From The Desk Of
It takes place pre-Frick Benefit (so before Ch17) and is in Seth's POV.
A Day in the (Work) Life of Seth Parsons
6:00am, Seth's Apartment, Williamsburg, Brooklyn
It's morning. Six in the morning to be exact. Well, that's the time according to the Today
Show, and let me tell you, Matt Lauer is a lot more awake than me right now.
But that's the way it should be. He presumably has to get to work at four, whereas I only need
to be in at eight. Thank God for small mercies. Or at least the institution of regular business
hours. I don't know what I'd do if Cullen, Inc. required me to come in at four. I'd probably
quit.
Oh, who am I kidding? I like my job. I'd probably just adjust.
As I get up and trudge to my kitchen, I wonder again why I haven't tried to find a place in
Manhattan. I wouldn't have to get up this early if I lived closer to work; Cullen, Inc.'s offices
are located in Midtown and my commute from here takes just under an hour. But then I
remember that I like living here in Williamsburg. The neighborhood has character and this
apartment is a great space. Besides, living in Manhattan would mean I'd be more likely to be
at my boss's beck and call.
Wait. I like my boss.
Yeah, my brain doesn't work well before my morning coffee.
I always hear horror stories about assistants being called up in the middle of the night in
order to make turkey sandwiches, arrange last-minute travel plans, and steam-iron suits, all
while recording their boss's musings on a dictaphone. Mr. Masen would never do that to me.
For a start, he likes schedules, and I can't imagine he'd approve of that much multi-tasking at
such an inconvenient time. Not only that, but he's genuinely a nice guy. He would insist on
sending a car if he needed me outside of business hours. Though come to think of it, all hours
are probably business hours for him – he works really, really hard.
I take a sip of coffee and wander back to my room. Since I always iron my work clothes the
night before – it's just easier that way – I head straight for the bathroom and let the coffee
cool on the countertop while I take shower. After I'm done, I get dressed and resume drinking
my coffee. I should be awake now. The shower always helps a lot.
A quick check of my laptop reveals that I already have a bunch of emails to read. I scan the
subject lines and immediately take note of anything that could mean a schedule change for
this morning. Everything else can wait until I'm on the subway.
7:11am, L train
The guy sitting opposite me is staring at me. I don't know why. At least I think he's staring at
me. It's possible he's just switched off his brain – the vacant look on his face is very Whitlock-
esque. Mr. Masen would totally agree with me, but he's not exactly the subway type. He
doesn't even eat Subway, mainly because he prefers the sandwiches from a particular deli on
42nd Street. Lately I've been encouraging Mr. Masen to try other lunch options – including,
dare I say it, Wendy's. All because the deli guy talks about his pet rock in the same way a
pageant mom talks about her little superstar. It's odd. Too much excitement.
I really hope Mr. Masen doesn't want a sandwich today. Maybe I can drop sushi hints, which is
entirely different from dropping sushi per se, because let's face it, who wants to eat sushi
that's been on the floor.
Whitlock Clone is glaring at me now.
Why are people so weird?
7:52am, Cullen, Inc. Headquarters, Lobby
There seems to be some sort of fracas going on in the lobby. Normally I would turn a blind
eye, but the argument is taking place right in front of the elevators and I'm not fit enough to
climb forty flights of stairs. I am not the gym junkie my boss is, and even if I were, no one
wants to see an assistant with sweat patches under their arms. That's just gross.
As I get closer, I see that Jenks – Head of Security – is being berated by Heidi. She's flanked by
two people I've never seen before, both of them nodding vigorously.
"He's the CEO of the company! Have you forgotten that?" she snips, obviously displeased.
Jenks makes the mistake of cracking a joke. "You mean Masen hasn't taken over yet? Oops!
That's still a secret, right? The retirement, I mean. My bad. Hey, you think they'll rename this
place "Masen, Inc."?"
With Jenks cackling loudly at his own joke, I can only hope Heidi is too distracted to notice
me walk by. Unfortunately, she spots me anyway, and the resulting dirty look makes me
scurry toward the elevator button. I press it repeatedly like I'm using a Slap-Chop. Of course,
by virtue of the fact that I want one of them to arrive faster, all of the elevators decide to take
their sweet time. Heidi scolds Jenks one more time, telling him to do his job properly. He
huffs and walks away, leaving her to dismiss the two other employees.
She sidles up beside me, the click of her heels unmistakable.
I'm not afraid of her, I just don't like getting dragged into other people's conflicts. She doesn't
seem to like me much for some reason, so I figure it's safer to keep to myself. I avoid turning
my head, staring at the elevator doors with such intensity that a passerby might just think I
have the ability to melt them.
Maybe that's what the creepy guy on the subway was trying to do. Melt my head.
Heidi clears her throat. "Nothing to say, Parsons?"
"Not really," I reply, not really sure where she's going with this.
"I bet you can't wait for your boss to be the boss," she says tightly.
I shrug. "I just want to get to my desk."
"Right."
One of the elevators becomes available, opening up with a ping. With other employees
streaming in too, the elevator fills up quickly, but we hold it open for one or two stragglers.
One of them being Mr. Masen himself.
"I can wait for the next one," he says with a smile. "Let's not overload the thing."
"Oh, we can get the next one," a junior employee says, gesturing at her colleagues. She's about
to exit back into the lobby, but Mr. Masen isn't having any of it.
He holds up his hand. "Trust me, I'll be fine. It'll just be a minute or so. I can solve a Sudoku
puzzle. Or boil an egg."
The unknown employee smiles and nods. She does a half-curtsy thing, which makes Heidi
roll her eyes.
Mr. Masen spots me in the crowd. "I hope there's a muffin waiting for me when I arrive," he
says brightly.
"There might be!" I call out as the doors close.
Finally, we're on our way up.
"Good luck with that," Heidi says a few moments later.
"With what?" I ask, slightly annoyed.
"The muffins. The Art Department took them all. They're having a morning tea for their
staff."
I frown.
Muffin shortage? Because of the Art Department?
Assholes.
7:55am, Art Department
I step out of the elevator when we reach the fourth floor, pretending it was my intended stop
all along.
I have to find these muffins. And I need to be quick about it.
This is a snatch-and-grab operation if there ever was one. I'm not going to stand around and
negotiate – I have no leverage. It's bad enough that I don't know how to act "natural" here in
the Art Department. If there's anyone who can judge what natural looks like, it's these guys.
I'm probably twenty shades off. They'll paint me as an impostor in no time, and then add a
gloss coat for good measure.
Luckily, there's hardly anyone in their cubicles yet. This makes sense – I'm sure a lot of them
don't actually start until nine. I quickly scan the area as I pass through, looking for their main
meeting room, or perhaps their kitchen area.
Then suddenly I can smell them. Baked goods!
When I reach the table on the far side of the room, I find there are baskets of muffins. They're
sorted by flavor, so I quickly make a judgment call. Acceptable: blueberry, apple and
cinnamon, and banana. Unacceptable: bran, corn, and chocolate chip. I snap open my
briefcase and steal one of each acceptable flavor.
"What are you doing?"
Dammit! I've been made.
I spin around and find myself face to face with a woman I vaguely recognize. I think her name
is Jessica – she sat one table away from me in the cafeteria once, and boy is she a gossip. Great.
Now everyone is going to think Finance sent someone down to here to take food off the
artists. She's going to accuse the money men of expecting them to suffer for their art.
"Uh..." I shut my briefcase with a thud.
She tilts her head inquiringly. "Hey, aren't you Edward Masen's assistant?"
I'm careful not to misread the interested look on her face. She's not getting all gooey over me.
I know this look – it's the "Excuse me while I fantasize about Mr. Masen" look. I have no idea
how he puts up with all this attention, though I guess it's not always in his face.
I suddenly realize I can take advantage of this development.
"Yes, I am," I say smoothly. "You don't mind, do you? About me taking some muffins? He'd
appreciate it if you didn't say anything about this."
She purses her pink lips and pretends to think about it. "Well, if they're for Mr. Masen..."
"He likes a muffin with his morning coffee," I tell her.
"Okay then," she says brightly. "But you should totally let him know it was me who okay-ed it.
It's – "
"Jessica, right?" I flash my best smile. And it's pretty good, since I did visit the dentist
recently.
She's a bit surprised, but pleasantly so.
"I'm sorry. I've got to run," I quickly add, glancing at my watch.
"Don't forget to mention me!" she calls out as I rush off.
"I won't!" I assure her.
8:01am, Finance Department
"Ugh, Jessica."
"Hmm? What was that?" Mr. Masen asks as he leans over my desk to inspect the contents of
my briefcase.
"Oh, nothing," I reply, knowing that he'd rather not know. I swivel in my chair and pretend
that some important emails have just popped up in my inbox.
"I'm not sure which one to pick," he muses. "Maybe you should pick the one you want first.
That way it's only a fifty-fifty decision. I could flip a coin."
I shake my head and laugh. "No, sir. They're all yours."
He pokes the banana muffin with suspicion. "I should've asked you to get me a whole heap
more. Then we could've set up a league. Make them face off with each other, you know? Like
March Madness, except it's September and has nothing to do with basketball."
"They did come in baskets, but I didn't see any balls, sir."
"Yes, most departments don't have the balls to do much," he says with a chuckle.
I laugh conspiratorially before checking his schedule again, bringing it up on my computer
screen.
"You may want to hurry," I urge. "You have a meeting with Mr. Crowley at 8:20."
"Oh yes, of course," he replies, pausing momentarily to check his watch. "Uh...okay, eenie
meenie miney...banana. Great. First executive decision of the day." He grabs the chosen
muffin and strides back into his office.
"Excellent. Coffee is on the way, sir."
Confident this morning's schedule is shaping up nicely, I get up to make Mr. Masen's coffee
just the way he likes it. We have our own espresso machine here. I have a friend at Starbucks
who stole some paper cups for me – they're great for when the boss is on the go. Sometimes I
get a Sharpie and write someone else's name on the outside. Jack. Jill. Mayor Bloomberg. Yep,
my boss steals other people's coffees. He's badass.
Not really. But it's fun to have our inside joke.
"You'll have to come with me to that meeting, by the way," he calls out from his desk after I've
dropped his coffee off.
"Sure thing. That way I can get you back here on time. Victoria, I mean Ms. Redburn, at 9:15
sharp, remember?"
He groans. "Are you quite sure about that?"
"Positive."
Whatever his next comment is, it's muffled by the muffin.
Yep, my boss curses with his mouth full. Well, I like to think he just swore. He probably
didn't.
Still. Badass.
8:22am, Finance Conference Room
"I honestly just wanted a drink of water," Mr. Crowley complains. He closes the door behind
him, presumably self-conscious about his wet shirt. No need for the rest of the department to
see. "Is anyone ever going to refill that water cooler? This wouldn't have happened otherwise."
I sit quietly in the corner with my notepad as Mr. Crowley walks over to the conference table,
where a bemused Mr. Masen is already seated.
"When I said we needed more liquid assets, I didn't mean you had to wear them," Mr. Masen
quips.
"Damn water fountain," he mutters, patting his wet tie. "Spraying water everywhere.
Somebody in Legal should've warned me – it's in their department. I bet you they don't want
to take responsibility for it. Lawyers!"
Mr. Masen leans over and eagerly shares his next idea. "You know what we need? An executive
washroom. A friend of mine already thinks we have one. Surely there's something in the
facilities budget? It would be perfect for accidents like this."
Mr. Crowley rolls his eyes. Mr. Masen laughs and turns to me for back up.
"What do you think, Seth?"
I clear my throat. "I'll write it down, sir. After all, any good executive is deserving of some
privacy."
"Exactly," he agrees, turning back to Mr. Crowley and smirking. "See? It's a great idea."
Mr. Crowley opens his lever-arch folder and sighs. "It would be much easier, and cheaper, if
we had a water cooler with water in it. "
"That's not for me to organize," he replies evenly, looking down at his folder. "It's below my
pay grade, Crowley."
