Personal Assistant (4 page)

       
Jonas
saw his Frankie reaching into a purse to pull out a thin permanent marker for
him to sign the doll with. He had her attention again, if only for a moment. He
held the doll and looked at it. She was obviously based on Frankenstein.

       
“Jonas,”
Frankie warned as he touched the neck of the doll’s shirt. He did it to provoke
her.

       
“Hmm.
Maybe I should sign her back.” He bent the doll half
way forward, placed it against the table and watched Frankie out of the corner
of his eye. He knew he had the doll in a precarious position. He slid the top
up and took his time, rather than making some scribbles, signing the doll’s
plastic back. He could have sworn her breath caught. Her cheeks pinked. The
marker dried instantly, but this was no longer about a signature for an
oblivious young fan waving to her parents sitting inside the restaurant. It was
about Frankie, her rapt attention to his every movement. He leaned over and
blew on the ink as though it needed the added air. Her lashes fluttered.
Satisfied he had rattled her in some way, he quickly pulled the dolls top down.
He held it out to the little girl still waving at her parents and said, “Here
ya
go, sweetheart. Thank you for letting me put my mark on
Frankie. I hope you take care of her.”

       
“I
will,” she promised as she hugged the doll. “She’s my best friend.”

       
Off
she took into the restaurant. His Frankie glared at him. She took a fortifying
breath and stood up. “If you gentlemen are done, I’ll clear the table. You
should be getting back. You might have time to get an hour of sleep if we can
beat the traffic.”

       
“Thanks,
Frankie.” Buddy handed her his plate.

       
Jonas
leaned back in his chair and looked at the practically bare street. He noticed
the cracks in the asphalt, the warm summer breeze, the sound of his fork
hitting the plate, and finally the sound of her feet against the pavement as
she walked away from them.

       
“What
the fuck was that?” Buddy asked in what could only be described as a yelling
whisper. His tone was loud, but his words quiet.

       
Jonas
shrugged as he looked at Buddy.

       
“I’ve
known you for years now and I have never known you to be so…rude to someone. Hell,
that doll thing made
me
uncomfortable. You need to figure it out, man. You either need to fire her or
fuck her, but you need to remember that she is in position to begin controlling
a good deal of your affairs right now. She knows your sister is pregnant. She
could easily…”

       
“She
wouldn’t. Even if she quit me, she wouldn’t. You know it or you wouldn’t have
said it.” Jonas looked at Buddy and he nodded in agreement.

       
“She’s
a good girl, Jonas. Be careful. You may get what you want, but you might not
want what you get.” Buddy stood as Frankie returned. He shook her hand and
said, “Thank you.”

       
“No
problem, sir.” Frankie smiled at Buddy as she said it. Jonas could not explain
the surge of emotions boiling in his gut.

       
“Later, bro.”
Buddy walked off towards his vehicle.

       
Jonas
sat at the table pouting, he hated to admit. He was concerned about the evening
ahead, he was confused by the feelings he was dealing with, and he was cranky
as hell from being at his agent’s office so early. Sometimes decisions could wait,
and sometimes they needed to be the first thing a studio head heard in the
morning. Today it had been the latter.

       
She
shook the brown paper bag she had in her hand and said, “I got you a cannoli to
go.”

       
“Frankie,
I…”

       
“You’re
tired. I’ll see what I can do to re-work the timing.” She smiled at him. Not
the genuine smile she gave to Buddy. More like the smile his mother gave him
the day he brought home an ant farm and declared them as his new pets. It was
the smile a woman gave to a child when she was placating. He grunted a light
laugh and got up. He was being a bit childish. He was aware of that. He needed
a nap, much like a cranky child might, but he was a grown ass man.

       
“Thank
you,” he said as they walked towards the car. He followed her around the back
end of the vehicle and reached for her door handle at the same time she did.
She pulled her hand back the moment it touched his. Frankie recoiled as though
he had bitten her. He pulled the door open with a frown and waited until she
was in before closing it. He walked back to the passenger side and got in. The
ride home was quiet, a conversation of silence. No radio, no discussion, just
the hum of the vehicle, the sound of passing cars, the smell of a beach coming
from the car air freshener. He was dozing in and out of sleep the entire way.

       
Frankie
looked at the man sleeping in her car. He was a puzzle. One moment he was funny
and fresh, the next he was trying to embarrass her in front of his
brother-in-law. She couldn’t quite figure out if he was doing it to be mean, if
he was mad she corrected him about her role at the restaurant when she didn’t
sit with them, or he was insinuating with the doll what he would like to do
with her. She gulped.

       
It
was too much. Frankie was practically on fire from the lascivious thoughts
running through her mind. She was trying to keep a professional distance while
admiring him. Now, as his head tilted at an angle sure to make his neck sore,
she could be close, she could look her fill, and not worry about those
brilliant blue eyes pinning her with their gaze, those luscious lips
hypnotizing her with every word. She wanted to drink in the details, but he had
to get some real sleep in his bed, and she had some rescheduling to do on his
behalf.

