Strapped (10 page)

***

The next morning, I wake up to what I can only describe as a vice tightening around my skull. I see blonde hair and my heart races for a second, remembering the guy I danced with the night before. My foggy memories pour in very quickly and I remember leaving the club with Taylor, him screaming in Russian to the blonde guy, and Taylor reprimanding me in the car. That’s as far as I can recall. The blonde next to me now is Lizzy. As I peel myself off of the bed, my body aches. I am so hungover, and every cell in my being feels miserable. I recognize we are in Taylor’s suite. What the hell happened last night? Do I even want to know? I look down and see that I am still wearing the red dress, except it has rolled up to the middle of my waist. I tug it down and very slowly walk out of the bedroom and into the main area.

Taylor is seated at the table, a full breakfast spread in front of him and an iPad in his hands.

“Good morning,” I croak.

“Good morning Shy.” He looks amused. How cruel, to be amused by my pain and humiliation. “You should have some coffee. Take a seat.”

“What happened?”

“Do you remember last night?”

“Well, yes, in parts. I remember everything up to the SUV and then that’s it. Why is Lizzy in the bed with me?”

“It appears Lizzy had just as much to drink as you did. I told Henry he and Lizzy could come back here, but there wasn’t much of a party. Lizzy wasn’t feeling too hot herself. I volunteered to make sure you both were taken care of. Welcome to Holden Enterprises, where top level executives act like college students.”

His comment is a punch to the gut. “Taylor, I am so sorry. This is so embarrassing. You have to know I am not like this...”

“I could tell you don’t drink much.”

My smile turns into a wince, as a wave of nausea hits me. “I haven’t partied like that since college and I guess I didn’t account for the lack of practice. I feel like such an idiot. This is inexcusable.”

“Listen, I took you there. I made it clear it was okay to party last night. Don’t beat yourself up about it. When you see Henry and Lizzy, you’ll feel like a champ. As long as you work hard and get results, I don’t care what else you do.” Taylor pours me a cup of coffee.

“I feel so sick. Did I puke last night?”

“No, but I was concerned you would and I wanted to make sure neither one of you ended up on your backs.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t want you to choke.”

“Oooh. Ok.”

“The other meaning too, which is why I had to pull you away from that sleazebag.”

“Oh no! That guy! I almost forgot. I’m even more embarrassed. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” I bury my head in my hands out of sheer frustration with myself.

“The guy was a jerk.”

“Not that I will ever tell Rick, but he appreciates what you did for me last night.” Taylor’s face becomes solemn and he looks down to take a sip of his coffee. The mood of our conversation changes so quickly. “Are you mad at me Taylor?”

“No, Shy. I get it. I know you don’t drink a lot and you overestimated the amount you can handle. Just don’t pull that crap again. I can’t always be around to rescue you. Just think what could have happened if I wasn’t there.”

“I’m sorry.” I look down with a pout, doing my best to use my baby face to garner some sympathy. “I acted really stupid last night. I don’t think you realize how incredibly embarrassed I am at this very moment.

“Again, I don’t care about the partying, as long as you produce results. I just don’t want you to get hurt is all.”

“You don’t ever get drunk, do you?”

“If you mean do I like to drink until the point where my cognitive and motor skills are significantly impaired? The answer is no. I haven’t done that since college. I do enjoy some responsible drinking to take the edge off.”

“You didn’t drink last night.”

“Well when I saw...Nevermind.”

“What?” I ask.
I hate when he does that.
Taylor eyes look past me and he shakes his head disapprovingly. I turn around to see a very disheveled, and worn-out Lizzy.

“Fuck me.” She says, scratching her head. “Did you lay me out on the road last night and drive over me back and forth with the SUV?” I am beginning to learn that Taylor may appear to be a stern businessman, but the people he keeps closest to him are some of the most interesting characters at H.I. Lizzy sits down at the other open chair and pours herself a cup of coffee. “Did I have fun last night?” she asks. “Taylor, don’t look at me like that.”

“Did you know you left Shy out on the dance floor and she was nearly attacked?” Taylor scolds, half serious, and half mockingly.

