The Gift (2 page)

"Did you say something?"

Doren didn't flinch. Nor did he turn his eyes from the glass. When Diana touched his arm to ensure his attention, Doren rested his palm over top of her hand. "There sure are a lot of people out there."

There was a smile in her voice, excitement, even. "There sure is. We got a great turn out. You should be able to get a good feel for what kind of support is out there."

A laugh broke into their conversation from the back of the room and Doren turned towards it. "Anton."

"Doren," Anton nodded. Anton didn't need a nametag to identify him as the label's CEO, Doren had thought more than once. Somehow he managed to carry a look that identified him as both important and expensive all on his own. His hair was very short, very neat, very dark, and very shiny. So was his suit. And for some reason that comparison made Doren smirk and turn away again.

"You know what they say, don't you?" Anton continued, stepping beside the two of them. "A good assistant is worth their weight in gold. A best friend, even. Better than a wife. They're more devoted, more concerned, and at the end of the day," he looked over at Doren and winked, "they can't take you for half of everything you own."

Doren ignored the attempt at humor and nodded towards the glass. "I only want to see one of them."

Diana frowned. "One? Doren, there's almost a hundred people out there!"

"Yes. One," Doren repeated. "That one. There in the suit."

Anton joined him at the mirror, eyebrow perfectly raised, a frown creasing his otherwise flawless forehead. "Surely you aren't referring to that horrid little thing in the navy pinstripes?" He said the last word with so much inflection it could have been poison on his tongue.

Doren nodded, holding back his grin. "Yes, that's the one. Diana, would you bring him in, please?"

She rose, but was instantly waved back to her seat.

"Be reasonable, Doren. As Diana said, there are many candidates out there. There's no point in jumping at any one person before you've even starting interviewing. I'm more than certain you can find someone more ... appealing to follow you around, no? Someone a little more in tune with the … shall we say, industry?"

"I get to choose," Doren said simply. "That's what it says in my contract. My assistant, my choice. Besides, what do you care? He'll be working for me, not your label. You should have no concerns whatsoever as to who he is, where he comes from, or what he looks like." He flicked his eyes to the left and held Anton's reflected gaze. "Or is it your intention to start reneging on our negotiations already?"

A flush began to creep over Anton's face, but Doren didn't turn away until Anton finally broke the stare himself, flipping his frown into a practiced smile. "Of course not, Doren. Don't be testy. I have no intentions of getting in the way of your decision. It is, after all, just an assistant." He lifted an arm towards the door, directing Diana to follow him. "Diana, please. Go ahead."

Doren chuckled dryly and shook his head. "Anton?" He paused long enough for his boss to turn back. "I thought you just said that an assistant is a man's best friend. Better than a wife, I believe was the comparison."

Anton snorted. "Oh, I did. But at the end of the day, how important is a wife anyway? Nothing you can't buy on the street corner, right?" Diana followed Anton out the door, and as she turned to close it behind her, she caught Doren's reflection in the mirror, once again settled back to the slim man in the blue suit. He held her eye, she held his, and they both smiled.

He had no idea if the interview had gone strikingly well or horribly bad. He knew that the first thing he was doing once he got back to the apartment was tossing the damn magazine into the deepest, slimiest, filthiest part of their trash bin. If he never saw the offensive collection of journalism again, August would be a happy man indeed.

It was the first thing Doren had said when August sat down for the interview. He'd looked at August with those striking blue eyes flashing, that trademark grin playing on his face, and said, "Are you planning on taking that?"

August had feigned confusion, "What? Take what?" even as he'd cursed himself over the reply. Could he have made himself looked any more stupid? Or any less competent?

"The magazine you have tucked in your jacket," Doren had grinned. "The one you pilfered from the lobby."

August had blushed from head to toe. Had he really been that obvious? Great. It was probably the only reason he was sitting in front of Doren at all. Bring in the ridiculous bugger that thought he could filch company property from right in front of us—it'll be some comedy relief, at least.

