Just One Night. Part 1 (2 page)

“Rachel,” I say, pressing down on the intercom button, “could you come in here please?” If she has time to giggle, she must need more work to do, and I will more than happy to remedy that little oversight on my part.

“Yes, Mr. Stratford?” Rachel stands in my doorway, far enough away that I can’t hit her with my paperweight with assured accuracy. Believe me, I’ve considered attempting it anyway on more than one occasion. If her head had any more helium in it, she’d float right out of the building. It’s beyond frustrating. She’s the fifth personal assistant I’ve had this year and we’re only to June.

My lips stretch to mimic a tired sort of amusement. A very, very slight level of amusement. “While I’m pleased to know that you’ve settled into your new position enough to feel comfortable gossiping with your colleagues, I believe you have several other tasks which require your attention, and it would please me beyond measure to see you accomplishing said tasks.”

Her face morphs into something that looks very uncomfortable. Is her skin made of rubber? These American girls never cease to amaze me with their expressive natures. It’s fascinating, really. Like a visit to the zoo or a science museum.

“Sir, I wasn’t gossiping. I was working.”

Obviously, she believes me to be a dunderhead. “Is that so? And what, perchance, were you working on, might I ask?” Leaning back in my chair with my arm extended over the desk, I begin to wiggle my pen between my fingers, first slowly and then with more speed. My eyebrow goes up as I wait for her excuses to pour forth.

Expecting to see her squirm under the pressure, I admit to being a little disappointed when she doesn’t indulge me. She counts off on her fingers as she relates her activities of the last few hours, her eyeballs rolling up to the ceiling. “Well, let’s see … I collated all the reports from the weekly and monthly sales and made projections for the next quarter based on the information there. I entered all the new client information into the database. I synched your phone and your e-pad to your computer wirelessly. I scheduled eight meetings for next week and put them on your calendar. By the way, one of them is a charity ball thingy on Friday night, so I also scheduled the dry cleaner to come by and get your tux so they can have it ready for you in time.” She perks up and stops counting, her eyes coming back down from the ceiling to look at me. “Oh, and I found you a date.”

My pen drops from my hand and lands on the desk blotter with a muted clatter. “Pardon?” A large hunk of hair falls over my eye and I slowly smooth it back as I stare at her. Surely I’ve mis-heard.

She sighs heavily and enunciates slowly, as if speaking to someone who needs a little extra help. “I
said
I collated all the reports …”

I gesture in frustration. “Right, right, I caught that part. It’s the last bit that I’m confused on. Care to repeat the last item on your list?”

She dazzles me with a big smile. There appear to be too many teeth in her mouth, and they’re blindingly white. I glance at my sunglasses on the desk but decide against putting them on. All I need to do is give the secretarial pool more fodder for their chinwagging. If I so much as sneeze it becomes headline news in the office, so wearing aviators indoors is a no-go if I want to continue striving towards the goal of relative obscurity.

They don’t realize it, but I hear everything. Not only do I have my inside sources, but the employees are under the mistaken notion that I’m deaf, dumb, and blind as well. Discrete, they are not. Being the newly appointed CEO and the son of the founder obviously makes me an interesting topic for the unofficial company grapevine, so I try not to let it bother me. I hope after a couple more months they’ll realize there’s no story here and that their gossip time is better spent on other subjects. Like on my younger brother, for example. Of course, for them to gossip about him, he’d actually have to show up here once in a while…

“Oh, yes! That’s right! I forgot to tell you!” Rachel advances into my office with several short, choppy strides, holding out a piece of paper from a stack that’s in her arms. “I was talking to some of the girls, and they told me you never get out and that you’re always working, so I took the liberty of finding you someone. A date, actually. If you like her you could bring her to the ball. You really shouldn’t go solo to something like that, you know. You can network better with someone on your arm.” She extends the paper in my direction, still with that blinding smile going. “You can totally find a date online these days. You won’t even have to leave the office to start the process. Isn’t that awesome?”

My nostrils extend slowly out to either side as my color rises. This is how a British gentleman expresses his extreme distaste. My upbringing forbids me from saying the things that should be said to this pleb. I cannot tell her that she is as obtuse as she is annoying, that she’s completely out of line, and that she’s begging to be made redundant. Perhaps she understands British body language, though, because the wattage of her smiling-bulb dims to just a crumb.