       
“Sir,”
she said gently. He didn’t respond. “Jonas.”

       
He
grunted.

       
“Sir,”
she said as her fingers dared touch his arm. The contact as electric as it had
been earlier, her breath as raspy as she feared it might be. “You need to
wake-up. You’ll feel much better in your bed.”

       
He
lifted his head, his lids heavy, his lashes long, full, tempting, kept her rapt
attention as he slowly became aware of himself and his surroundings. “I fell
asleep.”

       
“I
know.”

       
“Ugh,
what time is it?” He stretched as he shifted his head from one side to the next
stretching his neck as a hand moved to grab the offended muscles that were no
doubt aching from the awkward position he slept in.

       
“You
can still get about forty-five minutes in, maybe an hour.” Frankie got out of
the car. She had to. She wanted to touch those long eyelashes. She wanted to
rub his aching neck. She needed to get him in bed, but not for her own selfish
purposes. She needed to get him in bed and to sleep because it was her job. She
reminded herself of that. He was vulnerable and so was she, because this
situation was new to both of them. She had to learn what he expected and he
obviously needed to read the contract that laid out what his expectations were.

       
The
day she interviewed and he hired her, he’d said they would have lunch and hash
out the details. She naively thought it meant lunch with him, but it was lunch
with Lea. Today only proved he didn’t read her contract.

       
His
hand worked his neck as they walked the short walk from the front of his
garage, housing four vehicles, to the side door he actually used to enter his
home. She was seeing it for the first time. Ishmael had a luxurious dog house
out back with a fenced in yard of his own. She had punched in the code to the
gate and he came right out to greet her in that playful puppy way of his. It
didn’t escape her that the dog lived in better conditions than her apartment
afforded her. She made what she thought was decent money as a literature
professor at a state school, but she was practically living like a pauper
compared to all of this.

       
“Follow
me.” He motioned to her as she closed the door behind them.

       
Frankie
tried not to gawk at everything, but really, how often does one get to walk
inside a celebrity’s home. He was a private, public person. His home was never
on MTV Cribs or anything like that. Jonas wasn’t just any celebrity, either. He
was practically Hollywood royalty. His parents were both in the industry, his
older sister, her husband, even his older brother worked on independent films
from time to time. She knew a lot about them, in a fan-girl sort of way, but
she didn’t really know them.

       
His
home was immaculate. Marble tile led to genuine wood slats, wood floors to wood
stairs, stairs led to lush carpet, and at some point to a door.

       
“This
is the
office,
over there is a room you can use
whenever you need to. It has a king bed, an adjoining bathroom, the works. I’m
right here, across the hall.” He motioned with his head and then winced.

       
She
could manage the schedule they had. She kept telling him he had less than an
hour, but it was actually two if he went to sleep right now. Frankie did not
like to be late. With his current condition, she would have to play things a
little closer to the deadlines than she liked.

       
Her
blood pulsed through her entire body as she mustered up the courage to ask, “Do
you want me to work out that knot?”

       
He
didn’t say anything he just nodded. Exhaustion had rendered him speechless she
suspected. Her empathy was immediate. She followed him into his bedroom, a
place she never in a million years thought she would be. He toed the backs and
kicked off his shoes as he walked. She watched the belt land on the floor next.
His hand came up and over his head. He grabbed a fist full of material and
pulled the shirt off. Frankie could barely keep her vision clear. She had seen
this, seen his nakedness from this angle on a huge movie screen many times. The
live show was so much better. The moment his pants slid down his hips she
tripped over a wayward shoe and made a ‘whoops’ sound.

       
He
half turned, effectively stealing her breath and asked, “You okay?”

       
“Yeah,
I just tripped over a shoe.” She didn’t dare look at his face. She found a spot
on the pristine floor and stared at it until she heard his body slide against
the crisp linen on his bed.

       
“I
don’t remember massage therapy being part of your special skills or interests
on your application,” he mumbled around a yawn.

       
Frankie
gulped. She tried not to look at his ass covered snugly by a pair of designer
label boxer briefs.

       
Gathering
her wits she made her way quickly to his bed and sat next to him as she
quipped, “I have a lot of skills I didn’t put on that application.”

       
She
could feel the rumble of laughter from the vibration of the bed beneath her. As
her fingers pressed against the warm, soft flesh, deeper into the tense muscles
of his neck he whispered, “I bet you do.”

       
Frankie
wondered if she was meant to hear those words or if in his exhaustion he still
found energy to get the last word in. She put him to sleep in no time. Taking
full advantage of the opportunity she didn’t stop at one side of his neck,
reasoning that his shoulders were likely just as tense. It was a complete
pleasure to touch him. She found freckles she never saw in photographs or on
the movie screens. Her fingers slid gently over his skin one moment and then
pressed deeply into his flesh the next. Her heart thrummed, her clit pulsed.
She was afraid she might wind up with a heart condition before this week was
out.

