Thankfully, the subway shakes, and no one can tell I’m quivering as I ride it back home to Brooklyn. I’m still buzzing after everything that happened today – still stuck in that zone where I’m processing emotions but not fully able to mentally process what actually happened.
As bad luck would have it, Mr. Crown’s call to London went long and then he had to personally go to a production meeting after lunch while I was re-organizing the old filing system on Carlos’ orders, so I left the office without being able to reunite with my new boss again.
But then again, maybe that’s actually a good thing. Maybe I needed a chance to clear my head and get my mind right, because the last time we were together and he told me to get down on my knees in front of him, and that I was a good little girl, I was almost one hundred percent sure I was going to pass out before we got into whatever it was he had planned for me next.
It all honestly feels like a dream now as I think back to my day. When I first walked through those doors, on the verge of a panic attack, and then my encounter with Gretchen basically convincing me I wouldn’t even last the day. Not only did I last the day, but I was showered with praise by Mr. Crown, maybe the most handsome billionaire CEO on the planet.
No, scratch that. The most handsome billionaire CEO on the planet.
He told me I was sexy, that I had the body of a goddess, that I was a good little girl…and I don’t think a single person I knew will believe me.
But that’s okay. I don’t need them to. His praise is enough. More than enough. It’s all I need, in fact. The feelings that swam through me when he looked at me and said those things is beyond anything I’ve ever felt before in my life. Maybe that’s partially due to the fact that I never knew my dad, but it’s not like I just run around looking for male approval from every single dickhead there is in the world.
No, the fact that it’s coming from Mr. Crown means something. Or Jude, as he wants me to call him now.
I’m smiling like a little kid as I get off at my stop and make my way back to my apartment. My roommate, Mel, is in the living room, lying on the couch in front of the fan when I come in.
“You made it!” she gasps semi-sarcastically as I set my bag and purse down.
“I made it!” I laugh, throwing my arms in the air as she races over to give me a hug. At the sound of her squeal, Rachel and Steph both emerge from their rooms. Steph has the dead-eyed look she always has when she’s been studying for too long.
“How was it?” she asks.
“He didn’t fire you?” Rachel asks. “I thought for sure he’d fire you.”
“What!?” I gasp. “Why would you say that!?”
“Everyone knows that guy loves firing his secretaries,” Rachel replies.
“What!? I didn’t know that! How do you know that!?”
Rachel shrugs. “A girl at one of my auditions mentioned it when I told her my roommate was going to be working for him. Said it’s like an open secret or whatever.”
“Why didn’t you tell me!?”
Again, she shrugs. “I didn’t want to discourage you.”
“Holy shit, Rachel,” Mel says, shaking her head. “You could have at least warned the girl.”
“Right?!” I sigh with a laugh.
Rachel is an aspiring actress who faces rejection on a daily basis, so I guess she’s more used to it than I am.
“Annnnnyway,” Mel says as she drags me into the kitchen. “A celebration shot for our victorious girlfriend!”
Without waiting for a reply, Mel grabs the shot glasses from the cabinet along with a bottle of vodka and begins pouring. Out of the four of us, she’s the only one of legal drinking age. The rest of us groan.
“Oh, God no,” Steph says. “Mel, I’m studying—”
“Exactly! You need to loosen up! And our girl here just landed a job with Mr. Crown, the hottest, richest hunk in America. That’s something you bitches can all do a shot to, now come on. Grow some balls!”
I really am not a drinker, and under normal circumstances would protest, but I can see that Mel is really excited for me and is in one of her not-taking-no-for-an-answer moods, so I take the glass from her, and so does everyone else, and with a flourishing toast, we down our shots. Almost in unison, everyone but Mel chokes back their groans of disgust.
“There we go!” she cheers. “Now, Penny, tell us all about it!”
There’s a split second where I consider spilling everything – from the emergency trip to Saks, to the compliments, to Jude telling me to get down on my knees in front of him as he undid his belt buckle. But then my judgment gets the best of me, and I quickly change my mind.
