Love and Brimstone

Chapter Six

Twenty minutes later, Taz still stood in her driveway, staring at her new Lincoln, when Robertson pulled in.

“What’s this?” he asked.

It took her a moment to respond. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. “My new corporate car.”

“You took the job?”

She nodded.

“Congratulations, Taz.” He hugged her and noticed she seemed dazed. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Nothing, I guess. I’m just not used to such…”

“Efficiency?”

She nodded. “I mean—” She thought about it. Was she really complaining the paperwork seemed to need nothing more than signatures? That it was painless? That it was…

Efficient?

Spooky.

“When do you start?”

“Monday.”

“Excellent.”

She spent the weekend working, bringing her former assistant up to speed. She would have to spend several hours in her old office on Monday, and Bob Stanley told her not to worry about clearing it out yet.

“If it doesn’t work out, I meant it when I said you can come back. I don’t want to kick you out. You’re too valuable.”

“Thanks, Bob. I appreciate that.”

“Although, considering the history I have with Hawthorne’s company, I can’t imagine you wouldn’t want to work for him. Wonderful family, great business. Never hear anything negative about him or his corporation.”

She checked in with Albert Thompson on Monday morning. “I’ll be there in a few hours.”

“Wonderful. No rush. Mr. Hawthorne understands you need to work through the transition.”

She pulled into the parking garage at Hawthorne International just after lunch, and the gate opened immediately. She was going to turn in to the main parking area, but another gate arm lowered, blocking her access. The only way she could turn was to valet parking.

An attendant opened her door when she pulled up. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to find out how to get to the main parking area.”

The guy smiled. “No, Ms. Proctor, you’re in the right place. You’re assigned to valet.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

“How did you know my name?”

He pointed to the booth, where a green light blinked on a control screen next to the computer. “Your car has a sensor—all the top execs do. It tells us who it is and automatically directs you here so we can park you.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“When you’re ready to leave,”—he handed her a laminated card—“punch this code into your phone, and we’ll have it waiting.”

She looked at it. “Okay. Thanks.” She gathered her things and, feeling like she’d dropped down Alice’s rabbit hole, headed for the elevator.

“Your parking setup is rather efficient,” she commented to Thompson who, most likely notified by the valet, was waiting for her upstairs by the elevator when she stepped out.

He took her laptop case from her and smiled. “Yes, it is. Why should you have to spend time looking for parking and walking around? It’s a great time-saver.”

“I guess.”

He led her to her office and set the case on her desk while she looked around.

“Mr. Hawthorne might not be in today,” he said, “but he told me to make sure you’re comfortable. Also, he told me to call the decorator if you wish to change the office around.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” she assured him. “It’s fine.”

“And if the chair”—at least a five-hundred dollar, top-of-the-line model that was like sitting on air—“isn’t comfortable, feel free to get whatever works best for you. Just put it on a corporate card.” He handed her an envelope with three different credit cards. Platinum Amex. Visa. MasterCard.

She looked around and resisted the urge to pinch herself. “I’m waiting to wake up and find myself in a dream.”

Thompson smiled. She really liked him, sensed he was a powerful man to have on her side. Maybe it was because his eyes were the same clear blue as Robertson’s that he reminded her so much of him.

“Mr. Hawthorne is well aware his company is run by employees, not by him. He knows that to be the best, you have to hire the best and treat them like royalty to keep them.”

“I bet the Christmas party is a real hoot, huh?”

“Wait until you see the employee cafeteria.”

Thompson gave her the tour. Hawthorne International owned the entire building. The lower eight floors were leased to tenants. From there up, the other twelve floors were corporate offices. Well, except for the five-star restaurant—employee cafeteria—occupying most of one floor. In addition to two floors containing a health club, complete with Olympic-sized indoor pool, medical clinic, dental office, day care center, hair salon, massage—

“Did the Google guys ever work here?” she half joked.

“No, but one of their vice presidents did. He liked many of our ideas.”

A golden retriever ran out from one office and greeted them in the hallway. Thompson laughed as he bent down to pet it. “Hello, Winston, old boy. And there are other perks.”

“So I see.”

Okay, so obviously Matthias Hawthorne can’t be an asshole if he lets people bring pets and kids to work, right?

They worked their way back to the top floor, which contained their offices, a security station with three guards on duty, conference rooms, and a private library. There were no administrative assistants or receptionists on their floor, which she thought was odd. It was very private. Except for meetings and the practically invisible security staff, it would normally be just the three of them.

“Mr. Hawthorne values his privacy,” Thompson said as if reading her thoughts. “Considering the nature of our many businesses, it’s best not to have people poking around. Easier to bring in those we need rather than worrying about keeping others out. If you were wondering, only certain ID cards allow access to this floor unattended. If you need assistance with paperwork or tasks such as that, your assistant is one floor below. You can video conference with her or she can come up to you. You don’t have to go down to her unless you want to.”