There's a mischievous look in Mr. Crowley's eye. "Well, would you look at that. Someone in
this room sounds like Carlisle Cullen."
Mr. Masen looks around, feigning confusion. Finally, his gaze lands on me.
"Seth. Stop ordering people around, will you? Jeez."
I hold back my laughter and instead give him a gentle reminder of his schedule. "Remember,
sir, you need to be on time for your 9:15."
"Yes, yes. Okay. Where are we with this project..."
Both executives literally get on the same page, flicking through their reports.
Productivity? Up. Mr. Crowley's shirt? Wet. Likelihood that someone will finally refill
Finance's water cooler? Not anytime soon.
I take out my pen and begin to take some real notes for my boss.
10:15am, Finance Department
Uh-oh. Victoria is still in Mr. Masen's office.
She must be complaining about something. Whining can be time consuming, which is
particularly unfortunate given that Mr. Masen's ten o'clock has been waiting for twenty five
minutes. I've offered Mr. Newton here some coffee, but he's not interested. He just keeps
looking at his watch with an annoyed expression on his face. I've already buzzed Mr. Masen
twice, so it's not as if I haven't done anything to try and end the meeting. Still, if this drags
out any longer I'm going to get very annoyed myself. The whole day's schedule will have to be
pushed back, or rearranged so that we end up canceling on someone. It's not uncommon for
this to happen in the Land of Corporate – hence the term pencil it in– but I don't like jerking
people around. It's annoying and makes me feel like a douche.
Mr. Newton probably thinks I'm a douche. Assistants often get the blame for these sorts of
waits. It's not like people can glare at executives and get away with it.
I check a few emails and then look up to address Mr. Newton. "I'm sorry, Mr. Newton. I'm sure
they're trying to finish up in there."
He merely huffs and takes another look at his watch. I think about offering him a beverage
again, or an assortment of reading material, but he'll probably take that as a sign that he'll be
waiting for awhile. Either that or he doesn't want Mr. Masen to come out and see him sipping
a chai latte and reading Page Six.
I sigh and take another look at today's schedule. I don't want to have to bump any of these
people. If only I could pretend this was a bumper car situation: Oh, I didn't bump you. It was
insert-name-here! I know, how dare they push you out. Yes, by all means try and bump them
back. I'll stand here and watch with the rest of the carnies.
Stupid Marketing. At least come up with a way for me to sell lateness to the rest of the
company.
Jerks.
11:06am, Mr. Masen's Office
"We're going to have to bump Banner," Mr. Masen declares from his desk. "I need to make it
to Carlisle's by 11:15. I'll take a break at noon. Early lunch, perhaps."
I nod as I water the potted plant near the window. "Yes, I was about to suggest the same
thing."
"Good thinking then. Apologize to Banner and tell him we'll see him tomorrow." He opens his
drawer and starts rummaging for something. "Say, did I tell you about the blank check I found
in here last month?"
"No, you didn't," I reply. I point to the drawer with the watering can. "Is it still in there?"
He chuckles. "Now, now. Don't get any ideas."
"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," I say with a smile. "Ideas are dangerous."
He gives me an odd look before nodding at the watering can. "You can put that down now."
"Oh." I look at my hand and realize I'm holding the can up rather eagerly. "You mean you
don't want me to water your table?"
"Not today," he says, retrieving a self-inking stamp from the drawer. "Maybe tomorrow."
"How about your reports? You want the financial sector to grow, don't you?"
He laughs bitterly. "Is that why Victoria gave me so much shit today? She thinks we need it for
fertilizer?"
"I'm not sure, sir. Maybe someone told her money grows on trees?"
"Well, they're not growing on that one," he remarks, waving his hand at the potted plant. "I
didn't even know that was a live plant. How long has it been here exactly?"
"I bought it for you last week, on Wednesday. You'd said something previously about adding a
bit of greenery. I said it would match your eyes. Then you told me to stand in the corner until
I apologized."
"Right, of course I did." He scratches his head. "I suppose I've been too busy to take a closer
look. I simply assumed it was plastic."
"Ah, no. It's real." I lower the watering can. "By the way, I'm sorry if Mr. Newton was annoyed
when it was finally his turn. I did try to placate him."
"You did fine, Seth."
Mr. Masen starts stamping a series of papers, and I take the opportunity to call Mr. Banner's
office to tell them we need to cancel. They're not happy, but it's not like they can do anything.
I return the watering can to the supply closet, and by the time I reenter his office, Mr. Masen
is up and about, pacing around while reading his BlackBerry.
"Walk with me."
I follow him out of the office and start giving him the lowdown on the revised schedule, as
well as reminding him which reports I've photocopied and which ones he has on his
computer. Hopefully this debrief is the sole reason why he told me to walk with him. I hope
he doesn't want me to coordinate something with Mr. Cullen's office while he's in the
meeting. Heidi doesn't like it when I'm near her desk – she must think I'm trying to move in
early.
Maybe I should've brought the potted plant as a peace offering.
Nah. She wouldn't water it right.
11:13am, Mr. Cullen's Office (Heidi's desk)
I knew it. I knew this was more than an information walk.
Heidi gives me an annoyed look as Mr. Masen and I approach. She's one of the few women
who doesn't immediately fall to pieces when Mr. Masen is around. Frankly, I'm glad, as I
wouldn't want to be the one to put her back together again. She'd be bossy about it. Drive me
crazy. Or krazy, rather, as I'm sure I'd need Krazy Glue for such a situation.
"Mr. Cullen is ready to see you," she informs Mr. Masen with a tight smile.
"Oh, excellent," he replies. "Did he tell you about coordinating next month's schedule? I need
you to help Seth here. Get him up to speed."
I take a deliberate step back when she looks at me. In fact, it's more of a diagonal side-step
back. This way, my boss is a partial shield. The move doesn't go unnoticed by him, however,
and he looks at me with concern.
"Are you all right there?" he asks.
"Yes, I'm good." It's too late to step back forward, or to side-step horizontally. It would simply
look like I'm doing a jazz square.
I know what schedule he's talking about. Mr. Cullen is continuing the handover process,
making sure Mr. Masen meets all the people he needs to meet, and gets accustomed to
certain responsibilities. Responsibilities of the CEO.
"Well, I'm going to go in now," he says, breaking the tense silence. "You kids play nice."
Before I can come up with an emergency excuse, he disappears into Mr. Cullen's office,
leaving me and my incomplete jazz square.
I would give my regards to Broadway, but I think I'm facing the wrong way.
Heidi writes something down on her notepad. Then she sighs heavily before holding out a
manila folder.
"I've already typed up a list of scheduling options. Events, lunches, and seminars," she says,
sounding terribly annoyed. "Take them back to your office. Pick the times you want. Get them
back to me. Then I'll confirm the list."
I step forward and take the folder from her. "Anything else?"
She takes a moment to answer. It's weird, because for those two seconds, it's like she's lost for
words. Her expression softens too.
I'm not sure what she was thinking about, but whatever it was, she's finished now.
"No, nothing else," she snaps.
And with that, she keeps her head down and ignores me.
"Okay. I'll be going then."
I stride back to the elevator and will it to take a long time. The reverse psychology works – it
arrives within fifteen seconds. This makes me so happy I start singing a tune.
Start spreading the news. I'm leaving today...
11:57am, 42nd Street Deli
...I want to be a part of it. New York, New York.
That's not me singing anymore. That's Deli Guy. He's talking about his pet rock again, and
apparently he wants to take it to see a show.
I really wish Mr. Masen didn't like these sandwiches so much. He called me from Mr. Cullen's
office to inform me that this was his preferred lunch option for today. Clearly I didn't drop
enough hints this morning about possibly choosing something else. I might have to be more
direct about it – like stick a picture of steak onto his computer screen. Or change his
screensaver to a slideshow of spaghetti and meatballs.
That wouldn't be suspicious at all.
"So, you having the same sandwich?" Deli Guy asks me, jolting me out of my thoughts.
"Uh, yeah," I answer, pretending I'm reading something important on my BlackBerry. I'm
really just checking Facebook, but he doesn't know that.
I bet the pet rock has a Facebook page.
Dislike.
"I think this sandwich needs to be named after you," Deli Guy adds.
I smile weakly and pretend to be more interested in the layers of pastrami he's adding to the
sub. Unfortunately, my disinterest isn't obvious enough, because he stops making the
sandwich and looks at me inquisitively. I brace myself for the follow-up question.
"Say, what is your name? Really, I'll name the sandwich after ya."
I've mentioned on multiple occasions that the sandwiches aren't for me, but I doubt that
matters to him. If I smile any more weakly I won't be smiling at all, so I do my best to answer
without showing how irritated I am.
"I'm just an assistant," I say modestly. "The sandwich is for my boss. So maybe you should call
the sandwich The Boss."
He throws his head back and laughs heartily. "Nah, can't do that. Cos I'm the boss. Way to
make things awkward!"
Maybe that's why he hasn't named a sandwich after his pet. How awkward would it be if he
named one The Rock? Plenty awkward. In fact, WWE might sue him for breach of copyright.
Or even better, maybe someone will wrestle him to the floor if he keeps talking about said
rock.
But if that were to happen, he wouldn't be able to make Mr. Masen's sandwich, now would
he?
Yep...I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place.
12:10pm, Mr. Masen's office
I hand Mr. Masen his sandwich and linger for a moment, unsure of what he wants me to do.
Most days I'm free to do as I please as he eats his lunch; I have his calls handled by the
Finance reception desk. But every now and again he'll ask me to work through, so it's always
worth checking first.
After all, you know what happens when you assume...You make an ass out of u and me. And
then one of us makes it worse by taking lunch at the wrong time.
"You can go ahead," Mr. Masen tells me. "I have an email I need to write. Speaking of which,
did you scan that invite to the Frick fundraiser?"
"Yes, sir. I emailed it to you a little while ago."
He nods and goes into his office, closing the door behind him. I make a mental note to check
his desk later, just in case he gets crumbs all over his keyboard. Everyone is a food particle
away from having a non-functioning keyboard, or at least one with a jammed E key. It's
happened before. I spent half a day calling him Dward Masn until he finally let me call in
someone from IT.
Shaking those E-less thoughts aside, I head to the cafeteria, making a beeline for my corner
table when I get there. It's not that I'm anti-social – it's just that I usually use this time to
tighten up Mr. Masen's afternoon schedule. I don't want anyone to disturb me.
But unfortunately luck isn't on my side today. Before I can get to my table, Jessica from the Art
Department spots me. She has that "This guy plans Mr. Masen's day and I want in on that
schedule" look on her face. So annoying. So desperate.
"Hey!" she calls out, walking over to me.
She's twirling a lock of hair around her finger and batting her eyelashes at me as if she could
somehow vicariously flirt with him through me. I bite back a comment about how I don't
have that sort of agency. It's best to be nice – you never know when you're going to need
someone, as this morning's near muffin disaster demonstrated.
"Hey, Jessica."
I tell you, my mouth muscles are confused. I was smiling weakly at the deli and now I'm
smiling tightly. If I'm not careful, my face will get disoriented and I'll end up looking like a
Richard Nixon mask.
"Did you tell Mr. Masen about the muffins?" Jessica prods. "You know, that I was the one who
gave them to you?"
"I did. He was very happy with his muffins," I reply, being non-committal on purpose.
"You let him know if he needs anything else, I'm his woman," she says with a wink.
"Right."
I'm no longer even attempting to smile, but she's not looking at me anymore – she's gazing
dreamily at a spot just above my shoulder, no doubt picturing my boss and the anything she'd
like to do to him. I shudder and back away slowly, lest I abruptly jerk her back into reality. I'm
sure the regular response to being kicked out of a Mr. Masen daydream is a loud scream
followed by "Noooooooooooooo!" That's not something I've prepared my eardrums for.