“Are you mad?” The foolish grin is gone and the cringe has taken its place. I’m very pleased with the result. She’s catching on a lot quicker than her predecessors.

I give her a perfunctory smile. “Mad? No. I am in complete control of my faculties. Perhaps you mean angry?”

“Yes, that’s what I meant.”

“No. I’m not angry. For me to be upset with you, your actions would have to actually mean something to me, which I can assure you, they do not. But your suggestion that your function here includes searching out female companionship for me leads me to believe that perhaps you misunderstand your role.”

“Oh, no, I understand perfectly, Mr. Stratford. Your father was very clear when he hired me. He said I was to do all the tasks you asked me to do on time or before deadline if possible, make sure your calendar is kept updated at all times, and to help you assimilate into American culture.” She’s back to smiling again.

I search my desktop. Where has that paperweight, gone to?

“Going out with American women will help you assimilate much faster.” She shrugs once and tilts her head, obviously very proud of herself.

I stand, knowing that my height will put me at a distinct advantage over her. I’m pleased to see her grin disappearing again. “I assure you, Ms. Meechum, that should I determine at some point in the future that I am in need of a
date
as you say, I will neither need your assistance nor your opinion on the matter. Do I make myself clear?”

She starts to back up towards the door. “Yes, sir. Crystal clear. I get you loud and clear. Ten four, over and out.”

“Why all the numbers?” I ask, wondering if she’s cluing me in to some appointment I’ve yet to notice on my calendar.

“Nothing. No numbers. Disregard. Is there anything else you need? I’m about to leave.”

“Leave?” I look at my watch; it’s only seven p.m. “Where are you going?”

“Ummm, home?” She smiles. “Come on, William, it’s seven o’clock on a Friday night. You really don’t expect me to stay until ten every night, do you? I have a date tonight, and I have to get ready.” She points at her horribly frizzy red hair. “This kind of magic doesn’t happen overnight, you know.”

“No. I suppose it doesn’t,” I say under my breath, afraid of what might come out of my mouth next if I give it enough volume. This girl is destined for the rubbish heap that contains all my other former assistants. Certainly, she’s done well in her short time here, but
egads
… she’s picking out dates for me now? What on earth could the numbskull have been thinking?

She’s almost gone before I deliver my parting shot. “Ms. Meechum?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Mr. Stratford.”

“Ummm … what?”

“You used my given name when you were speaking to me earlier. I don’t believe that’s appropriate, do you?”

She turns a light shade of pink. “No, sir. I’m sorry about that. We’re just a little casual around here sometimes.”

“No, in point of fact, we’re not. Not in this office and not in this company.” My stern look comes out to drive the point home.

“No, of course not.” She has the grace to remain pink-cheeked. “Have a nice weekend, Mr. Stratford.”

“And you do the same, Ms. Meechum.”

See? I can be gracious when the situation calls for it. There’s a time and a place for casual relations, but that time is never when I’m working, and that place is never
here
. It’s my duty to keep the office running smoothly, and observing certain formalities can assist in that endeavor.

My father entrusted me with his multi-national real estate investment firm that he built from nothing, and I will not let him down. I’ve trained my entire life for this position, and no one will stop me from getting it exactly right, especially not some bird brain, barely-graduated American midwesterner who doesn’t know her place in the chain of command.

I’m once again alone in the office, staring at my heavy oak door. My assistant closed it behind her, and for the first time all day, there’s silence. Sighing heavily, I sit down at my desk and stare at my computer screen. The desktop is glowing out and reflecting off my tired eyes. I’ve been here for thirteen hours and I have much to do before I’m done.

Imagine … someone thinking I need help in the date department.
An inelegant snort escapes me as I remember the overly enthusiastic approach I received on the lift just this morning from a totty who works on the next floor up. Her business suits and fine leather attaché case scream solicitor or lawyer. As is my usual course, I let her down easily; when she asked me to meet her for a drink after work, I explained that I’m otherwise engaged.