“Oh my god! What happened Shyla?”

“Nothing. Besides this massive hangover, I am fine. Can we just move past last night? I made a fool out of myself and the embarrassment is punishment enough” I rise to go to the bathroom and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair looks like a nest and my eyes are completely encircled in smudged makeup. Awesome.

“Sure thing ladies,” Taylor says rising from the table. “You are both going to love what I have planned for us this afternoon.” He grins mischievously.

***

Taylor planned a surprise for the H.I. staff in Russia to thank us for all the hard work we put in. Now, here we are, on a fucking boat. I am hungover on a fucking yacht. The catered food looks amazing, but I can’t stand the sight of it. Taylor was kind enough keep the boat anchored for a while so that the rocking wouldn’t be so terrible. What I feel most terrible about though, is that he spent all of his time and money (or Marsha did) on this lovely outing, and Lizzy and I are ruining it for everyone. I take a nap in the bedroom and hope that I will feel normal enough when I wake up to tolerate the trips to the numerous canals and rivers of St. Petersburg.

I wake up to the sound of the door opening and footsteps coming toward me. When I open my eyes, Taylor is sitting on the chair next to the bed. I try quickly to regain my wits; I don’t like the idea of him catching me off guard and possibly looking like hell again.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“Yes, I brought you some coffee and food. You’ll continue to feel sick unless you get something into your system.” I know he is right, but the first bite is the hardest. I take the plate from his hand and take a peck from one of the crackers.

“I feel so badly that I can’t enjoy what you planned out for us. It is amazing. I am really sorry. I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was great to see you all have some fun, even if it didn’t end on the perfect note. I just hope you feel well enough to join us upstairs when we get moving.” Today his hair is shaggy, and he is wearing a pair of khakis with a thick, heather gray, cable knit cardigan and boat shoes. He looks like he belongs on a billboard. I take him in as I slowly ingest the crackers. I can’t help but smile.

“What?” he asks with defensive playfulness, as if I am mocking him.

“Taylor, can you believe we met just weeks ago?” I watch him ponder the thought and he grins his crooked grin.

“No Shy, it feels like I have known you much longer.” I smile.
I feel like I have known you forever too.
I can’t say it though, he is still too unpredictable. I still don’t know when I will get Taylor or when I will get Mr. Holden. A comment like that will make him clam up again. Things have been so relaxed between us on this trip, even after last night’s drama. Maybe I have worn him down. Maybe he realizes he doesn’t have to put up the persona with me.

“You are a great boss. All of the people around you want to do right by you because you treat us all so well.” I look into his crystal eyes and I think I see them glisten, but I can’t be sure.

“Thanks Shy. I was right about you. I’ll see you upstairs hopefully.” He stands up and heads out of the room. He always does that, stops the conversation just when I feel we are connecting. I wonder how he would have reacted if I told him that I felt like I knew him too, that I feel an inexplicable connection, that he is all I think about. I quickly rid my head of those wandering thoughts. They are childish and dangerous and I cannot let them take a life of their own.

Taylor was right, the food, while not completely curing me of my hangover, makes me feel strong enough to join the group. I head upstairs to warm welcomes from the gang and we spend the afternoon exploring the waters of St. Petersburg.

Chapter Nine

The next day, all I can think about is the gala. Throughout the morning, I sit through some more meetings, but my consciousness is wrapped up in the night’s festivities. I have never been to an event of this magnitude. Russian and American dignitaries, politicians and top business figures will be in attendance. I usually shy away from events that require mingling with people I do not know. This event is particularly something I would be nervous about considering the caliber of those I will be required to entertain. This time however, I feel strangely excited. I have studied many of the influencers in attendance and it feels like a game, juggling my multiple responsibilities. My body is tingling with nervous energy, knowing I will be by Taylor’s side all night, possibly holding his hand. I hope that since Taylor has been to these type of events before, he can help me navigate the elite social scene while I help keep him comfortable and educated about important guests.

