Secrets of the Apple (17 page)

No point asking Kate. She’d just say, “To keep your clothes on,” probably muttering “moron” under her breath. Still, the act had touched him, had purchased the goodwill that had kept him from throwing her out of his room last night, even drunk as he was. She began to save his life the instant she took his shirt between her fingers. Intellectually he could see that, but he didn’t understand why. Again, why did a button matter? He closed the buttons in his palms and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the full burden of his life, the whole heavy, complicated mess, encapsulated in two disks of mother of pearl. Somehow he’d missed something, something big and important, some powerful key that would allow him to decode the secrets embedded within buttons and homemade chocolate chip cookies. It came to him that he needed a teacher, someone who had the key even if she didn’t realize it, someone who didn’t scare easily, and more immediately, he needed someone who could help him in Brazil. He needed to take Kate to São Paulo.

The notion and what it would involve unnerved him at first, and he backed away from it. Kate was terminally American and would be an awkward fit at a Japanese company. A good Japanese assistant would be a more logical choice, someone who already knew what to do and how to be trusted by her Japanese co-workers. He remembered coming home after completing his prestigious foreign education and accepting congratulations from so many smiling people who bowed, but smelled faintly of envy and distrust. He could almost hear the unspoken question: Is he still one of us, or has he become a stranger? The trouble had been compounded by his father, who consistently assigned him to foreign offices where he would have more autonomy, more opportunity for leadership experience, pushing him through the ranks so he could take control early, leaving his father free to retire, heedless of the native mistrust that might fall upon his son. Ryoki’s foreign associations, which had been so profitable for the company, were sometimes an Achilles heel within the office, and bringing in Kate might only make that worse. The thought nearly made him dismiss the idea out of hand. Yet a certainty persisted, an absolute conviction that she had something he needed, that this chance should not be missed, no matter the risks.

His mind revolved around the problem until it occurred to him that São Paulo wasn’t Tokyo. Several members of his São Paulo team had been with him in London and all had had foreign assignments at one time or another. Certainly they would be more understanding. Of
course
they would. They would be much more understanding.

By morning Kate seemed such an obvious choice he wondered that he hadn’t offered her the job a month ago. As the sun rose he fell asleep, blessing the lucky twist of fate that had pushed her teaching job back to January. When they met for brunch she pushed her newly trimmed hair behind her ears and called him “Ryoki.”

R
yoki did not approach Kate right away; such a seismic shift required careful planning and he spent the rest of the weekend semi-distracted as the details of her position in São Paulo took bone and flesh in his brain. First trick, getting her to agree. For some unfathomable reason she still clung to the notion that she should be on vacation.

Monday, San Francisco: that’s where he’d spring his attack. No, attack was the wrong word—
ambush,
that was it, an elegant ambush. He’d start his offensive with a box of fine Belgian chocolates nestled in little handmade papers, a replacement for the single square of proletarian chocolate she bought every day after lunch.

At eleven on Monday morning he began listening for her stomach to growl. Six minutes later, he pulled the box from his desk drawer and laid it in front of her. “I thought this might be more efficient than going to that vending cart every day,” he said, screwing his face into good friend mode, to show her he looked out for the little things. He watched her hands as she picked up the box, caressing the embossed lettering. Encouraged, he loaded the opening question and sighted down the barrel, which was when he noticed her expression, equal parts pleasure and horror.

“Thanks, that’s really nice of you,” she said uncertainly, heading back to her desk, balancing the box on a pile of papers.

“Uh, you’re welcome,” he said, his brow momentarily creased by her unforeseen reaction. No matter, just wait till she pops one in her mouth. Nothing mellowed her out like a little chocolate; he knew this from experience. Two hours later, brash and confident, he ambled over to her cubicle to initiate Phase Two: Invite her to lunch, a good place nearby, quaint and comfy, then spring it on her.

Unfortunately, he found her with her forehead on her desk, slump-shouldered and wretched, surrounded by little handmade papers spilling from a green box depopulated of all Belgians.

“Wow, does your stomach hurt?”

“No,” she whimpered, misery echoing back from the surface of the desk. “I could eat another pound, easy.”

“I’d like to see that,” he said without thinking.

