Feverish (Bullet #3) (4 page)

So when it came to her own relationships, she
was pragmatic. She learned at a young age that it was better to
extricate her heart from the matter and instead focus on how a
relationship would benefit her life. The first two boys broke her
heart when they called it quits, but Emily saw that as being
similar to marriage. One of the boys said he just wanted to explore
other relationships, and the other was nice enough about how he
said what he said, but Em surmised that he just didn’t like her
much after spending time with her.

Emily never stopped to think that some of her
friends’ marriages ended because the woman wanted them to. She
imagined it all the man’s fault. And after dating a lot of guys
through high school and college and getting serious with several of
them, she realized she couldn’t have it all. The guys who really
made her heart beat, her blood rise to the boiling point? Those
were the men she couldn’t get along with. Ultimately, she knew,
being with them would spell disaster. The men who treated her well
and worshipped her on some level might not make her get all tingly,
but often they were reliable good guys who would take care of
her.

Bryce fell in that category. He was a good
looking guy too, and she’d found him exciting at first, simply
because he seemed to be a little of both—a steady guy who flipped
her switch. But her switch didn’t stay flipped. She refused to
leave him, though. She felt like she had to give it a fair shot.
They were decent friends, and that had to count for something. So
what if she didn’t feel her pussy dripping every time he kissed
her? That didn’t mean anything, did it? She was sure it didn’t. So
while Emily’s sweet father continued extolling the virtues of her
fiancé, Emily twirled her dark brown hair and tried not to
fantasize about what kind of guy might be the real man of her
dreams.

* * *

Clay lay on Brian’s couch, trying to fall
asleep. He and Brian had been friends since high school, and Clay
was grateful for the guy. He always managed to bail Clay out when
things got rough. Clay had gone to the power company office that
afternoon to pay his bill. They gladly took his money but said they
couldn’t restore his power until tomorrow.

He even offered to pay extra, but they
weren’t having any of it.

He was feeling lucky now that he’d paid his
income taxes, like he could pretend he had anything to do with it.
It had only gotten done because his accountant had him on a list.
The guy’s life revolved around April fifteenth, and Clay paid him
well. The taxes were always done on time. Clay just had to sign and
write the check.

Clay could have stayed at home that night,
but without power, he couldn’t have done much of anything. He
couldn’t get on the computer or the TV, and he certainly couldn’t
jam out an improv Judas Priest solo like he’d been wanting to. An
acoustic version of any song on that album would be a travesty. It
would have to wait until he was plugged in again.

So he’d called Brian and asked if his friend
had plans. Vague ones, the Last Five Seconds bassist had said, but
when Clay suggested food and libations (his treat, of course), his
friend had taken him up on the offer. So they’d gone to Chili’s,
and after they finished their burgers, they knocked back several
beers. He told Brian about Tatiana followed by his power going out,
and after Brian laughed so hard he cried, he told Clay he could
crash on his couch.

Last Five Seconds had sold millions of
albums, had toured worldwide, and yet Brian still lived in a shitty
little apartment. Every time Clay questioned him, Brian said he was
banking most of his money. He didn’t need anything bigger, and why
buy something that would involve upkeep? Clay still didn’t get it,
especially while trying to get comfortable on the lumpy couch, but
he wasn’t going to mention it—not today when he could so easily be
fodder for Brian’s jokes, and justifiably so.

Korn’s song “Never Never” was playing on the
stereo in Brian’s room, and it made Clay smile. He tried not to be
wistful, a state he didn’t fall prey to often and made sure he
avoided at all costs. When he got right down to it, he knew he
intentionally avoided thinking about the way he felt. Sweet little
Valerie was just meant to be a little summertime fling, but she’d
worked her way into his heart.

Didn’t matter. He had a beautiful child who
lit up his life, and he had enough pussy to last a lifetime. He
loved his job and he had everything he could ever want. Well,
everything except organizational skills. He would have been
laughing at having the power shut off just because he’d forgotten
to pay a bill…if it hadn’t been the first time it had happened. He
really needed to get his shit together.