Since Taylor goes to so many fundraising, business and political events, it is impossible for him to keep up with the people he meets. Sometimes he remembers a face, but not a name, or he remembers a name, but he has no idea where they come from. Yet he has maintained a reputation for being great with people and remembering details and conversations from years past. Now I know why. Taylor visited Russia last year and met many of the people that will be at the gala tonight. Many of the people we encountered in our meetings this past week will also be in attendance. I am to remind him of names, and provide quick nuggets of information so that he can engage them. If I do this right, he appears impossibly charming and thoughtful. I think I have a system down, but I have no idea how it will work in action. The hardest part has been memorizing Russian names and I am terrified I will totally botch them. I have been practicing them in front of the mirror this entire week during my free time. During our drives to meetings, I have been rehearsing names out loud which Taylor finds highly amusing.

The gala begins at seven o’clock and we return to our rooms at four-thirty, allowing us a comfortable amount of time to clean up and get dressed. I brought a simple black cocktail dress that I had worn to a friend’s wedding last year. A gown was not included in Mona’s shopping spree for me and I didn’t have any time to go shopping before we left. As I enter my freshly cleaned hotel room, I debate whether I will have some time to check in with Rick or Kristin on Skype. I texted Rick when I landed the other day and each night before bed, but haven’t had the time to call him since I arrived. I want to take my time getting ready and don’t want to get sucked into a long conversation, but I figure if I Skype Rick I can get ready and talk at the same time. I kick off my shoes, turn on the television and walk over to my bed, where I plan to set up my laptop. Then it catches my eye: a white garment bag laying on the bed alongside a shoebox and a small white bag.
What is all this?
The curiosity makes me feel like a child about to unwrap her birthday gifts. I cautiously walk over to the bag and catch myself looking around, to see if someone is watching. Of course this is Taylor’s doing, who else could it be? I grab the hanger which is facing away from me while half of the garment is hanging over the edge of the bed towards me. I hold the garment bag in front of me and use the other hand to unzip it. Out slithers an icy blue satin dress. The fabric is unlike any I have felt before and I discover at that moment that satin isn’t just satin. The dress has a heavy liquid quality and pours from the hanger. I pull it completely out of the bag and marvel at its delicate beauty. It is fastened to the hanger by small spaghetti straps and has a subtle cowl neck that appears to sit just below the collarbone. I turn the dress around and the back cowl is very low. I estimate it will graze my lumbar. Above the cowl is about two or three inches of the most beautiful lace that skims across the base of the back. Finally, a small train adds an air of elegance. The gown is simple, elegant, sexy, luscious, and feminine. I hang the dress up in the closet and plan to try it on once I get through the other items. In the box is a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals in a silver color. The next bag has a jewelry box.
Oh no he didn’t.

I don’t wear a lot of jewelry and don’t usually get excited about it, but the gesture, the act of receiving this gift makes me breathless as I open the box. Inside is a delicate necklace. It is white gold or platinum, with a solitaire diamond on the end. Just above it are two chandelier earrings that reflect the light as if they were illuminated from within. Like a waterfall of diamonds, they cascade down about two and a half inches. I don’t even feel myself lower onto the bed, sitting there with the box held close to my heart. I have never been treated like this, making a large part of me grateful, and a small part of me wary. There are always those lingering questions in the back of my mind:
What does this mean? Does he want me? Does he want something from me?
He has been alone with me many times and I feel as though he cares for me, but that is as far as I can know for sure. Perhaps he is just a generous person who is especially grateful to me? I just don’t know. Lost in thought, I return the necklace case back to the white gift bag, when I notice another small box inside. This one is not velvet like the jewelry case, but instead a firm cardboard material, indicating to me it houses an item of clothing.

I open it and recognize the black lace. My heart nearly skips a beat. This must be a coincidence. Black thongs are not the Hope Diamond, they can be purchased anywhere. My heart reels. Can this really be one of the pieces I selected at Bella’s? I don’t know what any of this means and it sends my overall anxiety level to a new high. The anxiety is delicious. It is the same feeling one gets just before a first kiss, or the first time someone you like reaches over to touch your hand, or when the person you have secretly loved finally looks you in the eyes in that way. I step away from the bedroom, trying to collect my thoughts. Skyping Rick or Kristin is now out of the question because I can’t sit still. I refrain from saying anything to Taylor until I see him. I need to get ready and gather myself, the airy feeling in my head makes me no match to his wiles.