 “You’re an enabler, get out!” she squeaked, her head popping up from her desk.

On his way out, he felt the green box thump him in the back as little handmade papers fluttered to the floor. There they remained for the rest of the day in a crackly trail from her desk to his.

Abort Phase Two.

Undaunted, he reset Phase Two for Wednesday. Forget the chocolate. He’d take her to lunch someplace trendy and chic, make her feel honored and important, soften her up with atmosphere.

Brian Porter gave him the name of a place owned by a client, even phoned in the reservation himself to make certain they would get a good table. The restaurant turned out to be a spacious room at the top of a hill, very modern, blond wood, white-on-white décor and three glass walls showcasing San Francisco’s spectacular bay and cityscape. Ryoki estimated that three-quarters of the bill was going to pay for that scenery, so he took a good long look to make sure he got his money’s worth. Kate liked views and he expected a bit of ooh and aah or perhaps a sharp intake of breath as she first laid eyes on the postcard panorama fanning out at her feet. But she made no sound, perhaps overcome by beauty. Turning, he found her keen eyes focused inside the room, specifically on the immaculate maître d’ as he choreographed his staff in their elaborate ballet. “Help like that is hard to find in the United States. This place must be very— special,” she said, looking suspicious, on guard. Not good. He needed her to be relaxed and open, like she’d been that day at the park in St. Helena. Maybe he should have taken her on a picnic. Crafted a couple of mind-blowing sandwiches.

No, no more picnics. Unprofessional. Give her the wrong idea. Maybe scare her off. He started pointing out the window like a tour guide, grasping at random landmarks, killing time while she ate her salad. Lettuce wouldn’t mellow her out like chocolate, but at least it had never prompted her to throw things.

Five minutes into their entrees, he launched the opening gambit. “I guess you know I’ll be heading down to São Paulo in a month or so.” She smiled and took a bite of her roast duck. “You’ve been invaluable,” he added.

“It’s been my pleasure,” she said, putting down her fork and chewing slowly before touching the napkin to the corners of her mouth and replacing it in her lap.

“I don’t actually have an assistant in São Paulo yet. The last one married a Brit and quit when I left London.”

“That’s too bad,” she said.

“We work well together.” In truth, Kate was the first assistant he’d ever had who never complained that he left too much unsaid, who sometimes even finished his sentences for him. She smiled at him with her mouth closed, her gaze steady.

“Nice restaurant, two compliments. Is this going to cut into my vacation?”

Ryoki’s witty, rehearsed speech evaporated and the truth poured forth in an ungainly rush. “I have to take the helm of a new division headquartered in a country where I don’t speak the language or know the customs. I could use your help, just to the end of the year. You know the culture and you already have a solid grasp of what we’re trying to accomplish down there. You’re the obvious choice.” The flood stopped because he ran out of air.

“I don’t speak much business Portuguese, and São Paulo has an enormous Japanese population. I’m sure assistants will be easy to come by,” she said slowly.

“You’re a quick study. You didn’t speak much business Japanese when we first started, but it didn’t hold you back.” He hesitated before plunging forward. “The job would naturally reflect your abilities. You’ll translate in meetings, help me learn Portuguese, generally assist me in the office, coordinate my schedule and run my household.”

“Household?!” The word sounded like a choke and she took a tight grip on her glass, looking ready to fling it in his face and storm off.

“I mean keeping an eye on the staff, coordinating with the housekeeper, administering household expenses. You know, act as a sort of administrative liaison between my public and private lives. It’s really just a minor expansion of the same job you’re doing now. For the most part. If you think about it.” He trailed off, knowing he’d made a weak beginning. He’d never had that type of assistance, a non-family member involved in every part of his life, and even now he couldn’t decide whether the idea was more exciting or terrifying. But he had a troublesome sense that the great knowledge he sought was somehow camouflaged in the world outside his office, and with time so limited he based his strategy on an immersion program, like a student moving into a foreign language house, December marking the end of term.

