything worse than doing what you do for fun. BBQs, local takeaway restaurants, and whatever else amuses you, all are more havens for disease than enjoyment." He scoffs "But look at you," he allows his gaze to cover me and it's as though I feel exactly where it touches, "the epitome of radiant health."

His gaze lingers, arousing me.

Though I fear he's not thinking I'm a vision of beauty to whom he'd like to make love.

More likely he's amazed I'm still alive after eating sub-par food all my life.

His gaze flicks away from me to his empty glass, "Um, I err. I'd better let you get some sleep."

I sigh, he's right.

Back to the real world.

Back to work in the morning.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Night, Little Em. Sweet dreams." He gets off my bed and leaves my room.

As I turn out the lights and snuggle up, smelling him on my sheets, I think about the gorgeous creature—Caleb Hawksley.

I think of us and I'm troubled by how different our worlds are outside my room, where we can be friends.

Picking up after even the most attractive men can be frustrating.

Why they can't pick up their clothes and at least drape them over a chair when they undress defies explanation.

Still, my chores fly by, and I'm ready to sit back and take an hour off for a mug of coffee and a read of my latest romance novel.

At least I am until I hear the ranting sounds of Caleb grumbling about the house.

"Damn stupid… zero consideration. Now what will I do?"

I sigh and get up out of my blue comfortable chair, walk up stairs to the middle floor to ascertain what's happened to cause him to gripe.

"Hey, what's a girl gotta do to get five minutes of reading time around here?"

There he is, dressed in dark designer jeans and a crisp—pressed by my fair hands—linen shirt.

"What?" he turns to see me in the doorway of his lounge. "Oh, sorry."

"Well, what's up?" He is frowning, "Who let you down this time?"

"No one. Nothing I need to bother you with." His gaze swallows me up in the way it does when he's looking for a distraction, and he sees my book in my hand, "What were you reading? The smut from yesterday?"

I push it behind my back, "No, something terribly intelligent and worthy. Why?"

"Of course you were." He grins, holding my gaze for a few seconds. "Thank you, Emma."

The expression he wears keeps my stomach gripped, my feet firm. "Thanks for what?"

"Making me smile, like you always do. Sometimes I wonder why the hell I…" His eyebrows shoot for the sky. "Yes, you should let me thank you for all you do for me, and I know the perfect way to do just that."

"I'm your housekeeper, Caleb." I frown, "Your thanks gets paid into my back account monthly."

His enthusiasm sparkles in his eyes and I am lost, "Come to the Gala Ball with me tomorrow night."

I'm so not the Gala Ball type.

"No," I jeer, "Me at a ball? I’ve never even been to a ball. "

What's gotten into him?

“Yes. You. At a Gala Ball.”

"I mean, what would I even wear? And what would I talk to people about? The price of bleach?"

"I'll sort out an outfit for you. You're…” he rubs his chin, "a size six?"

"Yes."

He's going to get me an outfit?

What is happening here?

"Good. That’s settled then," with that, he beams, begins punching buttons on his cell, and strolls to the door at the end of the hall.

Spinning with these new arrangements, I ask, "Err, going somewhere?"

"Oh sorry, catch you later. Don't worry about a thing for tomorrow; it's all in hand. And thanks again."