On Shaky Ground Read online

  “How soon can you come in for an interview? I have some slots this afternoon at three and four.” She shifted the phone. “Will that work?”

  Brock could hardly believe his luck. “Sure. I can be there at three. Your office is in Brooklyn, correct?” He was already pulling up the address on his computer so he’d know how long it would take him to get there from Queens. “And who do I ask for?”

  “Yes, we’re in Brooklyn. Give your name to reception, and we’ll send someone right down to get you. Please bring all your employment documents, because if you’re selected, things will move quickly. We appreciate you coming on short notice, and we’ll see you this afternoon.”

  Brock put down his phone and checked the clock before taking the few steps to the bathroom.

  AT JUST before three, Brock stepped out of the Uber, dressed in his best suit and a crisply ironed shirt and carrying the leather case his mother had given him when he’d received his MBA. He walked through the glass doors and into the lobby of the converted factory, with its soaring windows and rays of light that flooded the space.

  “Good afternoon,” he told the receptionist at the desk, and gave his name.

  “Yes. Ms. Goldstein is expecting you.” She handed him a small stack of papers and smiled. “Please take a few minutes to fill out these forms, and then I’ll take you up to her office.”

  Brock took the papers and sat in one of the chairs against the white walls. It didn’t take long to complete all the information they requested. He brought the forms back to the receptionist, who accepted them as she talked on the phone.

  The door near the desk opened. “Mr. Littleton, please come with me.” He stood as she held open the door. “Jane, I’ll escort him up.”

  “Thanks, Carol,” Jane said as her phone rang yet again. Things were clearly busy here.

  “I’m Edna Goldstein’s assistant, Carol.” She shook his hand, then led him to an elevator and up to the third floor. The doors slid open, and she motioned him forward. “Just down the hall to your left.”

  He went where she directed and sat in one of the chairs outside a closed office door. It opened just as he got as comfortable as possible, and a woman in her midtwenties, about his own age, hurried out of the office without a word and strode toward the elevator, shaking her head as though she had just witnessed something completely crazy.

  “You can go in,” Carol told him gently, unsurprised by what had just happened. Clearly this had been a recurring reaction.

  Brock stood and went into the office.

  “Please close the door,” Edna told him, then introduced herself. She looked a little ragged around the edges, but was otherwise the perfect personnel representative. She wore a gray suit with a white shirt, no ruffles or jewelry except a gold necklace that looked like it was from another century, and her hair simply done. “And please have a seat.”

  He took the chair across from her desk and handed her his paperwork, which she looked over briefly. “What sort of job am I interviewing for?” Brock asked.

  Edna cleared her throat and pushed the papers back on her desk. “The founder of our company, Martin Graham, needs a new assistant.”

  Brock could hardly breathe. He had come down here, all this way, through traffic and a packed subway, for a job as an assistant. He wanted to kick himself for not asking what the position was earlier on the phone. “I have an MBA,” he said softly.

  “I understand that, and Mr. Graham requires someone who can think on their feet.” She sighed. “I may as well come clean. Mr. Graham is not easy to work for. You are the fifth person I’ve seen today, and you saw how the last applicant reacted. They all have.”

  “I guess I didn’t expect to be coming here for this type of job.” Brock tried to hide his surprise.

  “I understand. It’s just that I was hopeful that someone with the discipline and skills that you seem to exemplify would be willing to take on a challenge. Mr. Graham is a self-made man who has overcome a number of challenges to build this business into what it is today. I would think that you’d be willing to learn from someone like him. Lawyers often clerk for judges in order to gain experience and make connections.”

  The truth was that while Brock was disappointed, he also saw the chance at some type of employment. It might not have been what he’d been hoping for, but it came with a paycheck, and he could definitely work with Mr. Graham.

  “What sort of tasks would be required?”

  Edna seemed to relax a little. “You would keep Mr. Graham’s calendar, as well as manage his appointments and conference calls.” She paused, seemingly on unfamiliar ground. “Are you truly interested in the position?”