After I'm safely seated at my own table, I look back to see Jessica whispering to her table
mates. The whispering is followed by a string of giggles. Pull on that string hard enough and
you might just release all the air from their heads.
Get a brain.
Suddenly thankful I'm not a moron, I decide to pat myself on the back for not succumbing to
such airheadedness. It's a mental pat on the back because, well, I have a sandwich in my
hand. I take a bite – of the sandwich, not my hand – and start checking the afternoon
schedule. It's tight, as usual, but definitely do-able.
The next time I look up, half my sandwich is gone and I spot a familiar face walking into the
cafeteria. Isabella Swan from IT. The woman my boss specifically asked for to fix his
computer, but who somehow wound up on the other side of the desk, touching his arm.
Now, Mr. Masen is a bit of an enigma where women are concerned. They obviously show
interest – often and shamelessly – but I've only ever seen him politely and kindly completely
shut them down. Years ago I'd considered he might be gay, but in the interim, I'd handled
quite a few delicate phone calls from "women friends," though it's been a while since the last
one. But he's only ever asked me to buy a gift for one woman, and that was his mother. Phone
calls with her could also be delicate, but for entirely different reasons. Or should I emphasize,
reasons.
Anyway, I watch as Isabella gets waved over by Claire from Reception. As she sits down and
smiles shyly at her table mates, I wonder again about that day I saw her with my boss. It's
entirely out of character for him to allow anyone, especially a woman, to touch him in the
workplace. He seemed entirely comfortable sitting there with Isabella Swan, though. I know
he would never blatantly break company policy, but there was definitely something there I
couldn't quite comprehend.
Before I can muse on it further, a shadow falls across my table and a Tupperware with some
sort of pasta in it is plunked down across from me. I look up.
Heidi.
She has a scowl on her face, as usual. Maybe she just got dis-invited from a Tupperware party
or something. My guess is you probably have to be happy to enjoy plastic containers in a
group.
A more logical reason for why she hates me is because in a few months I'll be assistant to the
CEO and she'll be downgrading to Mr. Crowley, who'll be the new CFO. Mr. Crowley's
assistant is retiring and this seems the best fit for Heidi after Mr. Cullen retires. She may
consider it a downgrade, but I'm Mr. Masen's assistant and I'm not about to give that up – for
her or anyone.
She sits and stabs her pasta angrily with a plastic fork and I wonder what she wants. Someone
to complain to? I don't know. All I know is that I only have fifteen minutes left on my break
and I don't want to waste it by being uncomfortable.
"Hello, Heidi," I greet.
She grunts and chews her pasta, eyeing me with what appears to be suspicion. She swallows
her food before she finally speaks. One day I was bored and figured out her name is an
anagram for "Hi. Die." It's certainly the approach she's taken when it comes to me.
"I have a meeting with the old lady after hours today," she reveals. The old lady is Crowley's
retiring assistant, a nice older woman named Evelyn. "What's she like?"
"She's great," I say honestly. "Very efficient and no nonsense, with very little sense of humor.
So Crowley shouldn't notice a difference when you take over." I'm being snide, but I can't help
it. And I'm not sure I want to.
There are no anagrams for Seth. I am what I am.
Heidi looks at me for a split second before a smile breaks out on her face. I'm taken aback for
a second – she's pretty when she smiles. I quickly recover, not wanting to be weird about it.
No office romances – it's strictly forbidden and I like my job. Though I bet Heidi would love
for me to get fired. Maybe this is all part of a ploy; get me involved in an office liaison so she
can have my position. I decide to keep my eye on her.
You know what another anagram for Heidi is? I hide. She must be hiding something.
"I do take pride in the work I do," she says, still smiling at me. "So how is it working for
Masen? Truthfully."
"It's great," I say, not bothering to think about my answer. It is great. "He works hard and
expects nothing less from me, but he doesn't ask me to do anything he won't do himself. He's
fair and compensates me well."
She nods and chews thoughtfully, and I wonder what she's thinking. I'm about to ask her
when the alarm on my phone goes off, indicating that I have five minutes to get back to my
desk. I turn off the alarm and stand. "I've got to get back to my desk. I'll see you later."
She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it quickly, blushing and looking down.
Definitely odd behavior, but I don't have time to investigate further.
Duty calls.
12:47pm, Finance Department
Or should I say Elizabeth Masen calls.
"Yes, hello, Mrs. Masen," I say politely, opening the top drawer of my desk to get a stress ball.
"Seth, darling. Would you be able to get my Edward on the phone?" She's sweet and
demanding at the same time. Fortunately, she's well aware of how busy her son is. Well,
usually.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. He's in an important meeting at the moment."
"Oh, he's so hard to get a hold of. Surely he has a minute or two to spare for his dear mother,"
she says with a chuckle.
"It really is an important meeting," I reply. "He would definitely get to the phone if he could. I
can take a message, if you'd like?"
He's not really in a meeting. He's sitting at his desk, typing away at his computer. I throw the
stress ball into his office to alert him to the situation; it's the agreed protocol for when these
phone calls occur. My throw is so good the stress ball hits his keyboard, right in front of him.
"A message?" I didn't think it was possible to sound happily annoyed...until I met Elizabeth
Masen, of course. "Oh, Seth. I'd much prefer it if he stepped out of the meeting and simply
spoke to me for a few minutes."
"I assure you he would if he could," I insist, looking up to see Mr. Masen pacing around his
office.
"I mean, is the room going to implode if he steps out for two minutes?" she asks.
"Well, there are some interesting personalities in that room, it's quite possible."
Why am I imitating her diction? Now she probably thinks I'm a dick. A dick putting the dick
in diction.
She sighs, sounding terribly exasperated. "I think you need to ease his schedule," she suggests.
"That poor man."
"Uh..."
I think she's about to get emotional. Mr. Masen comes over to the doorway and quirks an
eyebrow. I wave my hand and pretend I have everything under control. He knows better,
though, and points to the phone to get me to put the call on speaker.
His mother's voice rings out into the room. "He just works so hard."
"I know he does, but I assure you he's fine. He just has a lot of things to do and he doesn't like
letting the company down."
I think she's sniffling now, but it could be my imagination. "He has a company but no
company. Don't you think that's odd?"
Mr. Masen frowns and leans on the door frame, folding his arms across his chest.
"I'm not sure what you mean, ma'am," I respond.
"Well, I better leave a message then," she says dramatically. "Tell him to call his poor mother."
"Yes – "
"Wait, I didn't mean that," she quickly corrects.
"Sorry?"
"I made it sound like he had another mother. A poor one. I'm actually quite wealthy, as you'd
already know..."
Mr. Masen rolls his eyes.
I clear my throat. "Oh, right. I understood what you meant, Mrs. Masen. I'll make sure he gets
the message."
"Thank you," she trills. "Bye bye now."
She ends the call. I put the receiver back down on the cradle and look up at Mr. Masen.
"She, uh, wants you to call her," I tell him.
"Yes, I gathered that," he says with a reluctant smile.
I point towards his office. "You could listen in from your desk, you know."
He gives me a reproaching look.
"Sir?" I ask tentatively.
"You've been practicing, haven't you?" he asks, eyes narrowed. "That pitch was remarkably
accurate. I daresay you were aiming for my E key."
I laugh gently. "No, I assure you I wasn't."
He makes a hissing sound.
"Sorry, sir?"
"Oh, forget it," he says, shaking his head. "I removed the E from your name, but I end up
sounding like a snake. I suppose I should slither back into my office and finish up that
report."
"You do that, Dward."
He winces. "I always think you're going to call me a dwarf when you start saying that."
"Oh, I wouldn't call you that. You're clearly an elf. Although, remove the E and you're a lf.
Lllffff. The llllfff of Middl Arth."
"So you have lisp and I sound like a snake. We're an odd couple, aren't we?"
"Quite."
"Or should you say quit?"
"Never."
"Can't say never without the Es," he points out, walking backward into his office.
"Never say never. Got it." I pause. "I think that's a Justin Bieber song."
He gives me an odd look, understandably. "Call IT and warn them you're going to break my
keyboard one of these days."
"Yes, I'll do that. After you call your mother."
He laughs. "You don't play fair, Seth. Which is why I'm sending you to Marketing later to pick
up some documents from Whitlock. You may bump into Victoria. She'll straighten you out."
Aw, man. Not her again. I already had to face her when she came up earlier for her meeting
with Mr. Masen. She's like a tanning bed – too much exposure and you'll end up getting
burned.
I grimace. "Pushpin and Simply Red."
He grins. "Needless to say, watch your step."
2:17pm, Marketing Department
With Mr. Masen's warning ringing in my head, I end up looking at the floor when I step into
the Marketing offices. I know it's stupid to look out for pushpins, but you can never be too
sure when within fifty yards of Jasper Whitlock.
I've seen Mr. Whitlock's world map, the one with the pushpins. I sometimes wonder what
mine would look like, if I had one. I'm not as well-traveled as a lot of other people, mainly
because I don't like taking time off work. I simply don't trust anyone else when it comes to
handling Mr. Masen's schedule. I've always concluded that I would only take an extended
vacation if Mr. Masen himself was taking a week off or something. So really, I stick to
weekends away – short trips to places nearby.
A pushpin for the Jersey Shore!
Insert fist pump here.
Mr. Masen on vacation. The mere thought of it is a bit odd. He doesn't strike me as the type to
go to Hawaii to sit on a beach and sip beer. Is that what people do in Hawaii? I guess they surf,
but I can't picture him doing that either.
"Looking for the floor to swallow you whole?"
Startled, I look up to see a middle-aged man staring at me from his nearby cubicle. He's tired
looking and even has a smudge on his glasses that he hasn't bothered to wipe clean. I'm not
sure why he's talking to me. I guess I was looking at the floor, but I'm not sure if he thinks I'm
depressed or whether he read my mind about the Jersey Shore thing and is now judging me.
"Uh, not really," I reply, suitably chagrined. I do that thing people do when they're out of place
but try to act normal anyway. You know, shift uncomfortably and nod at no one in particular.
The Awkward Shuffle, in dance terms. Add in the jazz square from earlier and I have enough
choreography to audition for Cats.
"Sometimes I wish we had trapdoors," the man says wistfully. "Especially when she starts
yelling."
I surmise my fellow employee is referring to Ms. Redburn.
"Fair enough," I reply, walking away slowly so as to leave him to visualize his escape route in
peace. For his sake, I hope it's a good one.
I would hate to come to work knowing the head of the department is a raging bitch. Where's
the comfort level? How can anyone be expected to be productive in such an environment?
Yeah, fear can be motivating, but so can encouragement.
I literally tread carefully on the way to see Ms. Redburn's assistant. Sudden movements may
alarm people in this department.
When I get to the assistant's desk, I find it vacant. Standing in the waiting area is Jasper
Whitlock, a look of nervousness on his face. Well, I think it's nervousness. It could be
constipation. Same difference.
"Any idea where Tia is, Mr. Whitlock?" I ask him slowly.
He rocks back and forth on his heels. "I think she went to re-photocopy a few things."
"Oh." I step over to the desk and try to see if the documents I need are around. Unfortunately,
they're not, which means she's probably photocopying what I need right now.
And then I hear it.
Ms. Redburn yelling at Tia.
"Why would you photocopy these reports onto A3 paper?...An accident?...There's no need to
blow up confidential documents to A3 size! What is wrong with you?"
Ugh. That sounds ugly.
"Talk about blowing up," I mutter, shaking my head.
"Okay," Mr. Whitlock says, clearly thinking I was speaking to him. "Blowing up...let's see...um,
balloons?"
I need to get out of this department.
2:31pm, Elevator
Oh, that was painful. The yelling. The insults. The broken photocopier. Ms. Redburn sure
needs to calm down.