There had been no words, no phrases, no clever comebacks that could have made the situation any more bearable. And Doren certainly hadn't offered August any outs. He just sat there grinning like the cat from Wonderland and let August stew in it. Thankfully the lady from the phone, Diana, had stepped in and taken over the rest of the interview. She'd gone over his experience, or rather lack of it, and stepped around the whole school topic without getting too personal over the why's and how's of him "probably" not going back. And through it all Doren had sat on the office chair, turning left and then right, left and then right on the swivel, hands locked behind his head, gaze on the ceiling tiles. He hadn't said another word until August got up to leave. Then Doren had dropped his hands and spun to the door where Diana had been seeing August out. "So, can I call you Auggie?"

He might be good-looking. He might be sexy. But Doren was obviously a bit of an egomaniac if he thought he could make someone feel like an ass for what was, August had by then decided, a silly little indiscretion. August lifted his chin and set his jaw. "Not if you expect me to answer."

Doren had grinned at the reply and suddenly all the self-important-ism melted away and he was back to the sweet, gorgeous thing August thought he was when he'd first walked in. Doren had winked in that cheesy, hateful, yet oh-so-sexy way that cocky guys always seemed to manage so effortlessly. "Okay, August. Talk to you soon then."

So that had to be a good sign, right? He hadn't been totally dismissed? He'd been glad to be the first one called in. The wait had been long enough as it was and the day was already half over. At least the apartment would be empty. His roommate, Guy, didn't start class until eleven a.m. so he'd be already gone. At the same time it was kind of a letdown. It would have been nice to gloat about meeting Doren. That was going to get him a few days of jealous questions even if he didn't get the job.

He took the stairs two at a time as he laughed at the thought. Even if? Why was he teasing himself with the idea? He wasn't going to get the job. He didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of matching wits with any of the rock zombies from the lobby. Or maybe—he nodded at the grease-smeared door of level six, pushing it open with his sleeve-covered fist—maybe what he should be thinking was that he just didn't have the capability to lower himself to their level.

The door to the apartment was no cleaner than the door of the stairwell and was wrestled open in the same slippery, cloth-sheathed manner, while the phone from within pleated sadly. He should probably run for it; no doubt Guy had forgotten his notes or his textbook or his goddamn student I.D. and needed August to immediately drop everything and rush said item over. At August's own expense and trouble, of course. Instead, he let the phone die off to voicemail, clucking his tongue at the unexpected click instead of the usual frazzled chirps and squawks of his roommate's harassed voice. Then his cell phone started.

It only took a quick look at the display to know the number his heart had already memorized and August's chest skipped painfully. "Relax," he mumbled. "They're probably calling everybody just to say thanks for your time, but ..." He took a deep breath and pressed the talk key.

"Hello? Can I … help … I mean, August speaking."

Diana's smooth voice bubbled out of the receiver. "August, hi! I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time. Are you driving? I tried you at home but I couldn't get you, so I hope you don't mind me calling you on your cell?"

"No, no. I'm good." August shook his head at himself. He couldn't help it. His hands were shaking so hard it was hard to hold the phone. His heart was tap-dancing.

"Oh, excellent!"

Excellent? Excellent that I'm good, he thought, or excellent that I'm available? He closed his eyes and struggled with his reasoning. He wanted this. So was he just hearing the smile in Diana's voice? Or was it really there?

"So, I was talking to Doren and I have another question for you, if you don't mind."

August's voice came out too high and timid. "Please, anything. Go ahead."

"Would you be available for travel this Sunday?"

The line was quiet but August could hear Diana smiling again. And how that was even possible through silence he wasn't going to try and figure out. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Which part? The Sunday or the travel?"

He laughed, a high-pitched, nervous sound. "I guess both?"

Diana replied in kind, her chuckles bouncing over the phone line like a little rubber ball. "I'm playing with you, August. You got the job!"

August didn't even try to find a chair. He sat down on the floor. Hard. "I—I did? Thanks. I guess …"

Another laugh. "You guess? Come on, August! I was expecting a little more drama at least."

"Sorry," he struggled to speak through a throat that was suddenly dry, "I'm not much of a drama person."

"Good. Seriously. I can't even tell you how grateful I am for that fact," Diana said. "Congratulations, August. I look forward to working with you. But to get back to my previous question, Doren really does need you to travel on Sunday if you're interested in the job. Is that going to be too soon for you? Will you be able to pull it off?"