  Brock found himself nodding. He’d grown up in a rough neighborhood and had learned to be scrappy. In truth, there wasn’t a great deal that was going to put him off. He could be Mr. Graham’s assistant while he looked for another job. At least he’d have a paycheck coming in. “Yes.”

  “Good.” She leaned across the desk. “In addition to screening calls and managing his calendar, you would be in charge of making sure his office is exactly as he wants it. He’s fastidious about the way his desk is kept, as well as the placement of furniture there and on the entire floor. You might need to drive him to appointments and assist with a number of other duties. Mr. Graham will explain those to you himself.”

  Brock tilted his head to the side. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?” His entire spine tingled, and not in a particularly good way.

  “Yes. You see, Mr. Graham is effectively blind. He can see only to a point. He wears glasses, and they just keep him from being declared legally blind, but only just. I can tell you that he is fussy and demanding, in part because he has to be in order to navigate a sighted world, and in part because the man is a real pain in the ass sometimes.” She actually smiled. “I know that seems unprofessional, but you need to understand what you’re getting yourself in for.”

  “Is that all?” Brock asked with a sigh. “The way you talked, I thought there was something really seriously wrong with the guy.” He could handle that; Brock was sure of it. Being picky about his surroundings made a lot of sense to Brock, and he could figure out the rest.

  “All right,” Edna said, finally leaning back in her chair as though she was satisfied. “I have a few more questions for you. Can you travel?”

  “Certainly.”

  “This job could involve long days. Mr. Graham is usually the first person in the office and often one of the last to leave. Is that something you can accommodate?”

  Brock shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I worked hard in school and spent a lot of long hours in labs and behind computer screens. I don’t have a family at home.” And going back to his shitty, tiny apartment wasn’t exactly something that filled him with joy. “If we can come to an agreement, then I’ll be prepared to work.”

  “Wonderful. Can you drive? You do have a license?” Edna seemed to be ticking off boxes now, at least in her mind.

  “Yes. I have a car.” He didn’t tell her that it spent most of its time parked with a cover over it because he couldn’t really afford to take it out. The parking space was the one and only perk that came with the shitty apartment and part of the reason he’d taken the rathole.

  “Excellent. If you’d like to step out, I’ll verify your references.” She stood and walked around the desk, and Brock stood as well. Edna opened the door. “Carol, please get Mr. Littleton a cup of coffee.” Edna motioned him to a seat. “I won’t be long.”

  She closed the door again, and Brock placed his case on his lap. He accepted a piping hot cup of coffee that smelled as rich as any he’d ever tasted. It was sure better than the Maxwell House he had at home. Brock sat as still as he could, though his left leg bounced slightly, making his case tilt.

  “Carol, I can’t seem to find the files I created for the Cartwright deal.”

  A man in a stunningly cut midnight blue suit that was nearly black except when the light hit it approach
ed her desk. His voice was as mellow and smooth as the coffee that had just crossed Brock’s tongue. Brock swallowed hard, trying not to stare at the exquisite example of masculinity as a gentle waft of expensive cologne tickled the edges of his nose. He was so tempted to close his eyes and inhale, just for a little more of the enticing aroma.

  Carol’s phone rang, and the man told her to answer it, leaning slightly against her desk. “Oh my gosh,” Carol said, paling slightly. “You have got to be kidding me. Why didn’t we find this out sooner? … You’re certain?” She shook her head. “Okay. I’ll come in tomorrow at ten. … Yes, of course. I know these things happen, but James is going to have a cow.” She listened for a few seconds and then hung up the phone. “Twins,” she breathed.

  “That’s wonderful,” the man said. “Congratulations. I take it you weren’t expecting that.”

  “No. And now I have to get one more… of everything.”