       
Thinking
better of the decision to keep touching him, she got up, pulled the comforter
away from the empty side, and covered his body. It was already cooling from the
air conditioning. She shivered from the cold as she walked out of his room and
into the office.

       
Frankie
tried, but failed, to resist the urge to touch his things. She ran a finger
along the bookshelf and read the titles. She wondered if he had read them all,
if they were passed down from his parents, or if he simply stocked them for
aesthetic purposes. She recalled an article in which he had responded to a
reporter’s question stating he had recently read a book about pepper. She
didn’t see that book on any of the shelves, but then she didn’t climb the white
ladder attached to the wall to see what books were out of her reach.

       
A
few phone calls later and it was already time to wake him.

       
Frankie
walked quietly into his bedroom and found him just as she had left him, face
down, covered, and deep into sleep.

       
“Sir,”
she said a little louder than she intended. He didn’t seem to hear her. She
took a step closer, then another, finally she decided she would just get right
next to the bed and try again.
“Sir.”

       
“
Mmmm
?”
Was his
reply.

       
“Sir,
it’s time to wake up.” Frankie stood unsure of what to do next. Should she
shake him by the shoulder? Pull the blanket away? He was eating up precious
minutes now. She had anticipated his eager response to waking and getting ready
for the award show. After all, it was an award show.

       
Her
phone began to vibrate in her pocket and it scared her half to death. Before
working for Jonas, she hardly had a phone call. They agreed to let her keep the
phone number, but it would be shut off when she left the assignment.
Additionally, she was given the latest and greatest phone on the planet. She
had been on the job less than twenty-four hours and the calls going out and
coming in were steadily increasing.

       
The
news she was hearing was not good news. His date had canceled on him at the
last possible minute. Apparently, she had come down with some sort of illness
her assistant was not willing to discuss in detail. “Shit!”

       
Frankie
didn’t mean to shout, but it sure got his attention. He was sitting up in the
bed looking at her with his sleepy expression. His hair was pointing in a
variety of directions upon his gorgeous head. He was adorable. Frowning at her
he said, “Jesus, Frankie. Did you have to shout?”

       
“No.
I’m sorry.” She waved her hands in front of her. “I…well, Mathis just called
and…”

       
“She
bailed on me. I figured it was going to happen sooner or later.” He scrubbed
his chin and the sound of his fingers against the stubble must have reminded
him it was there. “I wonder if I should shave for this thing.”

       
Frankie
didn’t respond as he turned his blue eyes on her. His hand still at his chin he
opened his fingers and slid them down his neck, rubbed his thumb across his
collarbone, watched her watching him.

       
Frankie
could hardly breathe. She wished she had a voice to say something.
Anything.
Instead she tried to
will
her heart to slow down and prayed he didn’t see it thumping out of her chest in
a way that reminded her of a certain cartoon skunk whenever he fell in love.

       
“Well?”
He scratched his chest. The crisp hair covering his body only distracted her
farther. His hand slid lower, gripped the comforter.

       
Frankie
looked suddenly at the painting on the wall across the room as he pulled back
the white cloud of blanket and swiveled to set his feet on the floor. In a rush
she said, “Either way. It looks fine either way.”

       
“You’re
just saying that because you don’t want me to take up more time.” He stood up,
blocked her view of the painting. “You’re not uncomfortable are you? I mean,
part of the job involves the occasional undressed conversation.”

       
“No,”
she lied. Her gaze steadily fixed on his face, afraid to let her eyes drop
lower and gage what they never showed in the movies. 
“Of
course not.
I just noticed that painting over there.”

       
“Uh, huh.”
He stretched, shifted his head to one side then
the next. “It feels much better, thanks to you.”

       
“It’s
my job.” She nodded.

       
“Is
it your job to be ambiguous about my facial hair?” He smiled at her and headed
to his bathroom.

       
She
didn’t follow him, but he didn’t shut the door. Where she stood she could hear
him, and he could hear her, but fortunately she could not see him. The moment
the sound of liquid against liquid began she spoke up to hide her
embarrassment. She was in his bedroom listening to him pee. Surreal was the
only word that came to mind.

       
“I’m
not being ambiguous. You’re one of the lucky few who can wear a clean shaven
face and a well groomed, short I might add, beard and still look…”

       
She
heard the commode flush and then the spray of the shower. He wasn’t in it yet.
He called out to her, “Go on, I still look what?”

       
Her
feet were super-glued to the carpet. Unable to move, unable to think quickly
and backtrack out of there she seemed frozen in place. She cleared her throat
and said, “Sexy.”

       
“Interesting,”
he replied. “Glad you think I’m acceptable with the beard, Frankie because I
don’t have time to shave. Call Griffin and tell him to bring you something to
wear.”