I devote my nervous energy into getting ready for the event. First I set my hair into long, cascading curls and pin them up into a loose side bun. Next, I use the makeup purchased for me: rosy cheeks, pale lips, and bright eyes. It’s about six o’clock when I hear my phone buzz.

Lizzy:

Hey are you ready? I am stopping over to your room so we can head out together.

Shyla:

Yes. I am almost done. Just head on over.

I hide all the bags. I doubt Lizzy already knows about Taylor’s penchant for buying me things, and I don’t want anyone knowing from me. For one, there is that stupid NDA. My other concern is Lizzy’s big mouth. She is completely capable of saying something in front of Taylor that would turn me into an exploding bright red tomato of embarrassment. Minutes later, there is a knock at the door. Lizzy looks hot as usual. She is wearing a long chiffon strapless black dress and this time her short blonde hair is full of volume. Her makeup is much softer than last night and her blue eyes sparkle.

“Oh Shyla! That dress!” She says to me as she walks in. “You look stunning, like royalty.” I return the compliment.

I have to admit, never in my life have I felt this beautiful. I never would have used that word to describe myself before, but today it feels right. We head to the lobby to rendezvous with Henry and Taylor. I begin to feel the delicious anxiety again. Will I get the same cold reaction I received the night we went to the club? Impossible! He chose this outfit for me. Didn’t he? There is no note, or if there was one I missed it while being caught up in the items. The urge to go back and check starts to nag me. What if there was some sort of proclamation? I almost turn to go back to my room to check when I hear Henry’s voice greeting us.

“You ladies look wonderful.” While there are parts of Henry that make me want to gag, he is beginning to grow on me. He looks handsome in his classic tux, his hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Taylor is nowhere to be seen. Henry informs us that he is outside on a phone call and offers to buy us drinks from the hotel bar. I decline. I am still recovering mentally from the hangover and there will be plenty of champagne passed around the during the gala.

I anxiously await Taylor’s return. I want to see his reaction, but at the same time I cannot bear to look at him. Like a shy girl trying to catch a boy’s eye, I want to admire his beauty and avert my eyes just before he looks back. From a distance, I see him walking through the lobby with a drink in his hand. He must be nervous about tonight. Henry signals to him and he begins to walk toward us. How can he be such a beautiful collection of parts? It was as if he was molded from clay, an artist’s vision of a demigod. How can someone be so lucky? Even as a woman, I feel a twinge of envy. To have just one of these traits: intelligence, looks, strength, or inherited wealth would be considered hitting the genetic lottery. To have them all, that just seems unfair. What is the price he must pay? Everyone must pay a price. I know. He is alone and he is trapped in a world of rituals, but it is more than that. While it appears he copes just fine, something tells me that there is something else. Sometimes, when he thinks no one is watching, I see the sadness. I have walked by his office and watched him sitting, his back towards the door, just staring out into the woods as if searching for something. He never speaks about his family and makes a point to avoid bringing them up in discussion. He does everything to give to those around him and I am beginning to believe the glare of their smiles serve to blind him from his sadness, even if for a short while.

He is wearing a modern tux, with a black tie. His hair is parted and combed to the side. He wears the classic hair so well. His eyes look bluer today. I love how they lean blue or green depending on his mood or the lighting. I pretend to be occupied in a discussion with Liz, I can’t bring myself to look at him directly because I feel everyone in the room will know, they will feel the weight in the air between us. I sense his eyes on me and I look towards him coyly.

“Hi.” That’s all I can get out. The word barely cuts the air.