  The man pulled out his wallet and handed her a card. “You put whatever you need on this. It will be my shower gift to you and your husband. This way I’ll know it fits and is the right color.” He snickered, and Carol took the card with a trembling hand, a tear running down her cheek. “This should be a happy time, not one of worry.”

  She grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes. Then she stood and followed the man away from her desk to another office down the hall.

  Brock sipped his coffee, still nervous and wondering just what he was getting himself into. However, if people here treated each other like that, then this was the kind of place he wanted to work, no matter who his boss was.

  Edna’s door opened as he finished his coffee. She didn’t seem concerned that Carol wasn’t at her desk, and motioned him inside. “Your references were perfect, and given Mr. Graham’s approval, I think you’ll do nicely.” She went over salary and benefits, both of which were more than he was expecting. She spent a few seconds typing and must have received some sort of reply. “Let’s go meet Mr. Graham, and if he agrees, you can start as soon as you’d like, preferably tomorrow.”

  Brock did a quick calculation and realized there was just enough time left in the month for him to earn enough to cover his rent and utilities. Breathing a sigh of relief, he followed Edna out of the office and turned toward the very front corner of the building.

  The rich, dark-stained office door was open. Edna knocked anyway, and they stepped inside. The man who’d stopped by Carol’s desk sat behind a huge, solid, glowingly polished wooden desk that had to be more than a century old.

  “Mr. Graham, this is Brock Littleton. He’s agreed to be your assistant.”

  Dang, sex-on-a-stick in the perfect suit was his new boss? Well, hell. Brock put all the naughty notions that had sprung to mind right out of his head. It didn’t matter that the man was so drop-dead gorgeous that he’d turn heads at a spring break Best Buns competition, hands-down. Brock was not going to have thoughts like that about his boss.

  Carol stood off to the side, going through the filing drawers in the credenza that lined the wall to the left.

  “It’s good to meet you, sir,” Brock said, walking to the desk with slightly heavier footsteps than normal. He waited until Mr. Graham stood and extended his hand, then took it and shook robustly. “I’ve read a great deal about what you do here, and in fact, my mom started one of your company’s subscriptions for me when I graduated high school.”

  “Excellent.” Mr. Graham sat back down. “Any luck, Carol?”

  “Sorry, sir,” she answered, still looking through the files. “Wait….” She pulled out a folder, brought it over, and placed it on the desk right in front of Mr. Graham. “I believe that’s it.”

  “Where did you find it?” Mr. Graham asked.

  Carol and Edna exchanged a glance, and then Carol left the office without answering.

  “Sir, I was wondering if you have any questions for Brock before he starts.”

  “Yes. Can you follow instructions and be conscientious? Don’t do tasks halfway, but the way they should be done, the first time?”

  “Yes, sir,” Brock answered.

  “Drop the ‘sir’ crap. I’m Martin. And I’m demanding, particular, and a pain in the ass. Right, Edna?”

  Brock swore Edna’s bottom jaw was going to hit the floor at any second. “Yes.” From Martin’s smirk, there was some sort of inside joke that Brock wasn’t privy to.

  “Why do you want to work for me?” Martin leaned back slightly in his chair. “I’m sure you’re overqualified if you came from the pile of applications that Edna and I went over earlier today. Why would you want to be anyone’s assistant?” He leaned forward, squinting behind big, thick glasses. “No bullshit, and don’t blow smoke up my ass.”

  He was straightforward; Brock had to give him that. “I need the work. I graduated from NYU with an MBA, and no one is hiring right now. I have a crappy apartment that I hate, but it’s the only place I can afford, and I’m not going to move back home with my mother. So I’ll take this job and be the best damned assistant you ever had.”

  “Until you get a better job,” Martin said, sitting back, looking at what seemed to be the ceiling or the door. Brock supposed it didn’t matter. “I can respect that.”

  Well, that’s a surprise.

  “Edna explained that we need someone who can start right away?”

  “Yes. I’ll be here tomorrow morning,” Brock promised.