I’m always otherwise engaged. Engaged working, engaged traveling for work, engaged sleeping or eating. That’s what I do. That is the life I have chosen for myself and I couldn’t be happier. When I need female companionship I find it on my own and it’s always the uncomplicated sort.

An inter-company instant message pops up on my screen interrupting my thoughts. I lean in, my eyebrows creasing as I note the sender’s name. Apparently, Ms. Meechum has not yet left to create her hairstyling masterpiece. Perhaps she’s changed her mind about working late.

‘He seriously needs to get a life outside this place. He’s going to grow old and wrinkly all by himself without any friends or anything. I tried to tell him about the date but he threw me out of his office.’

My chin withdraws into my neck as my brain attempts to determine what I’m seeing. My eyes scan the small instant message window and note that it’s definitely my assistant sending it, but I cannot for the life of me understand why it’s coming to my computer.

Another window pops up to replace the first.

‘Oh my effing god! Mr. Stratford! I’m so sorry! Please don’t fire me! I didn’t mean to send that to you!’

My emotions are … unsettled … to say the least. I lean back in my chair and rock for a bit as I tap my pen rhythmically on the blotter. Am I angry with Ms. Meechum? Yes, of course I’m angry. Old and wrinkly… I’ve at lease twenty years before that eventuality. And I’m certainly not friendless. I’ve loads of friends
and
lovers. The little bint truly believes she’s a do-gooder? Honestly, her cock-up is more pitiful than anything. She’s completely gormless.

That’s what helps me decide how to react. I’m no longer angry. I’m embarrassed for her. She hasn’t a clue how a man like me gets satisfaction from his life.

I will say nothing at all. Let her stew in her humiliation. Nothing I say could possibly be more effective than what she’ll come up with on her own.

My first genuine smile of the day erupts across my face as I rest secure in the knowledge that I’ll be getting nothing but nose to the grindstone, dedicated effort from Ms. Meechum for at least the next two weeks. I’m actually quite pleased she’s useless in the technology department and doesn’t know how to properly use the messaging system I had installed last week.

I stand up and walk quietly over to my door, cracking it open so I can see her leave. She’s halfway across the room full of cubicles, the last person in the office aside from me. She appears to be running, and I cannot help but allow the chuckle to escape my throat. Oh, life can be so sweet sometimes. I can almost understand why my father left our family for the Americas when I was just a teen.

A stack of papers on the corner of her desk catches my eye. Knowing it’s the one that she had in her ams when she came to visit, I’m lured out of my office to look through it. If she lied about the work she allegedly completed, that’s a serious, job-losing offense. Apparently, I can be intimidating enough that it causes people to lie about things. At least that’s what my last assistant said.

Reading through the short paragraphs on about five different papers, I realize Ms. Meechum actually had the gall to print out personal ads from some online source. Apparently, my perfect date is comprised of someone who likes long walks on the beach, poetry, and true love.

“Bollocks,” I say out into the empty room. She’s definitely going to be fired on Monday. I’m tempted to send her a text now and just be done with it, but I won’t. Let her suffer for two days over her gaff and then come in to be fired. That will be a much more effective lesson for the whole office to learn than letting it happen now.

I toss the pile onto her desk and start to walk away, but one of the papers separates itself and floats down to the floor, landing at my feet. Grabbing it on my way into my office, I crumple it up in a ball and toss it at my rubbish bin. Unfortunately, all the years I spent playing cricket have not paid off. I miss by a good twenty centimeters.

As I sit, I lean over and grab the paper, throwing it up onto my desk. It remains there as I consult my calendar, send off five separate emails to various clients, and confirm my racquetball match for Sunday.

It’s eight o’clock when I sit back in my chair again and look around the office. I have such big plans for this place. By the end of the year it’ll be too small for our operation. My father was content to keep things what he calls ‘intimate’ and ‘friendly’ but I have other ideas. And since I’m the fresh blood he brought in to make things happen, I expect zero resistance to my suggestions. So far, he’s been a hands-off owner. He’s more interested in golf these days than real estate anyway, and that’s just dandy with me. Out with the old and in with the new. No disrespect meant, of course, but instant messaging was just the tip of the iceberg for what Stratford Investments will see in the next ten months.