The Personal Assistant (5 page)

The next day at around four-thirty in the morning, I let myself in Caleb's penthouse, and I'm hit by a wall of silence.

His cars are all present in the garage and his tux has been cast off on the way up to his room.

Caleb's scent wafts up my nose as I collect each item, and I need to concentrate to keep a tight hold on my emotions.

Creeping up the stairs makes me feel odd, like I don't belong.

When I'm outside his bedroom door, I press my ear against the hard wood and listen.

Not a sound.

The urge to shout expletives, to demand an apology or at the very least, an explanation, is huge. I should wake him, and slap him across the face.

Instead, I pick up his boxer shorts and say nothing before heading back down the stairs to begin my chores.

I clean and wash every surface, and do two loads of washing, and organize the grocery delivery.

Like a good, little housekeeper.

Like a good, Little Em.

At six thirty, I'm ready for a break before I vacuum the carpeted areas of the house.

While I drink coffee and eat granola, I wonder who is with him between those same sheets he and I made love on last night.

It hurts me to even think about it.

Deep in my stomach, it hurts me.

It's hard to believe such pleasure happened less than twenty-four hours ago.

Was I so awful?

Was the same experience so different to the both of us?

How can that even be possible?

It was one of the most emotional moments of my life… and it meant nothing to him.

Nothing.

I feel the tears well up in my eyes, and I try to shake the thoughts away.

A creak on the fourth step in the hall tells me someone is walking down the stairs.

I open the newspaper and pretend to be engrossed in some story about the next big movie release.

"Ah, so you came back then," comes the booming voice of an angry Caleb.

He's angry… at me?

I spin around, astounded by his rudeness. "I work here, where else should I be?"

"You stayed out all night, and last time I saw you, you were dressed pretty hot. Thought you got lucky and spent the night somewhere… with some other guy you must have met while I went off to fetch drinks?"

Is he for real?

"You're calling me a slut now? I'm not your usual type, remember?" I throw the granola into the trash and the empty bowl into the dishwasher along with my spoon and coffee cup. "Do you need me to make you… and your guest… breakfast or can I get on with the vacuuming?"

"Do what you like. Seems to be your new thing for you."

My rage dissipates at the sight of his.

I expected groveling, not this.

"My thing? I think I'd better get my chores done and go. I started early, so I won't be too much longer if I can get in your room any time soon?"

Caleb grinds his jaw and scowls, "I'm not stopping you."

I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm, "Wait. Why did you leave last night? You owe me an explanation at the very least."

"Let's just say I know I was a standin."

"How could you…"

“Some helpful girls let me know.”

The lights switch on and illuminate the obvious. "Uh, Demi?" With the bright flush of his cheeks, I know I'm right. "It wasn't like… I so wanted you there."

Already humiliated enough for one day, I refuse to allow this to become a pity parade in my honor, so I appease him.

"It's fine. I have a lot to do, you keep me busy. Will there be anything else?"

He holds my gaze for a long moment, "Oh?"

He frowns, tilts his head confused, and let's go of my arm. "I wish you'd stayed, that's all."

"It isn't my world, sorry. I should never have agreed to go. It was my mistake."

He continues to level his questioning gaze at me until I feel it chiseling away at my resolve not to cry.

"But I wanted you there."

"We all want things we can't have, Caleb. Guess I'm more used to it than you."

I tug my arm from his grip and march off, grabbing the vacuum cleaner on my way so I can work myself up to a sweat and finish as quickly as possible.

When I've done everything but his room, reluctant to wait for someone to leave, I storm in expecting to confront a slumbering beauty named Demi…

But I find the room in darkness and empty.

At least I'm saved some humiliation.

Cleaning his room feels wrong today, as though I'm intruding on something private.

Perhaps because it reminds me of the incredible satisfaction of yesterday.

Not many can say the man they fantasized about since the first flush of adolescence was also the man who gave them the most incredible experience of their life.

No, I doubt this memory will fade even if I live for another hundred years.

Of course, we're from such different worlds we couldn't have possibly been more.

Not really.

We are different.

So
different.

It was stupid of me to think we could have been anything else. Of course, we couldn’t have been a couple. How would that even work?

Would I still be his maid while he took me out to dinner?

How stupid of me.

Stupid.

What an idiot.

Seems some fantasies are destined to be just that.