I did hear something interesting from Middle-Aged Guy, though. He said a whole group of
them are planning to report her in an anonymous submission to Mr. Cullen himself. He was
letting me know just in case Mr. Cullen let the issue tide over for the next guy. In other words,
my boss. He then swore me to temporary secrecy. Said the revolution needed to be handled
carefully, otherwise the Vice-President would end up head of the department. What's worse?
Dumb or angry? It's hard to choose.
I clutch onto the Marketing documents and try to think of happy things. Fresh stationery,
accurate clocks, subways free of weirdoes. When that doesn't work, I try to distract myself by
coming up with anagrams of my surname. Let's see, Parsons can turn into...
Snaps or.
Rasps on.
Pass nor.
Ass porn.
Oh God. Now I'm even more disturbed than when I first left Marketing.
3:30pm, Finance Department
It's time for Mr. Masen's regularly scheduled coffee break. Brought to you by the kind folks at
Starbucks.
"What's wrong?" Mr. Masen asks, sidling up beside me at the espresso machine. "You look
perturbed."
"It's nothing, really," I say dismissively. "I just feel a bit jumbled after that Marketing visit."
"Ah."
Fortunately, he drops the issue. I pick his favorite blend and check the kitchenette cupboard
for some cups.
"Oh, make mine to go," he requests. "I have a feeling Crowley wants to walk around the
department. Who knows where we'll end up – he has this Aaron Sorkin thing where he likes
to walk around in loops around the department. Very West Wing. I only tolerate it because by
definition that makes me the President."
"Yes, sir."
"Say, don't you think that's odd? Crowley is the Vice-President of Finance. But I'm not called
the President. I'm the Chief."
"I wouldn't think about it too hard, sir. You're still the boss."
"True."
And he's about to be the bosses of all bosses. The chief of chiefs. The schedule for next month
definitely reflects the impending promotion.
"So, any idea whose coffee you're going to steal today?" I ask, nodding at the Sharpie on the
counter.
He mulls it over for a bit. "No, I can't think of anything. You'll just have to surprise me."
"As you wish."
"How's the schedule for next month looking?" he asks. "I was going to ask you earlier, but I
got distracted. Heidi get you up to speed?"
"There was speed involved, all right. She couldn't wait for me to leave that office. Then she
interrupted my lunch when I was trying to continue organizing said schedule."
I shouldn't badmouth other assistants, but sometimes it's hard not to. Plus, I'm not
badmouthing her per se, just mentioning what happened.
"Interrupted your lunch?"
"Just sat down and started eating her pasta right in front of me."
"Is that rude? Eating her pasta in front of you?"
I shrug. "Well, she asked questions and stuff too. Even smiled at one point."
"Really?" he asks, surprised.
"I know, right? Must've been great pasta."
Mr. Masen tilts his head. "Maybe there's another reason she was in a good mood?"
"Like what? I can't think of anything."
"Yeah, neither can I. Though I'm not the best person to ask..." He tugs at his hair, perhaps in
exasperation. "I don't really understand women."
"They are hard to figure out. Hot, cold, lukewarm, positively freezing – like, I wish they'd just
say I like you. It would make everything easier. Though I guess they might be thinking the
same thing..."
Says me who hasn't been on a date in over two months. But maybe I would already have a
girlfriend if dating was simpler and devoid of mind games.
"Yeah, it's possible, I guess," Mr. Masen replies after a moment.
"Anyway, I think I have it all synced and figured out," I tell him, grabbing a carton of milk
from the fridge. "Needless to say, you're going to be very busy."
"Are we still talking about women?" he asks with a chuckle.
"Oh, no. Next month's work schedule. As for the other type of schedule...you're on your own.
Which should mean you'll have every female in New York City lining up outside your door, of
course."
"Seth," he chides.
"I'm serious. You might as well call the Fire Department in advance. Things are bound to get
rowdy. The sidewalks in your neighborhood aren't used to this sort of thing. Plus, I'm sure
your doorman will be annoyed."
"Au contraire. Someone once bribed him with cake just to get to my door. But that's a story for
another time."
"No time on the schedule for stories."
"No, indeed."
I finish making our coffees and make Mr. Masen close his eyes while I write a name on his
takeaway cup.
"Okay, here you go," I say, holding it out to him.
He opens his eyes and takes the coffee from me, immediately reading the name.
"Ah, aren't you optimistic?" he says, ribbing me. "Your jazz squares weren't that good."
I pretend to be unruffled. "Haters gonna hate."
4:01pm, Finance Department
"You stole Andrew Lloyd Webber's coffee?" Mr. Crowley asks incredulously.
Mr. Masen chuckles. "It's not my fault the man wasn't paying attention when his order came
up. He was probably composing a new musical in his head."
"I said I would fetch his coffee for him," I tell Mr. Crowley. "But he insists on getting his
afternoon coffee on his own."
"I'm just an independent type of guy," Mr. Masen comments, taking a sip of his coffee as we
continue to stroll down the hallway.
Mr. Crowley shakes his head and laughs. "Right."
"What? I am. Seth doesn't really do anything, you know. He just sits at his desk and looks
pretty."
"Not as pretty as you, sir," I quip.
I'm met with a sidelong look. "Don't talk yourself down like that. You can be anything you
want to be. Just believe. That's what I do. Yesterday I was an astronaut. Tomorrow, the pretzel
guy on 43rd Street."
"Can we get some work done now?" Mr. Crowley suggests as we turn the corner and walk into
the Accounting division.
"Can we?" Mr. Masen exclaims, clapping his VP on the shoulder. "Is the sky blue? Is the grass
green? Is there water in the water cooler yet?"
"You very well know that the latter hasn't been taken care of." Mr. Crowley stops in his tracks
and points to his shirt. "I had to get Evelyn to buy this, you know. She's too old to be shopping
for me."
Mr. Masen pretends to judge the shirt. "Clearly. You look twenty years older in that shirt-tie
combo. You should use my personal shopper. Riley would have you squared away in no time."
"My wife does my shopping for me. Maybe you should get yourself one of those. They come in
handy," Mr. Crowley says good-naturedly.
"Riley would be devastated if I replaced him with a woman," Mr. Masen says. "Isn't that right,
Seth?"
"Oh yeah," I readily agree. "He's already cried to me once on the phone. Something about Mr.
Masen not liking a tie he'd picked for him. Very uncomfortable situation."
Mr. Masen looks at Mr. Crowley expectantly. "So, you want the Marketing reports? Someone
here in Accounting is going to have a fit." He holds up the manila folder he's carrying. "It's not
pretty. In fact, it's twenty percent bigger for some reason. A photocopying error, apparently."
I'm overcome by a Marketing flashback. By the department's very nature, the flashback tries
to gloss over the bad, but I still know the truth. "Let's not talk about it."
"All right, then."
"You're two peas in a pod," Mr. Crowley mutters.
"I hate peas," I reply.
"I have a friend who says the same thing," Mr. Masen says. "Thinks they're nasty little fuckers.
And that's a quote."
Mr. Crowley beckons one of the Accounting staff over. "Ben, come give us your opinion on
these reports. We'll go into the conference room."
"What's with the work ethic, Tyler?" Mr. Masen jokes as Ben comes over form his cubicle.
"Trying to take my job?"
Mr. Crowley stays silent, probably because Ben has just joined us – the promotion still isn't
official yet.
"Fine, be that way," Mr. Masen replies. "Never liked you anyway."
He laughs. "Likewise, Mase."
Once we're all in the conference room, I ask Ben if he'd like anything to drink before I leave
them to it.
"Just water. Thanks, Seth," he replies.
We really need to get that water cooler fixed.
5:05pm, Finance Department
With Mr. Masen still in the Finance conference room, I take the time to double check a few
things before the end of the day. I make sure Mr. Banner knows of his rescheduled
appointment. I call the organizers of the Frick fundraiser to make sure they know Mr. Masen
is bringing a plus one. (That's definitely worth checking, as they'll be sure it's a mistake. I
even thought I heard him incorrectly, but he clarified by saying he was bringing along a
friend. We'll see who it is, I guess.) And confirming Mr. Masen and Guest, I decide it's time to
send Heidi a copy of the synced schedule for next month.
Within two minutes of firing off the email, I get a phone call from her.
"You've already decided on all of this?" she asks, sounding annoyed, as per usual. "Doesn't Mr.
Masen at least want to think about his options?"
"He did think about it," I say defensively. "As for the rest of it, I did the thinking for him."
Where's my stress ball when I need it?
"Oh, all right." She pauses. "I suppose that's acceptable."
"Yeah..."
Where is this conversation going? It's almost like she called for the sake of calling.
"Okay then," she continues. "When are you coming by to pick up the fourth quarter review
files?"
"I don't know. It's not really urgent, is it? Internal mail can handle it."
"That wouldn't be appropriate. You're the assistant. And these are sensitive files."
"Not really," I argue. "A lot of that information is accessible by shareholders, you know."
"You should come to pick it up," she states firmly. "I'm not using internal mail."
"Yes, Heidi," I say in a sing-song voice. "Is there anything else?"
"Well, when are you coming?"
I groan out of frustration. "Fine, I'll get them now."
"Hurry up then."
She hangs up.
I have no idea what the rush is. It's too late in the day to be running back to Mr. Cullen's office
like this.
I leave a note on a Post-it just in case Mr. Masen returns to his office while I'm gone.
5:08pm, Elevator
There are two other people in the elevator on the way up. I recognize the man as being
someone from Catering, and the other person is Isabella Swan, who must be on a call out job.
My impression of her last time was that she was shy, but I start a conversation anyway.
"Hi, Ms. Swan," I say politely. "How are you?"
"I'm well," she says, sounding more confident than I expected. "How about you?"
"Yeah, can't complain. Well, I can, but I don't want to waste your time. Where are you off to?"
"Oh, someone has a printer problem in Legal."
"Ah, I see."
I think about telling her about the E key thing, but I don't want to be weird. Plus, I still don't
really know what the deal was in Mr. Masen's office that day. I haven't seen or heard anything
else that will clue me in, so for the time being it's probably not worth wondering about. I have
other people to deal with. Like Heidi.
"How about you?"
"I'm off to see Mr. Cullen's assistant."
There's a ping when we reach Legal and the doors open for Ms. Swan.
"Okay, I'll see you around," she says as she steps out.
"Yep. Have fun fixing that printer."
I turn to the Catering guy when the doors close.
"Hey, what's the deal with all these muffin shortages?"
5:25pm, Finance Department
"These documents aren't urgent," Mr. Masen comments, perusing through the pile on my
desk. "Even if I stamped them as 'urgent,' they still wouldn't be urgent."
"That's what I told her, but she wouldn't listen. There was no need for me to go up there," I
reply.
"Strange."
She actually lectured me for five minutes about the internal mail suggestion, and then she
started to go through the schedule I sent her. I rather firmly told her I didn't need to be
present for her review – she could just email or call me with any pressing concerns. Maybe life
is boring working for Mr. Cullen now that he's winding down. Jeez.
"Anyway, how'd the impromptu conference go?" I ask, changing the subject.
"Very well, actually. Although, we did waste a good five minutes talking about Broadway
shows when Ben saw my coffee cup. He thinks it was absolutely blasphemous that I stole
Andrew Lloyd Webber's coffee. Then he started speculating about why he'd be over in
Midtown on a Tuesday afternoon. I had to cut him off – he was getting too close to the truth. I
think we need to neutralize him."
"I'll put it on tomorrow's schedule," I say, playing along.
"Yes, how is tomorrow looking?" he queries.
"Honestly? It looks kinda like today, but with fewer muffins and less Marketing."
"Oh, that cancels itself out then." He scratches his head. "Eh. We'll make it work. We always
do."
I nod. "Yes, sir. We always do."
6:16pm, Lobby
I'm relieved when it's time to knock off. To some extent, it's always weird when I leave Mr.