* * *

Village Inn the next morning, only Brian
insisted upon paying this time. Clay had a bit of a headache, but
he refused to believe alcohol had anything to do with it. He’d
drunk a lot more of lots harder stuff in the past and had no
problems, so he couldn’t believe it was the beer talking.

The coffee hit the spot. The hot black liquid
was welcome relief on his dry throat.

While they waited for their breakfast, Brian
said, “When are you going to buy yourself a planner, man? Or at
least start using the reminders feature on that fancy, expensive
phone of yours?”

“I use the stupid reminders, dude. It doesn’t
work. It’s just a little notification I miss and then it’s a little
number in a red circle over a fucking phone app. It doesn’t
translate into real world shit I have to do.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a
personal problem.”

“It is, and it sucks.” He took a swig of the
hot coffee. “I just hope the power’s back on by the time Mary gets
there, or I’ll have to hear how she couldn’t run the vacuum
cleaner, dishwasher, washing machine, et cetera, et cetera, et
cetera. I can already hear her in my head.”

Brian chuckled but said nothing at first. The
two men scoured the menu and were ready to order by the time the
waitress came back by. When she left, Brian said, “You’ll probably
dismiss it, but have you ever considered hiring a personal
assistant?”

“What? So I have another bill I forget to
pay?”

Brian reached over the table and slapped Clay
on his temple, not hard, but enough to get his friend to pay
attention. “No, you fuckin’ dumb ass. You get a personal assistant
to help you manage all the shit you can’t keep a handle on.”

“So…the assistant worries about paying the
bills?”

“Yeah, and other stuff too. A good PA will
make sure you’re never late to anything, never late
for
anything, and all that shit. A good PA will organize your messy
ass.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Of course it is. But you better pay them a
lot. They’ll earn it with you.”

Clay chuckled. “You got that right.” But if
his electricity stayed on for the rest of his life, a personal
assistant would be worth his weight in gold.

When he got back to his house, he talked to
Mary about it. Mary agreed wholeheartedly and even offered to write
the ad and place it in the paper for Clay. She’d often had to pay
for his disorganization in multiple ways, not the least of which
was asking her boss to write a check for her already late pay.

“So, you’ll interview them, right?”

“No,
tonto
.
You
’ll do the
interviews.”

Clay followed Mary across the kitchen. She
picked up a notebook and pen that she had on the table. He said,
“But what the hell am I supposed to ask?”

She handed him the writing materials. “I
don’t know. How did you choose me to be your housekeeper?”

He shrugged. He couldn’t remember. He
did
know it had mostly been luck. He hadn’t known what to do
or how to do it, but he’d called a temp agency and they’d sent
Mary. He’d asked her a couple of cursory (and, yes, probably
stupid) questions and never given her back. “I drew a straw.”

“Don’t do that for a personal assistant. You
need to know they’re organized and care about your reputation.”

He smiled at Mary. She might have given him
grief once in a while, but she was good at her job, and he was
certain she’d never confessed whom she worked for, but he was also
sure she did care about his reputation. He nodded. “Well, could you
at least help me? I can pay you extra.”

She sighed, but he could see the twinkle in
her eye. “All right. First, we need to decide what job duties your
personal assistant must be able to perform…and none of them will
involve any of your body parts.”

Clay laughed…and then let Mary write the
ad.

Chapter Three

EMILY WAS BROWSING sites like
Monster.com
and online ads in local newspapers seeking a job
that was looking for skills like what she had but also utilizing
her soon-to-be-earned MBA. However, she wanted something low
stress. She wanted something that would spotlight her skills,
demonstrate responsibility and capability yet still be something
that she wouldn’t mind walking away from in six months or a year
when she found the perfect entry level or junior exec position in a
powerful corporation. She knew she could have a job with Bryce’s
dad’s company anytime she wanted, but she was hoping to move up
through the ranks of a corporation on her own accord. His father
was upping the ante, though, promising her a
better-than-entry-level position if she joined his company in the
fall when Bryce started work there as well.