Anything else cannot work.

A few days later, I'm due to see my folks and I’m dreading it.

They were so proud of me taking on such a big job so young, and for continuing the family line of domestic service to the Hawksley's.

I certainly can't tell them what's been going on lately, and they're certain to ask.

No, I won't go to our usual weekly meal together.

I'll say Caleb needs me.

They won’t be able to question me.

While in deep thought about this at work, Caleb stops me on his way down the stairs, all dressed up and a million places to go.

"Where have you been staying nights, Emma?" his lips are stretched over white teeth and his spine erect. "You're a live-in housekeeper, yes? That's what you're paid for."

He's annoyed again and it's wearing thin. "I don't think the live-in arrangement suits me right now. I'll look at moving back in the future."

His eyebrows shoot for the sky, "Doesn't suit you? What about me? Should I trim your wages according to how much less work you do for me? Would that suit you? What if I need you to do something while you're…wherever it is you've been going at night?"

I sigh, this is one of many examples of his attitude towards me since the damn ball.

We always got on so well, but now it's like we're quarrelling strangers forced together.

He seems to dislike me more each day, and I'm beginning to get depressed in this environment and by the whole horrible experience.

"Sorry if I'm not on-call twenty-four-seven anymore. Trim my wage if you think it's unfair of me to have a life. Will there be anything else, sir?”

He gasps, "Stop being so damned reasonable. Where's your attitude? This isn't you."

No, it isn't me—none of this is.

I'm just trying not to be dragged into more arguments.

"Sorry, sir," I say, hating how hurt he seems.

"Sir? You’re calling me sir now? You've never called me sir before? Don't start now… you know my name, Emma."

“It seems an appropriate title.”

He huffs understandably and pushes passed me on the stairs on his way to another night out on the town.

Before the door slams behind him, he adds, "I'd say don't wait up, but you never do anymore."

Damn.

It hits me like a slap in the face.

Hard.

I can't work for him anymore.

I can’t do it.

Everything we had—our friendship, trust, history, and the incredible sexual attraction—has somehow altered intolerably.

If I work here much longer, in this toxic environment, we'll hate each other.

I can't bear the thought of that.

Maybe if I hand in my notice to quit and get a job somewhere else, we might one day be friends again?

Maybe?

I spent the next few hours calling multiple high-end cleaning agencies. Although I want to walk out of here right now, the good girl in me takes over.

I can’t just leave him without a cleaner.

The poor guy would go insane.

He wouldn’t even know how to use a duster, or even pick up his own clothes.

After arranging my replacement, I cry buckets while typing out the letter on Caleb's computer.

He won't like me leaving, but I do all I can to ensure he won't suffer with regards to my job.

Dear Mr. Caleb Hawksley,

Please accept this, my letter of resignation.

I've arranged for an agency to send my replacement first thing tomorrow, and I've sent them all the information they need to keep things working like clockwork for you. Don't worry, you won't even know I'm gone.

Be happy,

Miss. Emma White X

Once the letter is printed, I sign it, pop it into an envelope, and leave it on his pillow to find on his return.

As I leave the penthouse, a lump in my throat and tissues in my hand, I say a silent goodbye to my Caleb, to all the hopes I'd cherished, and my heart is heavy with loss.

“Goodbye,” I whisper.

A week has passed since I packed my world up into two suitcases and ten boxes and moved from Caleb Hawksley's penthouse.

Betty is on hand to help me through the withdrawal from Caleb, from all I've ever known, with her usual good sense of reason and spats of laughter. I’ve been staying in her apartment trying to decide where life is going to take me next. I have a few ideas, but it is hard to make such life changing decisions.

Turns out I have a lot genuine friends; you discover genuine friends when your life takes a crappy turn.

Still, it's been revelatory to me, seeing who still wants to hang out even though I'm no longer close to one of the richest, and most handsome, men in the US.

Seems domestic service only suited me while I worked for Caleb.

The idea of washing a stranger's undergarments doesn't fill me with glee or inspire my usual work ethic. Caleb's undergarments were quite another matter, which is why I'm now unemployed—let's face it.

Betty and several other friends all persuade me to let them take me to our favorite Chinese restaurant, Yu Lin’s, and we're on our way there—in a cab too, so right now it actually is a treat.