Masen at the end of my working day. He usually stays on until seven or eight, later if there's
something major to deal with. But I guess I'd be useless to him if I was worked too hard, so I
accept the fact that I have to go home at six. I'm always reachable by phone if anything
happens, anyway.
Since I don't consider Cullen, Inc. to be a prison, I wouldn't say I feel free after leaving the
building, but I do feel that work burden lift off my shoulders.
That is, until I bump into Heidi out on the sidewalk.
If I didn't know any better, I'd say she waited for me just to be extra annoying.
"You again," I say with a tight smile, glancing around to see if anyone is going to bail me out.
"I'm just checking that Mr. Cullen's town car is here," she informs me. "Jenks gets nervous
when cars pull up and wait for too long, but hey, it's Mr. Cullen."
Ah. That's what she must've been yelling about this morning.
I try to say something nice. "Well, props to you for looking out for your boss."
"Thank you."
It happens again. She smiles at me.
"You're much prettier when you smile," I tell her honestly. "See you tomorrow, Heidi."
She looks stunned as I walk away. Now she's probably glaring at me. Great. Maybe she'll
follow me to the subway station too.
Oh well. That's (work) life at Cullen, Inc.
And to be perfectly honest...I wouldn't have it any other way.
THE END
FGB Outtake
To celebrate Valentine's Day.
Edward
During the course of my adult life, I had come to see Christmas as more of an annoyance than
a celebration. This was primarily because Christmas did not mean business as usual. For a
start, it meant half my colleagues disappeared (some went on vacation, while others
presumably dematerialized and never returned), which always resulted in a heavier workload
for yours truly. It also meant drunken women throwing themselves at me at the company
Christmas party, which at Cullen, Inc. came with the bonus of me being voted Hottest EILF
(Executive I'd Like to...you know...do things to.) People hummed carols during meetings,
drank non-alcoholic eggnog at lunch, wrapped things in tinsel. I had to send cards to people I
spoke to once every blue moon, and accept candy canes from people who I saw once every full
moon (because as a were-elf, that's when I deigned to leave my office). All this when I just
wanted to get some work done.
And before I met Bella, Christmas also meant an increased number of phone calls from my
mother, who with each passing year became more and more afraid I'd spend the holiday in
front of the fireplace, consuming milk and cookies while I waited for Santa to bring me a wife.
I'd reminded her on many an occasion that my apartment didn't even have a fireplace, and
even if I did, I was generally opposed to wives being carried around in Santa's sack while he
traversed the world in his sleigh. Needless to say, my mother never found these jokes funny.
My default defenses of "I'm too busy working to find a wife" and "money doesn't grow on
trees; I have to actually earn it myself" were always met with derision. Two years ago, she even
reminded me that wives didn't grow on trees either, to which I replied, "I certainly hope not.
That sounds like the most ridiculous Christmas tree ever." She started crying and sent me a
box of red and green macaroons from Paris. Since I wasn't sure whether she wanted me to eat
them, give them to a prospective girlfriend, or leave them out for Santa on Christmas Eve, I
gave them to Seth. It was but a small consolation for the number of calls he'd had to field.
So imagine my relief when last year my mother left me alone. I'd told her I was taking my
girlfriend to Ireland, and that for the first time in many years I was actually taking more than
two weeks vacation. She'd been so stunned she'd left my father in charge of gift-giving. I
received a cuckoo clock maintenance kit (as they didn't know Bella had broken my birthday
gift), several bottles of red wine, and a surprisingly sensible cashmere sweater. It was safe to
say I spent the majority of that Ireland trip in various states of undress, but when I wasn't
having amazing sex with Bella, or streaking through fields of leprechaun gold, I appreciated
that sweater very much. Perhaps if I stunned my mother again this year, I'd receive something
equally useful.
That was wishful thinking, however. A year had passed and my mother was no longer stunned
into submission. It was the beginning of December and she was at it again, calling the office
once a day. To make matters worse, as of yesterday evening my parents were actually back in
New York. Admittedly, I had requested that my mother deliver a certain item to me, but being
back in the same time zone had its disadvantages. Despite the fact I'd spoken to her for over
an hour last night, she had called the office three times today, twice in the last hour. And
today was a Saturday; I wasn't even supposed to be working.
I was more than a little bit on edge today. I was letting Bella down by working on a weekend,
on a day we were supposed to spend together. We'd planned to shop for ornaments before
decorating the tree and then hopefully making love by said tree. As much as Christmas
annoyed me in the past, Christmas with Bella was different. This cancellation hurt more than
the usual rescheduling – she'd spent many a holiday season alone. I had to finish this work
and get out of here.
I leaned back in my chair and sighed. Seth was sitting opposite me, helping me sort through
an important stack of paperwork, and he was visibly tired too.
"I want to go home and decorate the Christmas tree," I whined. As CEO, I was allowed to set
policy on whining in the workplace. I didn't usually allow myself to indulge, but I was cranky
about being a disappointment.
Seth passed me a folder and nodded solemnly. "I know, sir."
"This is going to be the first Christmas I'll have a tree in my apartment, you know," I
explained. "I have to get home."
He looked confused. "Didn't you have one a couple of years ago?
I shook my head. "That wasn't of my own free will. That tree forced itself on me. I tried to say
stop but it wouldn't listen. Santa probably told it I was a bad boy, a single one with wood to
spare." I paused. "If I don't get out here, I'll be making inappropriate jokes all night. How
about we shred this paperwork and run away? Yes?"
"Hold on a minute, sir," Seth replied, obviously amused. "That's an interesting recollection.
Wasn't that the year your mother broke into your apartment and set up a tree while you were
at work? Maybe I misunderstood you?"
"You probably did. Wasn't that the year you wore reindeer ears during December?"
"I never did that."
I smirked. "I knew you'd come to deny it."
"Wasn't that the tree that scared you?"
He was making it sound like I was afraid of Christmas decorations. What had actually
happened was I'd been unaware that the tree's Christmas lights were on an automatic timer. I
hadn't noticed it previously, as I hardly frequented the living room when I was busy with
paperwork. One night I woke up in need of a midnight snack. Bleary-eyed and disoriented, I
walked down the hall, saw the alarming sight of a hundred floating lights, and ended up
walking into a magazine rack due to the shock. I thought I'd hallucinated a swarm of fairies.
That is, until I remembered the damn tree.
"I don't like unannounced trees, fairies, or any other type of Christmas surprise," I answered
with dignity.
Before Seth could reply, his desk phone began to ring. I glanced in the direction of the
doorway and groaned. I was too far away to unplug the phone line.
"That has to be your mother."
I slapped the folder down on the desk. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. We're going to go
home. I'm going to come in tomorrow. On a Sunday. You don't have to come if you don't want
to, but if you do, be ready to make me lots of coffee. I might even have to come in early on
Monday. This is taking so much longer than expected."
"If you're sure, sir."
"I am."
"Okay then. I'll call your driver to pick you up."
We walked out of the office without looking back. Had I looked back, I would've had a panic
attack at the small mountain of paperwork on my desk. I had no time for panic attacks. I had
to get to Bella.
When I checked my cell on the drive uptown, I noticed I had five missed calls from my
mother. I'd told her last night that she and Dad would meet Bella soon, suggesting dinner at
Per Se next Friday night. Instinct told me she wanted to move the dinner up. However, I
wasn't about to let her bully me. I wasn't just any kid on the playground. I was a CEO. A CEO
with a personal assistant who helped him dodge his mother's incessant phone calls.
As soon as the elevator doors opened at my floor, I bolted down the hall toward my
apartment. I would've run much faster had I not had the weight of my winter coat and my
briefcase slowing me down. In my haste, I actually knocked on my own door, eager for Bella to
open up. Then I remembered it was my apartment and I obviously had a key. I retrieved my
keys and let myself in, immediately searching for Bella. I found her in the living room
wearing nothing but one of my dress shirts and... thigh high red and white striped socks. She
cocked her head to the side and waited for me to say something. Well, that's what I think she
did; I was more than a little distracted.
Whoa.
I dropped my briefcase with a thud. Apparently, some Christmas surprises weren't so bad
after all.
"Is this your way of torturing me?" I asked as I took off my coat and draped it over the sofa.
"Yes," she said. "Is it working?"
"I dare say it is," I replied with a grin.
"Good."
I unbuttoned my collar and loosened my tie. "So if I threw you down in front of that tree and
made you scream my name, would that make up for my absence today?"
"It would be a start."
The playfulness of her voice told me that despite today's cancellation, I wasn't without a
chance of redemption. I stalked over to her, very much wanting to close the distance between
us, but she put a hand up to stop me. I briefly thought of tackling her anyway and having my
way with her, but decided to follow her lead.
"But not starting now?" I asked, stopping in my tracks.
Her tone was very matter-of-fact. "We're decorating this tree, Mr. Masen. Then – and only
then – may you service me properly."
I smirked and took her in my arms, kissing her quickly on the mouth. "I love you. I'm so sorry
about today."
"I know you are, and I know you're doing the best you can."
Her words were a comfort to me. I kissed her forehead this time. "I can do better. I really am
sorry. "
"You will be."
"Is more torture on the way? Will you be walking around naked while eating chicken pot pie
next? I'll have you know that's cruel and unusual punishment."
"Worse than that. You have to put the lights on the tree."
"You know those lights frighten me," I joked, burying my head in her neck.
She chuckled. "Man up, Masen."
"I'll have to if I want to keep you around." I sighed happily. It was such a relief to be home.
"What did I ever do to deserve you?"
"You were evil in a past life and now you're paying the price."
I laughed. "The Karmic Price Index. Especially brutal in this economy."
"The one percent has to pay somehow."
"Well then, I better put those lights up before you ditch me and decide to Occupy Wall Street
instead."
I dashed off to my bedroom to change out of my suit. While my Columbia t-shirt and
sweatpants weren't as sexy as Bella's outfit, I hoped she would still find me attractive. I'd been
so rushed the last two mornings that I hadn't shaved – this amount of scruff probably ruled
me out of the running for a Gillette endorsement. Maybe I was getting sloppy. Maybe I
wouldn't even be able to defend my EILF title at next Saturday's Christmas party.
I was probably just being paranoid. I quickly returned to the living room to tackle the task of
stringing the lights.
Bella had opened a bottle of wine and I sipped from my glass as I surveyed the tree, mentally
forming a game plan for stringing the lights. The tree we'd bought earlier in the week was the
perfect size for the space and added a rather pleasant smell to the apartment. I wasn't even
sure how much I'd paid for it, I just wanted the best for Bella. I wanted the holidays to mean
something again, for both of us. So while she opened boxes of baubles, I did my very best to
string the lights as perfectly as possible.
However – and I suspected this was deliberate – Bella distracted me quite a few times by
bending over, giving me the slightest hint of the red underwear she was wearing.
"You shouldn't do that to a man when he's working with electricity," I said after the third
time. "I might be electrocuted, and then where would you be?"
"Right back where I started, I'd imagine. But could you leave me your apartment? I'm kind of
used to all this space now."
"Speaking of which," I said, peeking around the tree. "When are you going to give up your
apartment?"
She never did like talking about her apartment. Even though she was only there a few times a
month, she seemed reluctant to give it up. So I was hardly surprised when she changed the
subject without giving a proper answer.
"You know, Ireland is going to be a tough act to follow. How are you going to top last
Christmas?"
I gave her a knowing look, but played along nonetheless. "You're right, I'm sure there's no way
I can top that," I said with a smile. "Be prepared for disappointment."
"Oh, Mr. Masen. Don't you know I'm always prepared for disappointment where you're
concerned?"
"That's it," I said, coming around from the back of the tree and leaving the string of lights
hanging off. "I won't have my sexual prowess impugned."
"You're so sexy when you use obscure words," she said as I took her in my arms and kissed her,
my hands stroking her back under her shirt. Or rather, my shirt.