“Saves my time?”

“Correct. Janice is assigned to you. She has been with us for many years and is very—”

“Efficient?”

He smiled. “Quite. The main receptionist downstairs screens our calls. For now, most of Mr. Hawthorne’s calls will come to me. Once you’re up to speed, you’ll take most of his calls. Few go directly to him. Usually if he gets a private call, it comes through his work or personal cell phones. There will be few things you won’t be authorized to handle for him. With the exceptions he’ll go over personally, the rare others can come to me.”

“How often is Mr. Hawthorne in the office?”

“He might be here for a month straight, and then gone for six. Ah, hello, Murry.”

A huge black cat with a white star-shaped mark in the middle of its forehead jumped up onto the library table. He loudly purred.

“That’s a good sign indeed,” Thompson said.

She reached out and petted it. It rubbed its head against her, its purring louder. “Why’s that?”

“He doesn’t like most people.”

One question answered. “Really?”

Thompson nodded. “He’s been with Mr. Hawthorne for years. He isn’t a very social cat, I’m afraid.”

The cat proceeded to make a liar out of Thompson by meowing at him and head butting her elbow.

“I’m impressed, Ms. Proctor. He seems to have taken an instant liking to you.”

Taz scratched the cat under his chin and along his back at the base of his tail. Murry purred even louder still as he closed his eyes and arched against her hand. “I think I just made a friend.”

Murry followed her to her office and curled up in a corner chair, watching her work. She didn’t mind. She loved animals, but she didn’t have time for any of her own.

Albert Thompson stuck his head in her open doorway. “Oh, Ms. Proctor, did you find your passport?”

“Yes, I have it.”

“Good. You may be going to London on Friday.”

“Ah. Okay.”

He disappeared. She briefly wondered how he knew she had to find it when her phone rang, distracting her. Robertson.

“How’s the first day going, sweetheart?”

“You should see this place. It’s amazing.” She hadn’t seen the inside of Hawthorne’s office yet, but if hers was this nice, she imagined his was even nicer.

“I imagine.”

“Guess what? I was just informed I might be going to London this week.”

“Excellent. I can hold my toga party while you’re gone.”

She laughed so hard she thought she’d wet her pants. He knew how to crack her up. Tea party, maybe. Toga party? Robertson?

He’d die first.

Her office came with a custom sound system, satellite TV—sixty-inch plasma flat screen, thank you very much—and an inner office lounge area. Including a full private bathroom with shower. She could come to work, exercise, and shower before starting her day. Not that she was a huge exercise freak, but instead of dragging herself to the gym after work once or twice a week, she could incorporate it as part of her daily routine. She’d been meaning to work out more. Now she had no excuse not to get into better shape.

The next day she brought several CDs to work with her. There was little traffic on their floor, and she left her door open with her music turned down low so she didn’t disturb Thompson. “Classical Gas” was currently playing, relaxing her without distraction.

“I love Mannheim Steamroller.”

She jumped. Matthias Hawthorne leaned against her doorway, smiling. Maybe she would have to start closing her door so he couldn’t sneak up on her. The guy sure was quiet.

“Mr. Hawthorne. I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry I startled you. I just wanted to drop in and see how you’re doing. Is Albert getting you settled?”

“Everything is wonderful, thank you.” She tried to keep her eyes low, on his mouth—no, that wouldn’t work, she wanted to kiss those lips, but if she looked into those gorgeous eyes…

His lips curled in a smile. “Excellent. Did he tell you I might need you in London this week?”

She tried to control the heat building inside her under his gaze. “I’ll make sure I pack.”

“You’d only be gone a couple of days at the most, if you go. I personally keep a bag packed here, just in case. You can always buy what you need when you get there. Just put it on your corporate cards. Our travel department will handle arrangements for you, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Thank you.”

He took a step inside her office, as if reluctant to intrude. “I wanted to thank you for coming on board, Ms. Proctor. I know our company will greatly benefit from having you with us.”

That was nice of him. Bob Stanley always made her feel appreciated, but it was good to hear from the head honcho himself.

“Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne.”

He smiled, nodded, and left as quietly as he arrived. Like a ghost.

She was glad he didn’t try to get her to call him Matthias. Maybe Albert did, and maybe in the future she would, too, but not now. Not yet.

He was too damn gorgeous to get close to.

I’m not about to screw up the job of a lifetime by sleeping with the boss.

That evening, when she retrieved her car from the valet, she noticed it was gassed up and detailed.

What a time-saver.

Quite, as Robertson would say.

She felt spoiled. And loved it.