In a week of tears and doubts and worries, this is a good day, and I'm smiling for the first time since the ball.

"Thanks for this, you guys. Means a lot."

We share a smile, my friends and I, and Betty says, "That's what friends are for."

At our restaurant, we clamber out joking and laughing, all psyched up for chow mien, noodles and prawn crackers. Once inside, the friendly staff welcomes us to our table with bobbing heads and wide grins. "Oh, I love it here."

Betty says, "Beats the ball, huh?"

"Always."

She's so right.

Here, I'm comfortable in my jeans and t-shirt, and I'm with good friends who never would use me as a substitute.

No need for Gucci dresses and Jimmy Choos to impress two-faced bitches in here.

But I don't want to remember those girls, because they remind me of him.

"No more talk of balls or billionaires. Not tonight."

“I bet your billionaire had a nice set though,” Ellie laughs.

“A set of what?” I ask, confused.

“Balls,” she laughs again.

This time I can’t help but laugh. Ellie has always been the comical one – always ready with a one-line joke.

But her comment sends my memory back to Caleb and his balls slapping against my ass, how his weighty cock felt in my hand, and renewed feelings of loss bubble in my belly.

“Well, let me tell you about my week,” Ellie begins. “Hopefully, it will distract you from your change in life path.”

“Hopefully,” I mumble.

“Well, my boyfriend and I were setting up a joint email account yesterday.”

“A joint email account? Should you do that?”

“Oh, it’s ok. I still have my old email account, it’s just for people who want to contact both of us. Anyway, we got to the setup section where they asked to enter a password and it has to be eight characters long. So Tim enters his suggested password ‘mypenis.’ And the computer pops up a message that’s says – ‘Not long enough’!”

We all burst into laughter. “Really?!”

“Oh yeah!” Ellie has tears in her eyes from laughing. “I fell onto the floor, I was laughing so hard. His password ‘mypenis’ was only seven characters long – oh, I tell you, I couldn’t stop laughing!”

Ellie’s life stories are always a cure for anyone feeling down. Not only do weird things happen to her, but she knows how to deliver a joke.

“Alright, well how’s this then?” Ellie continues. “This one is a joke.”

We all roll our eyes with smiles on our faces – as crazy as Ellie’s life is, her jokes can be very lame.

“Alright, alright. Excuse me for bringing some fun to the table,” she smiles.

“Go on then,” Jay replies. “Tell us the joke.”

“Good. Well, a man comes home from work with a massive smile on his face. He is happier than his wife has seen in a long time. ‘What are you so happy about?’ she asks him. He just smiles and asks his wife, ‘What would you do if I won the lottery?’ She thinks about it for a while and then says, ‘I’d take half and leave your ass!’ Then the man replies, ‘Great! I won 12 bucks, here is six, now get out!’”

We all laugh heartily. Again, it is all in the delivery.

Once our food turns up and we begin digging in, my 'almost break down' is forgotten and the conversation has moved to Beth and her girlfriend, Louise, and their plans to get a place together.

"About time if you ask me," I say, happy for them, "You two were made for each other."

“Some things aren’t that easy,” Beth says. “We have had to deal with a lot of drama during our relationship so this is a really big step for us. But despite everything we’ve experienced, love gets us through.”

I smile, “It makes me happy to hear that.”

Maybe one day I can believe in love again.

Maybe.

“What are you going to do now, Emma?” Beth asks as she crunches into a prawn cracker.

“School, I think. I would love to be a teacher,” I reply.

“A teacher. Yes… I could see you as a teacher. Maybe younger grades?”

“Absolutely. I couldn’t handle high school kids. No way. Dealing with all the angst and drama would be too much. And I’ve just spent three years dealing with angst and drama, so I need a break from that too.”

“I though we weren’t going to mention
him
,” Betty adds.

I shrug, “I’ll try not to mention him again.”

“Good. Let’s change the conversation then. Has anybody read the new Elizabeth Ward book?”

“Ohhh… yes. Yes please,” Beth replies.

And the conversation easily sways away from my pain and back into everything normal. Books, movies, television shows, life, work and the future.

I smile at my table of friends.

Truly, I feel blessed to have these people in my life.

Everything is normal again.

Good.

But just has the world is starting to feel natural again, just as I am starting to forget, the doors of the restaurant swing open.

Damn.