Come to think of it, the shirt had been a Christmas gift from my mother. It was a white Ralph
Lauren double-ply cotton Oxford shirt with a button down collar and red embroidered horse,
limited edition. I knew the specifics because she'd repeated the description ten times, all with
different levels of emphasis. Double-ply. Oxford. Limited Edition. Red horse. Button down.
Ralph Lauren. Ralph. Lauren.The way she kept repeating herself made me think she was
trying to hypnotize me into wearing it every day until I died, or at least until the collar needed
to be re-starched. Needless to say, this wasn't the way she'd envisioned it being worn, but at
least it was being put to good use.
Very good use. It was essentially gift wrap now. Bella was such a turn on.
"I have many obscure words in my vocabulary," I teased. "Blame the SAT. Here's an analogy:
my hand is up your shirt like something else will be up something else..."
She giggled.
"Hush. I have something to prove," I said. I grabbed her ass and pulled her against me, my
erection pressing into her and making her gasp. I slowly started unbuttoning her shirt, one
button at a time. It was a tease for both of us.
I had just slipped the shirt from her shoulders, revealing an incredibly sexy red lace bra, when
the phone that linked directly to the lobby rang. The shrill sound was such an unwelcome
interruption I may or may not have cursed several times.
"Are we expecting someone?" I asked as I tried to remember if I'd forgotten something.
"Not that I know of. Maybe it's a package?"
"It's Saturday night in New York City. The only package people might find welcome is Justin
Timberlake's dick-in-a-box skit from SNL." I suddenly realized something as the phone
continued to ring. "Oh my God! I didn't even close the door when I came in."
"What?"
I'd been so eager to see Bella I'd just raced in without a second thought. I released Bella,
jogged to the foyer, shut the apartment door, and then picked up the phone.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Masen, it's James from downstairs. Your parents are here to see you."
"Sorry?" I couldn't have heard right. They hadn't even given me any notice.
Though my mother had tried to call me.
"Your parents – Elizabeth and Edward Senior – are here to see you," James repeated patiently.
He was used to this sort of thing, I surmised. Rich people had skeletons in their closets, so he
had to be on guard when someone showed up unannounced. Sometimes skeletons were hard
to hide on short notice.
Bella wasn't a skeleton. My parents obviously knew about her. But she was wearing an
inappropriate outfit and I had been in the middle of fixing that until I was so rudely
interrupted.
"Mr. Masen, are you there?"
"Yes, James. Sorry." I paused again to think. "Please send them up."
"Will do, sir."
I hung up immediately and whipped around. Bella had followed me and was waiting for an
explanation.
"You might want to change. Like, immediately. My parents are here."
She went wide-eyed and before I knew it, she'd disappeared. To the bedroom, presumably. I
was sure some women would want to spontaneously combust in these circumstances, but
Bella wasn't like that. Not anymore, anyway
I so very badly wanted to be angry with my parents. Sure, mother had tried to call me, but
since I hadn't actually gotten back to her, decorum dictated that it was rude to show up
unannounced. Multiple missed phone calls was not an announcement. If it were, society
would have a problem on its hands, one it couldn't ignore. Because if you tried to ignore it, it
still counted as announced.
I ran a hand through my hair and paced around the foyer. The apartment was clean enough,
and we had food in the fridge, but I still felt unprepared for visitors. The only small mercy was
that my parents hadn't bribed James; if they'd been let up, they would've walked straight in,
caught me in a compromising position with my girlfriend, and then lectured me on the
dangers of leaving my door open.
Bella came racing back into the foyer. She was flustered, but was now wearing a sensible skirt
and top.
"Oh, am I overdressed?" she asked. "Maybe you should change back into your suit. Don't you
think you're under-dressed?"
"I'm not dressing up for people who invited themselves over," I explained. "I'm so sorry about
this. I really am."
I moved to give her a reassuring kiss on the lips, but she busied herself with the task of fixing
her hair.
"You look great," I told her.
"What happened to Friday night dinner?"
The knock on the door came sooner than expected. Or perhaps I had lost all track of time,
what with the shock and everything.
"Edward, it's your parents," my mother trilled from the other side of the door.
"Well, who else's parents would you be?" I replied as I opened the door. Her emphasis on
things really didn't make sense sometimes.
My mother and father didn't respond to my irritation. The sight of Bella behind me in the
foyer was enough to distract them.
"Oh, how wonderful! Your Bella is here!" my mother exclaimed, pushing past me so she could
kiss Bella on both cheeks.
"Good evening to you too, Mother."
My father seemed to be a little embarrassed, giving me the I-tried-to-stop-this look. He
stepped forward and clapped me on the shoulder. "Maybe next time you should answer your
phone."
"Yeah. Or maybe I should have vacationed in Ireland again."
"Too late to fly out now, boy," he said jovially before turning his attention to Bella and
extending his hand. "Nice to meet you, dear."
"It's a pleasure to meet you both," Bella said.
My father smiled at Bella, then smiled at my mother, who then smiled at Bella, who then
looked at me. I forced a smile at my mother, who then cocked an eyebrow and smiled smugly
at me before smiling at my father. While I had heard that smiling was contagious, this was
more awkward than anything. I felt like we were trapped in a Colgate commercial, bound to
show our toothy grins to an invisible audience over and over until someone pulled the plug. In
the end, I grinned encouragingly at Bella and then led everyone out of the foyer. For a split-
second, I thought I heard the audience murmur their approval, but it was just my mother
tutting one of the paintings in the hall.
"Too abstract, Edward. It's ugly too. So brown," she complained, stopping in her tracks.
"MoMA called: they want their doormat back."
"Well, they can't have it," I replied. "I need to wipe my shoes on something."
"I think it's funky," Bella said in my defense.
"Me too," my father added, nodding at her.
My mother rolled her eyes. I immediately wished we were already in the kitchen. People
complained less when they had food in their mouths.
Before we reached the kitchen, however, she strode straight into the living room. She stood in
the center of the space, surveying the tree for a few moments before walking up to it and
eying the floor in suspicion. The rest of us watched on. I briefly wondered whether she was
going to criticize the lack of gifts under the half-decorated tree, but then I realized what the
present problem actually was.
"Really, Edward. I didn't give you this shirt so you could use it as a mop," my mother said,
looking down at the shirt I'd so slowly taken off of Bella just moments before. A moment I
would have preferred to stay in rather than having to deal with the sudden appearance of my
parents.
"That's my fault," Bella said, scurrying over and picking up the shirt from the floor and hiding
it behind her back. As if that would somehow make it disappear.
"I'm sure it's not, dear. You're not his housemaid, after all. This isn't the nineteen forties. And
he can certainly afford a maid to come and clean up his mess." She turned to me with a rather
reproachful look on her face.
"Drink, Mother?" I asked. Bella was starting to look anxious, so I thought diverting the
conversation away from the shirt was wise.
"Yes, darling. Whatever you have open is fine," she said, waving at the open wine bottle and
glasses that were currently on my coffee table.
"Dad?"
"I'll have whatever your mother is having."
I nodded and walked over to Bella. "You're doing great," I whispered in her ear.
She smiled tightly at me and held up the shirt, gesturing to the general vicinity of our
bedroom. "I'm just gonna go..."
I gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her elbow. "If you'll excuse me for a moment," she
said to my parents before taking off down the hall.
I started toward the kitchen to get wine glasses for my parents, and my mother followed me.
So much for a moment to gather my thoughts.
"Why are you having that nice girl clean up after you? I raised you better than that. And the
sweatpants. Honestly, Edward."
"I don't make her—forget it. I planned on dressing properly for dinner on Friday."
"You're the one who wanted this," she said, rooting around in her purse and handing me a
small black velvet box. "Why not buy that lovely girl a proper ring? We have an accountat
Harry Winston, you know."
"Bella's not the Harry Winston type. Grandma Lillian's ring is perfect, trust me," I said,
opening the box and admiring the small but flawless and perfectly set diamond my
grandmother wore for years.
"Every woman likes diamonds, whether they admit it or not."
I smiled and kissed her on the cheek. She was certainly annoying at times, but all in all, she'd
come through for me. "Thank you for bringing this, Mom. And believe me, Bella will
appreciate this much more than anything I could buy her, no matter how big or expensive."
"Well, you know what they say. Size does matter," she said with a smile and a wink.
I groaned and tugged at my hair. "Please, Mother."
"Oh, don't be so sensitive."
I put the ring in my pocket, took two glasses from the cabinet, and walked back to the living
room with my mother.
The week following the surprise visit was a whirlwind. It got to the point where there was so
much paperwork on my desk that if Seth and I were to somehow shake the office, we'd
effectively end up with a snow globe of my working environment. Despite the snowstorm of
reports, however, I did manage to have lunch at Midtown Grill on three occasions. An extra
sight of Bella during my day was enough to help me plow on. She did point out mid-week that
my visits meant I benefited from her cooking even more than usual, a fact she seemed quite
pleased about. After I finished drooling over my lunch, I assured her that her cooking
amounted to torture in some respect, as it only made me want more, like a can of Pringles.
Once you pop, you can't stop!
I was now banned from using snack food analogies. Her cooking did not amount to anything
so readily packaged in a can, unless that can was a "can of whoop-ass." (I learned this term
from Seth, who was also responsible for any SNL analogies or other references I would
normally not know about.) The same level of respect could also be attributed to the cuisine at
Per Se, where we had dinner with my parents last night. Bella – who had been understandably
nervous last week in their presence – was more confident this time. Even my mother was in
awe of her culinary expertise, eventually deferring to her when each dish from the Prix Fixe
menu was brought out.
At one stage, when Bella left to go to the bathroom, my father kicked me under the table and
asked when I was going to "pop the question." After purging the tag-line of Once you pop, you
can't stop!from my head, I asked him why he'd felt the need to kick me when I was already
paying attention to him. He claimed he was overexcited. I then revealed I was planning
something fantastic. My mother looked at me expectantly, as if she expected an invite to the
proposal, but I averted my gaze and pretended to be fascinated with my soup spoon. My
father took it upon himself to tell her that I'd always been a bit shy about women, so to leave
me alone. Either that, he said, or I was planning to learn how to bend spoons with my mind.
As usual, I was relieved when Bella returned. Everything was better when she was around.
And it was this simple fact that I hoped would get me through tonight's company Christmas
party.
"You look stunning," I told her for the fifth time as I helped her out of the limo.
"You said that already," she said with a smirk.
"Really? Forgive my short-term memory loss. Looks like I'll be saying it all night."
We walked up the steps of The Plaza, arm in arm, and were promptly greeted in the foyer by a
harried looking Seth.
His manners were thankfully still intact despite the stress. "You look very pretty, Ms. Swan,"
he said, nodding at her.
"Thank you, Seth. You look very handsome yourself."
"Thanks." He turned to me and cleared his throat. "Let's get going. You're behind schedule,
Mr. Masen."
"Yes, I did receive your texts," I replied patiently as Bella and I followed him. "You know, I
really do like the new iPhone. I asked Siri if she could take over for a week so you could take
an early vacation. Unfortunately, she said no, but I think if I ask her again tomorrow she
might budge. Maybe we should get her drunk tonight."
Seth shook his head. "If you douse your phone with alcohol...I don't know what I'll do."
"Are you okay?" Bella asked him.
Seth then revealed what had gone down in my absence. "The Art Department girls are already
drunk. And I mean really drunk. I'm two hundred percent sure they're responsible for the
random patches of vomit near the women's bathroom. One of them has her dress on
backwards! What else...Someone is going around with the sole intention of taking
unflattering pictures of everyone. People are taking bets on EILF runner-up, because we all
know who has the overall title on lock. And there was almost a fistfight between two people
from Admin, all because someone messed up the Secret Santa draw."
I sighed as we turned the corner. I could already hear the sounds of the festivities. "Christmas.
It's all very annoying, isn't it?"
Bella coughed.
"When you're not with a beautiful, intelligent woman, I mean."
