Fade In (9 page)

He stands, walks around the island, and extends a hand to me. This simple gesture, one that I do nearly on a daily basis, all of a sudden seems foreign. I stand, looking at him, lost in my own thoughts for a minute at the possibility of touching this smoking-hot guy.

The air between us gifts me with a lungful of leather and sandalwood. It's like I have an infinite capacity for oxygen, and I inhale for what seems like minutes, never wanting to stop.

“Tatum, I'm Ben Harris. It's is a pleasure to meet you.”

As these words float in the delicious air around me, I somehow find my bearings and raise my right arm waist high. Just like that, his fingers are wrapped almost completely around my offered hand. His pinky bridges across the back of all four of my fingers and his thumb settles on my wrist.

I knew I had miniature hands, but his warm hand swallows mine, and it suddenly feels like the handshake has lasted just a beat too long.

“You too, Ben. The pleasure is all mine.” This kind of tunnel vision is unlike what I'm used to. I'm hoping that it's from the heady feeling I'm getting from being around him and not one of those possible dizzy spells Dr. Meade mentioned.

His calmness makes my mind feel like it's floating away. I haven't experienced anything like it before.

I withdraw my hand, and he returns to the seat he left for our formal introduction.

I shake my reverie back and try hospitality on. “Can I offer you something to drink? As I mentioned, we were going to have a bite to eat before your interview. You're quite early. I wonder if there was a miscommunication with the time? Do you have anything that you need to do? Then perhaps come back at five? Or you could just hang around here until Neil returns and we could go through everything then?” I’m rambling again.

“I would love a glass of water. No, I don't have anywhere to be. Is it necessary that Neil is here for the interview?” he asks, and it's a fair question.

I open the cabinet door, take a glass out for Ben, then fill it from the dispenser in the refrigerator. I narrowly miss bouncing my noggin off the still-open cabinet door again before handing him the drink. Thank God I didn't though.

“No. I suppose not. I just hadn't prepared to do this alone. But you are here and I am here, so I don't really see why not. Excuse me. I'll just go get my notes and things. We can do it in here.”

“That works for me.” I walk into the dining room, where we've been seeing the other applicants, and grab my legal pad and one of the question sheets Neil printed out. I hear him ask, “What is it that you are looking for in a personal assistant?”

There are many ways I can answer that question, but for some reason I answer more candidly than I did when Ms. Type A had asked the same one just hours before. “Well, Ben?”

“Ben,” he offers.

“Ben, then. I am losing my sight. There isn't any way to avoid it or predict when it will be gone. The only thing I know is that it is inevitable, and my sight is getting worse at a faster pace than it was. My doctor suggested going to a blind camp or something like that and to simplify. So, in lieu of the whole blind camp suggestion, I decided to take the latter part of his advice and simplify. I thought that having a personal assistant would be a good idea. You know, run some of my errands, help me stay organized and on schedules. I will also be hiring driving and cleaning services. See? Simplify.”

“Sounds like you have it all figured out.” I can still see something else in his eyes. The man looks like he's humoring me.

“Yes, Ben. I would like to think that I do have it figured out. I believe that, with some assistance in those areas of my life, the blindness will have a smaller impact and therefore it will be easier to ease into.”

“You are planning to ease into blindness?” He is without a doubt humoring me. And he isn't even making an attempt to hide it.

“Do you see an issue with that? I'm sorry, I thought you were here to be interviewed, not me. Why exactly do you want this position? You seem amused by all of this.” Irritation begins to grow within me, but I'm curious about what he is thinking.

“I am not really sure how to answer that. I think that I could certainly be helpful to you. I suppose I've been looking for something a little more”—he pauses as if thinking of the right word—”challenging.”

I look up at the microwave and notice that Neil's been gone for longer than normal. He should be walking in at any minute. I could use him right now. He wouldn't let this interview derail like I clearly am. “Excuse me.”

“Of course.”

I reach around where Ben is sitting and grab my purse. It takes two swipes to hook the strap on my purse, and I think he notices that my aim is a bit off. I grab my phone out and see that I have missed calls from Winnie and Cooper. Plus, I have a text from Neil.

Neil
: That place was packed. Are late lunches the new black? After waiting I got pissed. Went down to the other deli on 82nd street. I'll be back in 30.

I reply with a short and sweet ‘hurry up’ message and set the phone down. “It seems that Neil will be a bit longer. How about we talk about your credentials? Where did you go to school? Do you have a degree?”

Again, thoughtfully taking his time with his answers, he replies, “Yes, I have a few degrees actually. I went to school at Georgetown. I also have a lot of experience with blindness. I have relatives who are blind. So that might be of some use to your situation.” He looks to his hands and then directly back to my eyes. “I love your condo. Do you live here alone?”

“I do. I had it remodeled after I bought it. Thank you. Do you live nearby? That would be convenient for both of us.” As crazy as this interview began, he's actually pretty ideal for the job.

“Yeah. I live about twelve blocks from here. What are the hours for this position? Is it full time or part time?” He still looks relaxed, confidently leaning back in the barstool with his arm hanging over the back. He's perfectly comfortable. Surprisingly, I kind of am too.

“That's a good question.” I stop to think and bite my lip. Finally, I say, “I've never had a personal assistant like this, so I can't really say just yet. I would guess that, for the time, it would be minimal. Mostly mornings or afternoons.” I study his face to see any resistance, but it's not there. “I will have a better handle on it after I find someone and we naturally find a schedule that accommodates both of us. When would you be available to start? If hired, that is?”

Am I going to hire him? It's starting to feel like I’ve already offered him the position and he's deciding whether or not to accept.