When she came across an ad online for a
personal assistant, she thought she might have found the perfect
fit. She printed it after she read it and then opened up her resumé
on her laptop so she could tweak it a little:

MUSICIAN SEEKING PERSONAL ASSISTANT. While
this position is currently being developed, some of the tasks
required will include organizing mail, paying bills, running
errands, setting up and confirming appointments, accompanying me to
interviews and appointments, and other duties as assigned.

You will report directly to me and work alone or beside me and
occasionally work with other staff members. Candidates should be
familiar with Microsoft Word and Excel, possess excellent
communication skills, have experience multitasking and solving
problems, be detail oriented and organized. Familiarity with rock
and metal music is preferred but not required. Candidates must be
willing to sign confidentiality and nondisclosure agreements.
About me: I am a professional musician who needs a personal
assistant to help me manage my busy daily schedule. I travel
frequently and have hectic demands that I often cannot attend to
personally.
I reward hard working team members generously.

She thought her resumé was good to go in less
than ten minutes and sent it, along with a cover letter, to the
email address listed. She didn’t let any grass grow under her feet,
though, and she applied for four other jobs that day.

One week till graduation, and Emily was
starting to feel nervous but excited. Bryce called her that
afternoon and asked her to accompany him to dinner that evening. It
was a little odd. They often ate together, and he’d usually just
swing by her apartment and pick her up. He was making a big deal
about it.

She tried not to let it bother her. She
busied herself throughout the afternoon by packing things she
didn’t need right away, because she knew she’d be moving out a
couple of days after graduation. She was also trying to decide what
things she could get rid of for good. Bottom line, though, was that
she’d be moving away from Boulder, the city that had been her home
since her freshman year in college. Most of the jobs she’d applied
for were in the Denver Metro area, not too far from where she was,
but far enough that commuting would be impractical. Moving was part
of the equation, and she thought it was a good thing. It would
signal a new chapter in her life, one in which she was a fully
realized adult, responsible for herself.

Bryce came by her place around six. She
smiled at him. He really was a good-looking guy. He had short dark
hair and blue eyes. He worked out just enough to stay fit and so he
was solid all over. He was a few inches taller than she stood and
already owned several custom-made suits. Usually, though, he
dressed less business like although not as casual as a lot of
people on campus. His typical outfit was a button-down long-sleeved
shirt paired with trousers and plain shoes. Emily knew he would be
a dream for most girls on campus, the ones who wanted to land an
eligible bachelor with lots of money and a bright future. When her
heart rate slowed upon seeing him, she had to remind herself of
that.

He grabbed her about the waist and pulled her
close, kissing her. She kept waiting for that spark, the tiny one
she’d felt when they’d first dated, but it wasn’t anywhere to be
found, so in the back of her head, she chanted her mantra:
He’ll
make a great husband. He’ll make a great husband.
He asked,
“Ready?”

She nodded, reaching for her purse and then
closing the door behind her once she’d joined him in the hall. “So
what’s up?”

He grinned at her. Oh, yes, he definitely had
something up his sleeve. “Nothing.”

“Hmm” was all she said as he took her hand in
his. It didn’t take long before they were at her favorite
restaurant, a Chinese place that catered to her vegan desires.
That’s when she knew he was definitely up to something, but it
didn’t seem as sinister as it had before.

They ate an enjoyable meal, but she still
felt anxious, wondering what he was planning. When the dishes were
cleared away, he pulled a small black box out of his pocket and
opened the lid. Inside was a beautiful but almost gaudy diamond
ring. “I know we’ve already talked about it, kitten, but I’d like
to formally ask for your hand in marriage.” Part of her was
horrified, but the girly part, the part that believed in fairytales
and romance, was rapt and giddy. “Should I ask your dad
instead?”