“Well, it wasn’t that crazy really,” I lie. “Just general stuff like learning the office routines, where things are, how to work the coffee machine. You know. Kind of boring. But I do have to get to bed; I have to be in pretty early tomorrow, so yeah. Thanks for the shot, Mel, I’ll see you guys tomorrow after work!”
Mel boos me as I quickly scurry away to my room and close the door behind me. It feels wrong lying to the girls, but it’s also definitely wrong to go running my mouth about my new boss and how he came onto me at work when he doesn’t want anyone knowing about us…whatever “us” is.
That’s a scary thought, honestly.
Us.
What am I thinking, actually? I just met Jude and I’m already thinking about “us”? Just this morning I was calling him Mr. Crown and was terrified about being fired, and now I’m thinking about our future or whether or not we have some kind of relationship that needs to be kept secret from the rest of the world?
I must be losing my mind. But what else am I supposed to think after the things he said to me? Or does he just want to keep me around for a little bit of fun like guys like to do? Not that I have any experience with that, but he’s a billionaire CEO with a never-ending line of girls just waiting to do his bidding. Why would he ever want to give that up for a silly, no-nothing, upstate girl like me?
I shake my head and head to the bathroom to take off my makeup. This is something I can’t afford to think about right now or I’ll never get any sleep. And sleep is what I need if I’m going to be able to function tomorrow. So I do my best to push these thoughts from my mind, I get ready for bed, go back to my room and climb under the blankets. And thankfully, it’s not long before I’m fast asleep.
I’m awoken by the wailing of my phone buzzing and beeping beside my bed. I snatch it and check the caller ID:
Unknown.
I almost don’t answer, but then I notice that it’s 2 a.m. and a tiny voice inside me questions what kind of spam caller would be calling at 2 a.m. So I pick up.
“Hello?”
“Penny.” Instantly I’m awake.
“Mr. Cr—I mean, Jude?”
“A car will be buy your apartment in twenty minutes,” he says simply. “Be ready. Wear something sexy.”
Before I can respond, he hangs up.
Panic floods my body. I sit up, praying that in a moment I’ll wake up and realize I’m dreaming. But that doesn’t happen. I’m still sitting in my apartment, in the dark, staring at the ugly orange light seeping through my window from the streetlamp outside.
A car? Something sexy? Is he joking? I have the least sexy wardrobe in existence. The closest thing to sexy I own was the outfit I bought today, and I can’t exactly wear that over again after already wearing it to the office, can I?
Twenty minutes.
I spring into action, throw on a T-shirt and race into the bathroom to perform the quickest makeup and hair job of my life. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins. Is he trying to kill me? Because that’s sure what it feels like as I run back to my room and start rifling through my drawers, searching for the sexiest bra and panties I own, which end up being a black lace thong with a somewhat matching black bra.
That’s it as far as lingerie goes. I don’t own stockings, a garter, any kind of cool strappy top thingies, or anything else that would impress a guy. I’ve never had any need for such things.
As sheer panic sets in, I check my phone. Nineteen minutes have passed. I quickly race into the living room and glance out the window to see if a car is sitting outside waiting, but thankfully all I see is weird Mrs. Norman in her raincoat walking her three corgis. I’m just about to head back into my room when I see it – Rachel’s trench coat hanging by the door, the one she kept from a play she did a few months ago. And then it clicks.
“A little Desperate Housewives action,” I mutter, smiling to myself as I snatch it off the hook, slip into it, and race back to my room for my heels. I’m just getting into them when I hear the sound of an engine out front. I grab my purse and phone and race to the door and look out the window. Sure enough, there’s a car parked out front waiting. “Yeah, this all feels like a dream.”
But just in case it isn’t, I slip my keys into my purse, head outside, lock the door behind me, and make my way down to the steps where a very expensive-looking car is waiting for me like I’m some kind of celebrity or something.
I take the steps down to the sidewalk, my fingers crossed behind my back. This is either going to go incredibly well or is going to end my career at Crown Enterprises.
“Here we go.”