“In other words, your life is too big and you want somebody to carry the other half.” She huffed softly and stared out the window, moving her lips and fidgeting her hands as though silently reviewing her objections, revising the script for precision and conciseness before she gave her presentation. He allowed her all the time she needed and when the torrent finally commenced he listened, intently. Listening had always been his saving grace in business. He’d pulled off a number of amazing deals because he listened, conscientiously observing his opponent’s body language, the timbre of his voice, taken written note of every problem, made certain no point went unattended.

When he spoke to Kate he spoke softly, sympathetically, addressing her objections one by one, laying out the compensation package, reminding her of every nice thing she’d ever told him about Brazil, appealing to her sense of adventure, pointing out the pluses to her career. On and on for two hours it went, until the graceful waiters had begun setting up their dinner service and the maître d’ started shooting tight-lipped glances in their general direction. By the time they left the restaurant, Kate had agreed to consider his proposal, and he felt so confident in his performance that he expected an affirmative answer by the next morning at the latest. He needed to know soon if he were to be adequately prepared.

However, Kate did not oblige him the next morning or the next, or even the next after that. Ryoki watched her carefully for any indication of what she might be thinking, but she gave no sign of even remembering their discussion. By Friday, Ryoki was genuinely nervous that she had decided against it and intended to simply put him off until it was too late. If she hadn’t spoken by Tuesday he’d try to sweeten the deal, but he suspected she wasn’t holding out for money. If she didn’t go, he felt somehow it would be a personal rejection. Not a professional way to think, he knew that, but still, the worry nagged, left him feeling exposed, uneasy in his stomach.

Luckily, on Monday morning Kate sat down across from his desk. “I’ll be alone, so I want a secure apartment with a piano, in a safe neighborhood. I also want weekends off, except for special circumstances, so I can pursue the private interests I would have pursued at home.” She paused to gauge his expression, her hands folded in her lap. “I will assist you, but no one else. I’m not going all the way to Brazil to be the general office gofer.” Again she paused. “This is going to be very—” she struggled for the right word, but seemed to come up empty, “—different for both of us. If you decide to back out, I won’t be offended.”

“It
will
work out,” he said.

She paused in the act of getting up and looked at him thoughtfully. “That’s exactly what Brian said.”

As soon as she had settled in to work for the day, Ryoki escaped to the privacy of Brian’s office to call São Paulo and initiate preparations for her arrival. He had a surprise planned for her new apartment in Brazil, a thank you for saving his life, but it was going to take time. As he picked up the phone to make that first call, a nervous tickle flickered through his belly, the same thrill of fear he’d felt on his thirtieth birthday when he’d parachuted out of a plane with nothing but five kilograms of diaphanous nylon between himself and a horrible death. He took a deep breath and punched in the numbers.

The next day he sat across from Kate and contemplated the sensitive issue of her wardrobe. If her clothes had been too short, tight, sheer or wildly outlandish he could have pointed out some universally recognized impropriety. Instead her taste ran to modest, classic cuts and fine quality, nothing apparently objectionable. Still, he had a prickling concern that an outfit which played fine in English didn’t necessarily translate appropriately into Japanese. Just then a copy boy brought in a sheaf of papers, stammering and grinning as he spoke to Kate, even staring moon-eyed at her back as she stood up and hurried away. Poor kid, a beautiful woman in red just tagged him with a toothy smile. He never had a chance. There was the basic trouble right there. It wasn’t just the red suit. On the whole she dressed with too much panache, too much individuality, and in some inexpressible way, too much allure for his office. He thought about how he could make her understand, what words he could use to tell her she looked too,
romantic
. Hmmm. Not keen to have that argument, couldn’t possibly end well.

He’d hoped to avoid the whole difficulty during the initial negotiation when he offered her a clothing allowance as part of the deal, intending to include a highlighted and annotated copy of the company dress code with her contract. Unfortunately Kate had considered it a negotiable perk rather than a pointed hint and argued for a monthly book stipend of less than half the amount, claiming she wouldn’t have time to shop in São Paulo but she could always order English books online. It would have looked fishy for him to decline the better offer so he conceded the book allowance, reluctant to offend her at such an early stage in the talks. But after watching the copy boy, he knew that if he were to arrive in São Paulo towing a pretty American in a red suit, his people would think he’d brought his mistress to work. It didn’t take much to destroy a man’s credibility, especially a young man promoted by birth rather than experience.