  “Good. You’re hired, and we’ll see how things go. When Carol finalizes the dates for the Cartwright trip, make sure you let Brock know. I’m going to need an assistant to come with me.” Martin turned to his computer, and it began reading to him. “I have a dinner meeting on Saturday. Make sure you’re available, and there are back-to-back meetings for tomorrow. I’ll need you to take notes.” He stood and walked to the windows, his wide shoulders and narrow waist creating quite a silhouette against the bright afternoon summer sun. He was stunning in that light, and Brock let himself admire the view for a second before his brain slipped back into gear. Brock wasn’t sure what Martin was staring at, but he seemed to be looking out toward an incredible view of Manhattan. “I’ll also need you to straighten out those files. It seems my last assistant moved things around just to be disruptive.”

  Brock started to wonder if he should be taking notes, except he hadn’t even started yet.

  “Martin, you’ll have time to organize your thoughts before tomorrow,” Edna said.

  “Of course.” Martin didn’t turn around. “Welcome to the fire. There is no frying pan here.” He clasped his hands behind his back, and Edna nodded, motioning Brock toward the door.

  Once they were out of the office, they returned to Edna’s, and she had him fill out the employment paperwork while Brock wondered what the hell he’d just gotten himself into.

  Chapter 3

  MARTIN ARRIVED at his usual time, heading up to his office. He knew each step, each desk as he passed it—even the spot where the carpet was a little loose. He needed to have it fixed, but had been resistant because it was one of his milestones. At that spot, he always knew exactly where he was.

  The first hint that something was different was a scent, one he’d picked up on briefly the previous day. It was stronger now, and intensified the closer he got to his work area.

  Martin reached for the door but found it open.

  “Good morning.”

  He knew that voice. Brock.

  “You said that you wanted me to straighten out these files, so I’ve been going through them. I found a few items that were out of order and put them back in what seems to be their correct place.” A drawer rolled and snapped closed. “Whoever messed them up didn’t do a very good job of it, thankfully.”

  Martin continued to his desk, nodding in agreement.

  “Do you want some coffee? I was going to get some for myself.”

  “Please. And close the door on your way out.” Martin really wanted his hour of absolute quiet before he had to start his very busy day of conference cal
ls and meetings. He sat in his chair, got his computer up, and let it read his email messages. He was in the middle of answering them when Brock placed a cup of coffee in his hand and then left the office.

  Martin continued working through his mail until his phone buzzed. He snatched it up. “Yeah?” He had been hoping for a few more minutes to finish the paperwork before his full schedule intruded.

  “I brought you some breakfast. Would you like me to bring it in?”

  Martin was floored. No one ever interrupted him at this time of day, and yet his stomach rumbled at the thought. Though he never ate breakfast, he was instantly hungry. “Thank you.” He hung up the phone and went back to work. A few seconds later, the scent of eggs and ham reached his nose. He paused in the middle of his last email.

  Brock set down a plate, touching Martin’s hand as he did so. “I refilled your coffee as well. Your first meeting is in twenty minutes. Carol showed me how to designate appointments to go to your phone and watch, so I made sure everything for today is coded that way and that the materials are all attached to the calendar entries the way you like them. I’ll leave you to your breakfast,” Brock said before he exited the office once again.

  Martin took a bite of his breakfast, then wolfed it down before his watch vibrated and told him where he needed to be.

  BY NOON, Martin was nearly wiped out. The meeting seemed to go on forever before he stepped in to get them to the point.

  “Do you want me to order your lunch?” Brock asked as Martin walked back to his desk. Once again, Brock’s scent grew stronger as Martin approached and hurried past.

  “Please. The Italian restaurant just down the street has gluten-free pasta. I’d like some of their linguini with pesto.” He closed the office door and breathed more easily. How was he supposed to get through his days when every time he opened his door, a scent he reacted to like Viagra filled his nostrils?