Bella looked appeased. "Where's Heidi?" she asked Seth.
Surprisingly, Seth looked a little uncomfortable. I wasn't sure why – he and Heidi had been an
item for over six months. My relaxing of the non-fraternization policy earlier this year had
paved the way; employees now had to declare relationships and sign contracts acknowledging
their responsibilities to the company, lest there be any trouble.
We got our answer when we walked into the Terrace Room. Heidi was waiting at the entrance,
hands on hips and an unimpressed look on her face.
"Where have you been?" she demanded to know.
Seth was now uneasy and annoyed. "Where do you think?" he said, nodding his head in my
direction.
"You know how demanding a CEO can be," I said smoothly.
"He's very demanding," Bella added. "Super demanding, even."
"I even demand that I be more demanding." I turned to Seth. "If that's possible, of course."
"I, uh, don't think it is," he said, wisely going over to Heidi and taking her hand. "Heidi, why
don't you and I get a drink? Mr. Masen has to do the rounds. Starting with Mr. Cullen."
"Ah, Carlisle is here already."
"He likes to be on time," Heidi said, refusing to be ushered away. She leveled a harsh look at
Seth. "I just spoke to him. I wanted to introduce him to my boyfriend, but he was AWOL."
"But Seth has obviously met Carlisle before," I pointed out.
"Not in this capacity," she answered.
Seth gave me an apologetic look before leading her away. "Let's go."
Feeling lost, I looked to Bella for an explanation. "I don't get it. What capacity? The capacity
to wear a tuxedo?"
She planted a quick kiss on my lips before adjusting my bow tie. "Are you demanding a
translation?"
"I might be. What will the cost be?"
"Just put down fifty dollars on me to win Most Desirable EEILF. That's E-E-I-L-F. The odds
should be good. I've got my old pals in IT rooting for me."
My head was beginning to hurt, and I hadn't even started drinking yet. "I'm sorry, I'm even
more confused."
"Ex-Employee That I'd Like to...you know," she said with a cheeky grin.
"That can't be real."
She grinned mischievously. "How do you know it's not real? Did you not hear Seth? This is a
company full of debauchery: drunkards; gambling; threats of violence. I'm glad I got out
when I did."
I laughed. "Let's enter the den of sin then. Carlisle and Esme are probably waiting for us."
The problem with being fashionably late was everyone was bound to notice when you did
arrive. Then again, I was the CEO, so perhaps the attention came with the territory. Heads
turned, conversations halted, other whispers started up. I made a mental note to arrange a
distraction for next year's party. Perhaps a marching band, or maybe just the smoke bombs
ninjas used to hide their movements. If I went with the latter, I could also steal people's
drinks.
"Wow, everyone is staring," Bella said.
"Oh, I told them to do that. Sent a company wide email. I'm very vain, you see."
I nodded at the employees closest to me, who raised their drinks in return.
"My first Cullen, Inc. Christmas party," Bella mused.
"Music, drinks, people dressed to the nines. Can't be half bad." I spotted Carlisle and Esme to
our right. They indicated for us to come on over, so Bella and I made our way through the
crowd, with me trying to acknowledge as many people as I could along the way.
It must have been strange for Carlisle, attending a function like this. It was the first Christmas
party to be held after his departure. Throughout the year, he had continued to encourage me,
helping me with the transition and making sure I didn't run his pride and joy into the ground.
He was still my mentor in many ways, but this was a new era.
He immediately clapped me on the shoulder. "Good party," he said happily. "Nice of you to
show up."
"I do what I can," I replied before kissing Esme on the cheek.
"You again," she said.
I laughed and then watched her and Bella embrace.
"Bella, nice to see you," Carlisle said politely when the women broke their hug.
Bella kept things in the Christmas spirit. "Good to see you too."
I doubted things between them would ever be fully peachy, but at least this was civil. Civil was
so much better than hostile.
Bella and Esme made things easier by immediately forming their own conversation.
"So, how are you?" I asked him.
"Still retired. So don't try and palm off any work on me. Though I am glad you got the
Manchester deal sorted."
I took his approval in stride. "That makes two of us."
"The only two who count." He took a swig of his wine. "Seriously, though. They shouldn't have
pulled that shit last week. Who do they think they are?"
"It's under control. That's what matters," I assured him.
He glanced at Bella, who was laughing away with Esme, and lowered his voice. "I get that you
want who you want, but I had the policy in place for a reason. I hope I don't ever have to say I
told you so. Business is business."
While I respected the fact that Cullen, Inc. was his baby, I made it clear I remained confident
in my decision. "The policy change is a good thing."
Not surprisingly, he wasn't convinced. "My former assistant with your assistant. Even support
staffers can cause problems, you know."
"I know what I'm doing."
If anything, Seth and Heidi were an example of two employees who worked better with the
policy in place. Seth was more productive now that he didn't have to spend every thirty
minutes dealing with Heidi's unnecessary emails and phone calls.
"I hope so," Carlisle replied.
"Hey, have you caught up with my folks yet? They're back in town."
"Yes, I know." He paused before offering me a rueful smile. "Look, I hope the proposalfor that
project goes well. I really do. You're a good man. I've always known that. You deserve to do
well in those sorts of matters. Don't let my track record deter you."
"I appreciate your support," I replied. He really wasn't the best person to dispense such advice,
but I wasn't about to pick that battle right now. I planned to let my relationship speak for
itself.
I turned my attention to Bella, who was tugging on my sleeve.
"I think Seth is trying to get your attention," she said, nodding to my left.
Indeed he was, though he was being rather subtle about it. His tactic seemed to be one of I'll
stand here and stare in the direction of my boss until his girlfriend thinks it's weird. Part of
me wondered if I had ever used that ploy on Carlisle. The other part told me to go and see
what Seth wanted instead of standing around thinking so much.
"I should go see what the problem is," I told Bella, Esme, and Carlisle. "Maybe Crowley wants
to challenge me to a dance off."
"If you win, I'll give you a free lunch on Monday," Esme joked.
"Yes, we'll get one of the sous chefs to cook it," Bella chimed in. "Or maybe you can cook it
yourself."
I pretended to limber up. "Well, I should warm up then."
Bella gave me a nudge. "Go on then. I'll be fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, just go."
I kissed her on the cheek and left her for the time being. I looked back at one stage and saw
that Carlisle decided to continue doing the rounds on his own. It was a small mercy, but I was
thankful nonetheless. Even though she could hold her own, I didn't want Bella to have to
endure a stilted conversation with him.
Plus, thanks to my blabbermouth parents, he knew I was going to propose. I wasn't sure his
poker face was up to it, not when it came to the personal matters of other people.
With that situation under control, I made a beeline for Seth, who was looking increasingly
anxious.
"What's going on?" I asked when I reached him.
He motioned for me to follow him. Thankfully, he just wanted to speak discreetly in a corner.
For a second I thought I was about to get a guided tour of the Art Department's vomit
exhibition.
"I'm so sorry to bother you," he said. "But I can't assist you properly until I get this other
matter sorted. It's throwing me off my game."
"Well, tell me what the matter is."
He pulled a face, as if he were reconsidering the admission. But then he came right out with
it. "Heidi keyed me right before the event."
"How exactly does one key another person?" I really was in need of a translator.
"She gave me a key to her apartment. I don't know what it means. Does she want me to move
in with her? Is this serious? I don't want to move to the East Village – I much prefer
Williamsburg." He certainly was flustered. "If you could dispense a quick word of advice, that
would be excellent."
I considered his question carefully, relating his situation to my on relationship (it was
something I could do now, which was very exciting on some basic level.) Bella had a key to my
apartment, but the whole thing had come about rather naturally. I hadn't demanded she take
it. Nor had I snuck it into her purse. It just made sense that she have a key, as she was always
there. But on the other hand, she still insisted on retaining her apartment, even though she
had no real need for it. It was a sub-let in Soho – it wasn't as if new tenants were going to be
impossible to find.
A surge of panic made my stomach clench. And it had nothing to do with the complex nature
of New York City's tenancy laws. It had everything to do with the heirloom ring I had hidden
in my tax drawer (a sensible hiding place, as no one would bore themselves by snooping
around there.) Was Bella as keen as I was when it came to the supreme commitment?
I told myself to stop being paranoid. I was confident she was. This matter was about Seth, not
me.
"Where do you spend most of your time together?" I questioned.
"Well, it's kind of even. Though she hates commuting from my place," he answered.
"Hmmm."
I saw someone out of the corner of my eye and had a brainstorm. "Hey, Whitlock, come here
for a sec, will you?" I called out, motioning him to come on over. He was good with this kind
of stuff, and a good friend at that.
"What are you doing?" Seth whispered. "Are you firing me and sending me to Hades? I mean,
Marketing?"
I shushed him and welcomed Jasper into the circle. Well, a circle previously of two.
"I love this song, don't you?" he said.
"Yes, yes, Jingle Bell Rock," I replied. "Listen, we need your advice. Seth's girlfriend keyed
him."
Jasper was aghast. "She keyed your car? Why would she do that?"
Seth merely blinked at him before turning to me with a why are you punishing me look on his
face.
"No, she gave him a key," I explained.
"The key to his own car? That doesn't make any sense."
"Yes, it truly does not make sense," Seth said.
"Women think we don't understand them, but we do," Jasper advised, nodding wisely. "She's
trying to tell you she's already driving your car. She's all in. Time to step up and tell her she's
welcome to drive it. Except during rush hour in Manhattan – let's not waste gas now. I know
it's your car, but still."
I nodded in support. "The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."
Seth looked dumbfounded that the advice actually made some kind of sense. "Wow. She's all
in."
Jasper continued. "Love is a beautiful thing. So is marriage, if you're thinking about it. My life
is so much better with Alice in it."
The mention of marriage must have scared Seth off, because he suddenly declared he had to
get back to work now that his head was clear.
"Out of curiosity, how did you propose to Alice?" I asked Jasper as Seth hurried away.
"With confidence, Mase." He nodded in Alice's direction – she was mingling with some of her
dad's friends. "With confidence."
He was right, yet again. I had to trust how sure I was about Bella.
"So – "
He was distracted by a passing waiter. "Ooh, lobster puffs. Later, dude."
He left me standing by the wall like some kind of high-powered wallflower. It was a little like
junior prom. However, I knew I wasn't really alone. While this was a company party, with
employees I still needed to greet tonight, there was really only one person I wanted at my
side.
Bella: my fiancée as of next week, and my wife for life.
Bella
Holidays were pretty casual while I was growing up, but we had certain traditions. Namely,
we'd wake up early on Christmas morning, tear through our presents, gorge on banana
pancakes, then spend the day in our pajamas watching movies and sorting through our newly
acquired loot. Even when money was tight it was more about all of us spending the day
together than what was (or wasn't) under the tree.
Last year, in Ireland with Edward, I was pretty sure we spent the holiday naked in bed. My
memories of that trip were hazy at best, dominated by naked limbs, amazing sex, rich food,
and more bottles of wine than I could count. The days kind of melded together.
Best Christmas Ever.
This year I had to have Riley fit me for a dress for Christmas Day dinner with Edward's
parents. It all felt ridiculous, but I knew it meant a lot to Edward, so here I was at Bergdorf's at
opening time on a Sunday morning.
We were going to spend Christmas Eve with Rose and Emmett for some balance. I was
cooking, so maybe I'd make us real blue-collar food so I didn't forget my roots: franks and
beans, tuna casserole, meatloaf, and deviled eggs. I'd have to have everyone sign a non-
disclosure before they ate, though. I couldn't have Esme finding out about my foray into the
depths of 'home-cooking'.
"What are you thinking?" I asked Riley as he stood behind me in front of the mirror. I'd
learned to trust him completely over the past year–at least where dressing me was concerned.
I didn't know if I'd ever be completely comfortable in Edward's world of charity events,
working dinners, and nights at the Opera, but even if I was awkward and made a fool of
myself, I always looked good while doing it.