August had to stop himself from laughing out loud.
Sorry,
he thought,
I'll have to try and fit it around my really busy schedule of doing … oh, that's right, nothing. I have no life.
"I think I'll be okay. But, you mean he really does expect me to travel with him? Doesn't it make more sense to be working from the office?"

"Nope." Diana's voice was firm. "That's not the kind of assistant Doren is looking for. We already have lots of office staff. Doren wants someone to be there when he needs something, kind of a go-boy, if you know what I mean. He runs into a lot of issues on the road and he needs someone there to respond, review, and correct things immediately. He needs someone to be there for him and him alone. Not planning the tour or arranging marketing, or whatever people seem to get sucked into doing when they're here at the office. Which is one of the reasons why, as we discussed at the interview, that you will be working for Doren directly and not for the label. Are you comfortable with that, August? Because if you're not, you need to tell me now, before you start. I don't need to be stuck trying to make arrangements home for a suddenly unimpressed assistant around everything else we'll be trying to do."

August blinked hard, and then frowned. "Yes, that's fine. Shall I meet you at the studio on Sunday or what?"

"We'll send the bus for you. I have your address here and it looks pretty simple to find. Can you be out front of the building around seven?"

"Absolutely," August nodded pointlessly. "See you Sunday."

"Wait!" Diana laughed, and August had to bring the phone back to his ear. "Don't you want to know how long you're going for? Or what your salary will be?"

Oh, God, August frowned at himself, keeping the moan of self-disgust inside his head. What was wrong with him? What had happened to his calm level-headedness? His self-control? He took another breath and forced himself to act his age. "Of course. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a little frazzled at the good news. Please, go ahead."

There were too many details for August to remember them all. A comfortable salary, that would help, and they'd be gone for a while—at least six weeks, maybe twelve. But the more things Diana told him, the more things he tried to cram into his skull, the more they seemed to slip out of his ears and fall to the floor, lost forever. At the end of the call August wasn't convinced he'd be able to tell his own mother when his first payday was. Or even what their first stop was, for that matter.

"Oh, and August?" Diana said finally. "I was asked by Doren to tell you something of the utmost importance."

Just the mention of Doren's name brought new swirls of panic to August's stomach. He gripped the receiver, anxious to hear the words that had come directly from Doren's lips and for him alone. "Yes?"

"He said, and I quote 'Tell him to dress casual. This is rock and roll, not accounting. Get rid of that cursed suit.'" Diana paused, gauging August's reaction. "Sorry."

The words flew out before he had a chance to stop them. "He's an asshole." With a wince August caught the tip of his tongue and bit the offensive muscle. Had he really just done that? Did he just call his new boss an asshole? To the man's Administrative Manager, nonetheless? "I'm so sorry, Diana. I didn't mean that."

The phone crackled with Diana's laughter. "Yes you did. And you're right. He is a diva and an ass." Her voice got quieter, more serious. "You sure you're up to this, August?"

"Yes," August breathed the word, relief obvious. He mustered up as much confidence as he could manage. "Yes, I can do this. He'll never know a better assistant than what he’s going to have with me. I'm one-hundred-percent positive."

And he was. For the most part anyway. He never did anything without giving it his all. Besides, it was Doren. There was no way he was going to let himself walk away from an opportunity like this. How would he ever live with himself? He didn't deserve to even consider a job in the music industry if he was willing to let something like this slip through his fingers. "You can count on me."

"I hope so," Diana said, "I really, really hope so."

He leaned back against the couch of the bus and closed his eyes. It had been a long ride, almost eight hours, but he didn't mind traveling like this. It was relaxing: no phones, no paperwork, no people poking their heads into the doorway and wanting something, needing something, absolutely-having-to-have-him-do-something right that very minute. The original plan had been for him to fly down and meet the rest of the guys and the equipment at the first venue. He was mostly a one man show, the rest of the guys hired musicians, so Anton had said there was no point in being dragged around by bus for hours on end. Doren had outright refused. That's not how a body went on tour. And Doren wasn't going to miss a single part of the experience. If it all dried up on him in six months or a year he wanted to be able to tell his mates one day that he'd done it all while he had the chance. Besides, the bus was pretty sweet. Big comfy couches, kitchenette, bar and bathroom—he wasn't exactly roughing it.