“I could start immediately. Tomorrow if you'd like.” There is a smile in his eyes that's brighter than the one bending his mouth. “I think this will be a wonderful working relationship.”

Now I know that he assumes the position is his. “Well, hold up just a minute. I, uh… Wait.” I shuffle my papers, trying to find the other questions I know am supposed to pose, but before I land on any, I ask, “Aren't you interested in knowing about benefits or salary?”

“No, not really. I'm sure the package you'll provide will be adequate. Why don't we just start on a trial basis?”

“Did you just hire yourself?” I inquire, half laughing and half serious.

“Well, I certainly was able to assist you in doing that. So at very least, that should say something about how well we will work together.” And then he gives me a radiant, full smile. I can't keep my own from sprouting on my face, and for the first time today, I know that he is the person I want to see every day.

Shit. Maybe I should have him sign a non-disclosure or at least a waiver of harassment.

“Ben, I work in an industry where press can be tricky. I don't get a lot of it, but my close friends do. I would require you to be very tight lipped when it comes to my private life and theirs. And since you will be wading through my private life on a daily basis, I would require your discretion.” Most of that feels like it could have been left unsaid, but I want him to know that I won't tolerate it. “Furthermore, I am really inappropriate most all of the time. It is part of why I do what I do and how I do it well. I don't filter myself much and you may not like that. Do not be mistaken—I am usually a lady when I'm in public. But in private, I can be downright vulgar and I swear like a sailor. If you are, oh, I don't know…super religious or easily offended, then you may want to fuck off right now.” Ah, here's my mouth. If he wants this job, he has to be cool with me. I wait for his reaction to my favorite four-letter word to seal our deal.

“Tatum, you can trust me to protect your privacy and I fucking love sassy women.” He chuckles a bit, saying, “As long as you understand that I may tell you things that you don't want to hear from time to time, with regards to my job, I will have your best interest in mind at all times.” He's all business again by the end of his sentence.

He's a sexy-as-hell, sassy-liking businessman. I smile at him, and his reappears.

“I can live with that.” For the next few minutes, we discuss a schedule for the next week that we both can live with. I offer him a healthy wage and tell him that I'll pay him cash for our trial period. We exchange phone numbers and that's that.

I have a new fire-ass-hot personal assistant.

“Well, I guess that's all we need to discuss today. Thank you for coming, and I'll talk to you tomorrow,” I say to Ben as I walk him to the door.

When we get to the entryway, he offers his hand to me again, and this time I don't feel as hesitant to take it. This time it feels natural to put my hand in his. So I do, and once again, his masculine hand swaddles mine.

“Thank you, Tatum. Please don't hesitate to call or text me if you think of anything else you'd like to know. I'll see you tomorrow morning.”

I open the door, and here comes Neil with his arms full of paper bags and a drink carrier. He walks up with a confused look on his face. “Sorry that took so long, Tatum,” he says to me before he turns to measure up Ben. “Hello. I don't think we know each other.”

I grab the food from his hands, seeing what he brought me, and I'm instantly famished.

“Hello. It is nice to meet you. I am Ben Harris, Tatum's new PA. I'll be seeing you. I'll let you guys get to your late lunch. Goodbye, Tatum.” And like that, he breezes past us and walks straight down the hall and around the corner.

“W—w-what the hell did he just say? He's your new PA? What the fuck did I miss? Who was that?” He face is painted with questions and his cute little eye brows cinch together.

“I don't know. I thought you knew him. I thought it was just a misunderstanding about the time. He's qualified and very nice. I like him. He's laid back and chill. I could use that. I wonder if the agency slipped him in last minute or something?”

“Yeah, I guess that is probably what happened. You hired him? Really? Is it because he looks like he stepped out of GQ? Not that I'm complaining. I will love seeing him on a regular basis.” Neil's looks confused and also like he knows something I don't. I can only imagine what he is thinking about the whole ordeal.

“You're right. I should probably start saving money for my sexual harassment defense fund now, huh? Come on. I am as hungry as a hostage.” I am, and I want to tell Neil all about the mysterious Ben Harris, Personal Assistant at large.

I got a text from Ben a few minutes ago asking if there was anything he could grab for me on his way over and I all too eagerly told him about my coffee preference. There isn't much use in being coy.

I dressed up this morning a little more than I would have on a normal Wednesday. There is no point in pretending that he isn't hot. I know I'm his boss, but I can't have him showing me up on the first day. He wore some nice clothes yesterday, and I need to be prepared.

My yellow jumper dress and blue heels will give him a run for his money. I even gave myself a blow-out.

Just as I thought.
Ben arrives wearing dark brown pants and a fitted ivory button-up. I almost want to tell him he is fired and attack him.

I must suffer from major morning horniness and resign to the idea that I am just victim to a very potent version of female morning wood.

I need to get use to this.

“I have a list of things that I need done, including: finding a cleaning service, some scheduling things that I need you to rearrange so I can spend more time with Winnie on wedding stuff, and picking up my dry cleaning and a few groceries that I need for the house. Are you sure you really want to do all of this?” I ask, wondering if this is as stupid as it feels.

He's so hot for Pete's sake. Why in the hell would he want to do this?

But as I explained the tasks I need him to take care of for me, he only listened intently and smiled. “Relax, Tatum. You don't have to worry about this stuff today. I've got this. Just go to work and do your thing. I'll be here, well, I guess…doing your other things. Really, this is under control.”

His simple words make me feel like it really might be fine.

I give him a key to the door, and he offers to walk me down to continue our conversation. I tell him how to contact my new car service, the one that Cooper and I settled on the night before, and I ask him to contact Neil about synchronizing our schedules.