"Maybe pants," he said, grabbing my hips and turning me slightly.
"What? Why? Is it because I gained a few pounds?"
"Did you?" he asked, squeezing my hips with a frown on his face.
"No!" I said, slapping his hand away. "Okay, maybe a little. It's all that restaurant food. And
Edward's mother can be a bit much to take. It's stress eating." I put my hand over my mid-
section self-consciously. I wondered if Edward noticed. Maybe that's why we hadn't had
much sex in the last few weeks. I groaned.
"Is his mother that bad? Monster-in-Law material?" he asked, looking me over as he squeezed
his lower lip between his fingers.
"No, not really," I said with a sigh. "She's actually been really nice to me." And she was.
Though she sometimes looked at me with a knowing smile, as if she knew some secret I
wasn't privy to, and it made me uncomfortable. Still, she was kind to me and it was obvious
she adored Edward. So we had that in common.
I looked at myself in the mirror and groaned again. "I don't look right. How are you with
computers? Can you Photoshop me?"
"Girl, you should see some of these women I dress. Either all plastic or all cellulite. Most of
them are bitchy as all get out, too. You look fantastic." He smiled at me and looked me over
one more time. "I'll be back," he said.
I sat with a sigh and closed my eyes. It had been a busy few weeks. The restaurant was packed
every day with holiday parties and lunches, I had my own holiday plans to attend to (I had yet
to find Edward a gift), and there was the added bonus of having Edward's parents in town,
and the Cullen, Inc. Christmas party we'd attended last week. The party was more fun than I
thought it would be. I saw Jake, who seemed to have cleaned up nicely. He even attended the
party with a real live female person and not a fictional character. A step in the right direction,
all things considered. I did get the stink eye from the Art Department girls all night, but
where that would have made me cringe in the past, it now made me smile. Edward was mine
to take home at the end of the night, no matter how many dirty looks I got.
Even though we weren't officially inhabiting the same space.
I knew that bothered Edward–he'd asked me to move in more times than I could count but I
always avoided giving him an answer. I didn't even know what my problem was. I was at
Edward's almost all the time and only went to my apartment to pick up my mail and extra
clothes. If I looked deeply enough I suppose I'd find that I thought giving up my apartment
meant giving up my independence. But I wasn't sure that really meant anything anymore. If
anything, my relationship with Edward enhanced my independence–never before had I been
so free to be me.
But somehow I still couldn't push myself to take that step. I didn't know exactly what my
problem was but as the days passed I realized there wasn't another shoe and it wasn't going to
drop. Our relationship wasn't perfect by any means, but it was as good as I'd ever had and
more than I ever hoped for. It was about time I got over myself.
I took out my phone, planning on calling Rose to try to hash some of this out, but it rang with
Edward's ringtone before I could.
"Hey," I said. I was happy to hear from him. He'd left for work before I was even awake that
morning.
"Are you busy?" he asked.
"I'm still with Riley."
"How's that going?"
"I think I'm carrying a few extra pounds."
"You don't have to carry all those shopping bags, you know. Have them sent to the
apartment."
"Oh no, I'm not talking about the bags. I'm talking about me."
"I like talking about you. It's my favorite subject," he said. "And you must be mistaken,
because you look the same to me."
"How would you know?" I teased. "You haven't seen me naked in at least a week. Just saying."
"Ah." He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "I've been very busy lately. I'm sorry. But I
need to put in extra time now so I can take off for the holidays. You know that."
"I know. I'm looking forward to the day you make it up to me. I deserve a reward for my
patience, don't you think?" Riley walked back in the room and hung up a few items for me to
try on. He fiddled around and pretended not to listen as I continued my conversation with
Edward.
"I most certainly do," Edward said. I could hear the smile in his voice and it made me feel less
like of a nag. "As a matter of fact, I was calling to see if we could spend some time together
today."
"Really? Is that my reward? I was holding out for diamonds, but I'll take time instead," I
joked.
"Oh, you never know what I'm going to come up with. How much longer will you be? I'll pick
you up."
I was momentarily thrown by the quick change in subject but managed to recover and look
over at Riley and the stack of clothes he had picked out for me. "An hour?"
"Sounds good. I'll see you in a bit."
"'Kay. Love you."
"Love you too."
Edward was there an hour later, his cheeks red from the cold, looking as handsome as ever.
"I haven't seen you in forever," Riley said, kissing Edward on both cheeks. "Are you cheating
on me?"
"I don't have time to be unfaithful. It takes too much work," he said to Riley before turning
and kissing me in greeting.
"Why the pout?" he asked, resting his hands on my hips. "Aren't you happy to see me? Or did
you and Riley have plans I wasn't supposed to know about?"
"She's not my type," Riley said, bagging my purchases. "You, on the other hand... that we can
talk about."
"Sorry," Edward said with a quick look over his shoulder. "If I don't have time to cheat on my
shopper I definitely don't have time to cheat on my girlfriend."
"And also because you love me," I said.
"Right. That too," he said with a smirk.
Edward took the bag in one hand and my hand in the other, we said goodbye to Riley, and he
ushered me out to the waiting car.
"To what do I owe this rare treat?" I asked once we were seated and heading uptown.
Edward shrugged and smiled. "I've been working a lot lately. I thought it might be nice for us
to spend some time alone before the real mad madness of the holidays starts."
"Where are we going?"
He pulled me into his lap and kissed me. "It's a surprise."
He held me firmly and then kissed me again. "Now where are all these extra pounds you told
me about earlier?"
"Turns out it was all in my head. In that I seemed to have made it up, not that I had extra
pounds in my head like Mayor McCheese."
He looked at me skeptically and shook his head. "So what's this really all about? Is it the lack
of... private time over the last week? I think it's because my mother almost walked in on us. I
have PTSD."
I bit my lip and rested my head on his shoulder as I played with the buttons on his shirt.
"Bella?" he prompted.
"Are you getting tired of me? You can tell me." I picked my head up and looked at him. "We
can try some... new stuff. I heard about this one thing. I'd have to start going to the gym to be
able to do it, but I think I–"
I was cut off my Edward's lips on mine. He kissed me deeply, his hands resting in my hair.
When he pulled away he had a completely serious expression on his face. "I love you more
every day. I'm not tired of you and you're the sexiest woman I've ever met."
I looked down and let out a long breath. Edward lifted my chin and smiled at me. "Tell me
what's really on your mind."
"I don't like your bedroom," I blurted out. "I think the bed should be closer to the windows
and I don't like the red you have in the curtains."
"Okayyyyy," he said slowly, an understandably confused look on his face. "Shall I hire
someone to come and change it?"
"No," I said, shaking my head. "I want to do it. After I move in."
I snuck a look at Edward and watched his face transform as his brain caught up with my logic.
"Really?" he asked, a slow sweet smile spreading across his lips.
"Really. I'm sorry it's taken me this long. I'm pretty much an idiot."
"No you're not," he said, running the back of his hand across my cheek. "Besides, isn't that my
line?"
"Yes. Idiot. Maybe you're rubbing off on me. Now take me home."
"Uh, I thought we'd go to a museum. We haven't done that in a while."
"Oh, okay."
"Don't sound so enthusiastic."
"I'm sorry. It sounds like a great idea. I just thought we'd go home and celebrate." I put my
hand on the back of his head and pulled him to me, kissing him firmly on the mouth.
"Ah, right. Well. I have other plans for you today." He kissed me quickly on the lips then sat
back, a small smile on his face.
I was kind of disappointed. It was cold out, snow was in the forecast, and if Edward was
taking a day off I wanted to spend it cuddled up in bed with him. Naked. It was likely I would
see paintings of naked people at a museum, but it just wasn't the same.
"Do I detect a pout?" he asked as the car came to a stop a few minutes later.
"Here?" I asked, my pout becoming even more pronounced.
"Yes, here. Come on." He grabbed my hand as the driver opened the door and we got out. The
front door to The Frick Collection was opened as we approached and we were ushered inside.
"A pleasure to see you, Mr. Masen," a woman greeted us.
"Thank you, Nancy," he said. As if it was every day someone was personally greeted by staff
when they entered a museum. "This is my girlfriend Bella."
She smiled nicely at me and stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Bella."
"You too," I said, shaking her hand. She took our coats and Edward took my hand to lead me
into the museum.
We walked around for a bit and the uneasy feeling I had when we arrived quickly abated. This
really was quite a spectacular collection.
Distracted as I was by my surroundings, it took me a while to realize how quiet the museum
was.
"I feel like we're the only ones here. That's odd for a Sunday afternoon, wouldn't you say?" I
asked, looking around in vain for another person.
"You think so?" Edward asked, a rather bemused look on his face. He pulled my hand and it
took me a second to realize we were in the room where that disastrous benefit had been last
year. Edward was invited again this year, of course, but he sent a check instead. We weren't
quite up to attending.
"Why are we here?" I asked.
"I received an inside tip about an exciting development," he said cryptically, a smirk tugging
at his lips.
"An exciting development? Are they renovating the gift shop? Installing vending machines in
the courtyard?"
"Even better than that. In fact, I have it on good authority that it might be life-changing. But
only for you and me."
I was thoroughly confused. "Only for us? That's very specific. Did you accidentally add a
couple zeros to your donation check?"
"Ah, I'm confusing you." He shook his head. "Okay, maybe the museum is just a backdrop.
The development doesn't involve them at all. It really is just about you and me."
Then he dropped to his knee.
Dropped to his KNEE.
My heart started to pound and my palms were sweaty. I swallowed loudly and my stomach
was so queasy I was afraid I might throw up on his beautiful hair.
"Bella?"
"Yeah?"
"You all right?" he asked, looking up at me with a mixture of concern and amusement.
"That depends. Did you drop a contact lens?"
"My eyesight is perfect."
"A cufflink?"
"I'm wearing a sweater."
"Button?"
"Bella."
"Sorry."
I looked down at his handsome, earnest face and bit my lip. I didn't know if I was ready for
this, but then again, I was more sure of Edward than I'd ever been of anything. What came
with marriage would be easily handled with Edward by my side.
I took a deep breath and smiled.
"May I continue now?" he asked.
"You may," I replied. He looked up at me and smiled and I suddenly felt completely calm. This
was right.
Edward reached into his pocket and took out a small box. "I've rehearsed this part a million
times, but it's entirely different in the moment. It's actually so much easier. All I can think
about is how much I need you, and how I plan to love you for the rest of my life. Executing
this plan – a plan I believe in wholeheartedly – requires us to be together always. So, what I'm
trying to say is: I want you to be my wife. I want this more than anything. Bella, will you
marry me?"
I wanted to answer, but I seemed to be at a loss for words. Even one as simple as "yes." Because
up until he actually asked, he could have been looking for a lost button or giving me a pin
instead of a ring. I was overwhelmed by his words and the unexpected turn of events. Edward
was proposing. Marriage. To me. My brain had to catch up with my mouth. It was something I
wasn't used to; I usually had the opposite problem.
Looking at Edward and seeing his unsure expression sprung me into action. Even if I couldn't
speak quite yet, he shouldn't doubt for a second that I wanted this as much as he did.
I reached out my left hand, which he took with a relieved smile, and he placed the ring on my
finger. I tugged on his hand so he would stand and then threaded my hands through his hair
and kissed him.
"Is that a yes, Ms. Swan?" he asked against my lips.
"That's a definite yes, Mr. Masen."
I realized, as Edward and I stood there smiling and kissing, that he'd effectively turned the
place where our relationship almost ended to the place where it was only beginning. It was the
best of omens, a sign that we had changed our lives for the better.
"I hope you've been practicing signing my name," he teased.
"I have notebooks full of my future signature. In fact, I scribble it on all my cookbooks, and
even on other people's. Now take me home so we can pre-consummate our marriage."
He laughed and took my hand.
Best frickin' day ever.
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