Page 9 of Bastard-in-Chief
Ms. Masterson bites her bottom lip before answering, eyes darting to the art on my walls. “She’d rather not share her home address. Would you object to picking her up from here?” Seriously? What does this woman think I’m going to do?
Heaving a sigh, I nod. “Fine. I’ll pick her up here, even if it is exceedingly out of the way.” I smirk to myself, letting Lauren interpret that how she pleases, knowing I made my word-of-the-day calendar proud.
I turn back to my computer, but the woman doesn’t leave. “Was there something else you needed?” These lines of code aren’t going to write themselves. I have a dozen very well-paid people downstairs who could write this code for me, but this is a personal project, one I don’t want anyone else to touch yet.
“Er. It’s just...” At my raised eyebrow, Lauren swallows and gets on with it. “Elinor isn’t used to going to events like these. She’s nervous. Could you…maybe you could try and be nice to her?”
“Are you insinuating I’m not nice?” I raise an eyebrow at Ms. Masterson, daring her to contradict me.
Although I never intended to be completely unapproachable, years of having to prove myself as a businessman, and overcome my early notoriety, have taken their toll on my personality.
Granted, it’s lonely up here on my own, but if everyone is scared of me I won’t be tempted to make the same mistakes I made when Mailbox was starting out. And I definitely don’t want this writer getting the wrong idea about me. I didn’t ask for her to come with me because I needed a date. I don’t date.
I learned long ago that women don’t see me, they see my wallet.
“My apologies, sir. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t capable of being nice. But Elinor is nervous, and as her manager it’s my job to look out for her.” Lauren pulls herself up to her full height and glares at me. Ms. Masterson has spunk.
Hiding my smirk, I pick up the receipt on the desk. “I promise to be nice. Thank you.” I don’t wait to watch Ms. Masterson walk away. Instead, I scan the paper in my hand for the total.
Three hundred and fifty dollars? That’s it?
I asked Elinor Price to come with me because Morgan Edwards is going to be there. If he sees me without a woman on my arm I’ll hear about it at our next meeting. According to Morgan, “men of means only go to these events alone to signal one thing—their bed is empty for the next contender.” And of course, Morgan will happen to have a niece or a cousin or a colleague’s daughter who would be just perfect for me. They always turn out to be silicone-enhanced, money-craving leeches who can’t hold a conversation to save their life.
I was supposed to take my sister, but her husband whisked her away on a surprise vacation, sans kids, to Bora Bora. His next movie starts production soon and he’ll be stuck filming in the middle of the desert for months.
Besides, the charity is for the children’s hospital and Elinor’s article about potential uses for Mailbox in the medical community happened to stir up a lot of buzz I want to take advantage of.
The afternoon drags on as I work on my project. I let Mercedes screen the emails coming to me, knowing she’ll tell me if there’s something I need to stop and handle. The best thing I ever did was hire her. Morgan complains that I pay her too well, but she earns every penny of that six-figure salary as my literal and figurative gatekeeper.
“Mr. Sutton?”
“Yes?”
“It’s five o’clock. I’m heading home, and you need to get ready for the gala.”
Looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows to my left, the sunny summer sky gives me no clue what time it is. I was stunned my first summer up here in Portland when the sun didn’t start to sink until well past nine.
“Right, thank you Mercedes. Have a good evening.”
Mercedes is the only person in this building who isn’t scared of me, not that she has any reason to be. She’s the best assistant I’ve ever had, anticipating my needs and taking care of the minutiae I don’t care for. Plus she keeps me from working late too many nights a week and doesn’t take any shit from me, no matter how grumpy I am. I’m not looking forward to her retirement in a few years.
After tidying up my desk, I head downstairs, making sure to punch in the code that keeps the car from stopping on any other floors. It’s the one hard and fast rule of this building—I do not share the elevator. Ever.
“Good evening, Mr. Sutton.” Julian, the daytime security officer, says as I pass him. I nod in acknowledgement, my eyes glued to the back of the blonde who just walked out the door. My eyes lock on to the sway of her hips as I put my hand on the door to exit the building.
“Julian.” I remember before I walk through the glass door. “I’m picking up an Elinor Price here this evening. Let Rex know would you? She’s to be allowed to wait inside if she arrives before me, and I’ll need him to make sure she gets home safely afterwards.”
“Yes sir. I’ll make sure he knows.”
Satisfied, I hurry to my car so I can take Max for a run before showering and getting ready for this gala. At least it’s a Thursday night so I’ll have an excuse not to stay too late. Nothing good ever happens after midnight.
Happily tired from our run, Max settles into his bed, eyeing me as I pull a tuxedo out of my closet and lay it out on my king-sized bed before stepping into the shower without waiting for it to warm up.
The sway of Sophie’s hips haunted me through the entire five mile run. I’ve known who she was since her first day at Mailbox, the woman who smiles and greets me every morning when I walk in, the only one who never cowers or attempts to flirt.
Her first day, when I’d opened the front doors and stepped into the lobby, everything was different. Usually, when I step inside everyone in the building freezes, just like I’ve trained them to. Walk into a room snapping loudly enough at someone on the other end of your phone and, eventually, people cower, terrified to be on the receiving end of your wrath. Not her.
No, Sophie Alexander had looked up at me with a serene smile. Her pink dress and yellow sweater matching the happiness oozing from every pore of her sweet face. Just like today, her sunshine gold hair was braided in a crown. It should have looked ridiculous, a grown woman looking like a milk-maid, but it fit her. I’d had to work to keep my usual scowl on my face as I walked past her, a smile threatening to escape at her greeting.