“Hi.” He says. His voice is breathy too. I wonder if Lizzy and Henry can tell. I rely on the fact that Henry only concerns himself with Henry. Lizzy however, I fear will soon be able to tell that something is there. We don’t say another word to each other as we all walk to our limo. I grab a glass of champagne to distract me, while reminding myself that this is a work event and I am on duty. I try to center myself and bury the childish emotions. We arrive in front of the Hermitage Museum Winter Palace. It would feel like we are 18th-century royalty arriving to a ball if not for the flash of cameras and vehicles lining up to bring guests to the red carpet. The magnitude of the event is overwhelming. It wasn’t long ago when I was designing brochures on my dining room table and now I am a guest among the international elite. I take a deep breath as the limo driver guides me out of the vehicle. It’s game time.

I am all smiles as we walk into the palace. It is the grandest thing I have ever seen. Gilded sculptures, ornate moulding at every corner, winding staircases, columns, and arches engulf me. When a little girl imagines Prince Charming’s castle, this is it. I pause to take it all in, scanning the magnificent architecture and artwork. Standing next to me is the physical embodiment of Prince Charming himself. While my story is no fairytale, tonight will be my perfect night, in the way it was for Cinderella before the spell ran out. We enter the ballroom, which is already buzzing with activity. A server walks by with champagne and I immediately swipe two glasses, one for me and one for Taylor.

“Here you go Mr. Holden,” I say, tongue in cheek. His tense jaw loosens up as he smiles and takes the drink from my hand. Before he can react, a man makes a beeline towards us. My mouth utters the words to Taylor, on autopilot, I don’t even have time to worry if I am correct.

“It’s Igor Petrovich from Russian Grain United. We were at the factory a couple of days ago. His daughter fell ill and he could not make it.”

“Mr. Petrovich!” Taylor exclaims as if they were great friends. He holds his glass up as if to toast, which provides a great distraction from a possible handshake.

“Mr. Holden, my apologies for missing your visit to our factory. I know you traveled a great distance.”

“No need to apologize. I understand your daughter fell ill. I hope everything is okay.”

“Yes, she was rushed to the hospital the morning of our meeting. She had appendicitis and had to have her appendix removed. She is recovering at home.” He eyes divert to me.

Taylor catches it. “Ah yes, this is my assistant, Ms. Shyla Ball.” I offer a handshake, but instead he takes my hand and kisses it! I do my best to play off the shock.

“Very nice to meet you Ms. Ball.” His thick Russian accent begins to lean on the sleazy side. Taylor artfully closes the conversation and we move along.

We soon develop a rhythm. I spot a person, give him a brief summary or initiate conversation myself, help maintain his “rituals” and we go from person to person. The conversations are formal and brief, but pleasant. Taylor is so very good at this that I can’t tell that this is even a problem for him. It makes me wonder if the issue is as severe as he claims. It almost becomes too easy, so we begin to play a game where I throw in one fact and something completely fabricated that he has to sort through before the subject approaches.

“That is Mila Sayotovich. She is the Minister of Agriculture. Plays tennis a lot and collects miniature poodles.” He begins a conversation about the US Open, her bewildered looks makes Taylor soon realize he picked incorrectly. We laugh about that one for minutes.

An hour in, we reconnect with Henry and Lizzy who are also making rounds. Lizzy is a social force and has several men eating out of her palm already. Regrouping with them is a nice refuge from the facade Taylor and I have been holding together. As we chat, I notice a young, very attractive woman burning holes through Taylor from across the room and I begin to tense up. I haven’t considered what to do in a case like this. I never asked what the rules were regarding the opposite sex.
Am I supposed to cock block?
Henry and Liz reenter the crowd and not even thirty seconds later, this woman trounces over in our direction and stands in between Taylor and me. Apparently my presence is of no consequence to her. I recognize her as one of the attorneys from our proposal meeting for the fiber optics project. She knows I am just his assistant. I freeze. I don’t think to intercept her or fill him in about who she is. I transform from efficient assistant, to dumbfounded and trampled girl.

Tatyana Sikorsky, the name flashes in my head. She was no one of extreme importance that I was required to remember, it is just by chance that I recall being introduced to her before one of the meetings. She is attractive, yet very intense looking. Her eyes are catlike and unwelcoming. Her velvet burgundy dress is form fitting and low cut, revealing an ample bust. I should have thought about this; I should have asked him what he wanted me to do. I have no understanding of how his rules incorporate into his love life.