The Position (2 page)

I’m amazed that the very first one to approach slams on his brakes and pulls over. The driver is a middle-aged guy with a mustache and a flat cap. He turns to greet me with a wide grin. “Where to, gorgeous?”
 

I stare at him for a moment. No stranger has ever spoken to me like that. But there’s no time to think about that stuff.
 

“Four Seasons,” I mutter, groping around in my bag for my phone. If all goes well and we don’t hit horrible traffic, I’ll still have ten minutes to set everything up.
 

“Where’s a pretty little lady like yourself heading this morning?” he asks, smiling at me in the rear view mirror.
 

Good God, I think. What am I, a twelve-year-old girl? Who talks like that? No wonder pretty women feel dumb all the time. I look down at my phone to avoid the driver’s eyes and mumble, “I’m sitting on a panel of neurologists.”

I wait for his reaction. It takes him a minute to digest what I’ve said. He furrows his brow. “A what?”
 

“I’m an expert in neurology and Nano science,” I say with a sigh, as if it were just the most boring thing ever.
 

The driver goes silent and I smile. Just then, a text pops up from J. Lazarus. My heart skitters and slams into my rib cage.
Seriously delayed. Please cover for me. Will be there as soon as I can.
I stare at the text, trying to understand what he’s asking me to do. Cover for him? How the hell am I supposed to do that? Suddenly, the anxiety I feel about seeing him after last night is eclipsed by the panic of his crazy request.
 

When I reach the hotel and find the conference room, there are already dozens of people standing around drinking coffee. They are all shareholders of a company that wants to build an insanely expensive building for their Singapore branch, and Lazarus is one of the top contenders. What the hell am I supposed to say to them? Is Lazarus out of his freaking mind?
 

My hands shake as I set up the laptop and pull up the usual files that show off his blueprint designs, photographs of the finished buildings, and even some interpretive images to give the potential clients a sense of his architectural philosophy. I’ve seen the whole presentation several times now, but I sure as hell have no business stepping in for him. I glance at the clock. We’re already ten minutes late. I take a deep breath.
 

“Everyone,” I announce, forcing confidence into my voice. “We’re going to get started, please.”
 

The crowd of rich looking faces turns toward me and I feel my chest tighten. I watch them take their seats, coffee cups in hand, and look up at me expectantly. I turn to face them, take a deep breath, and jump.
 

“Mr. Lazarus has been delayed but will be here shortly,” I announce, watching the displeasure reflected in most of the faces. “And so I want to begin with a look at his architectural philosophy and talk about…”
 

I continue on, reaching deep into my crusty, sleep-deprived brain for every description and explanation I’ve heard Lazarus give in the past. I’m so exhausted, I almost feel as if I’m outside of my body watching the whole thing. But as I go through the slides, the grumpiness slowly fades from the faces, replaced with genuine interest. I even surprise myself. I’m actually sounding coherent. Perhaps even articulate.
 

Just as I begin to run out of things to say, I notice a figure at the back of the room, leaning against the wall, coat draped in his arms. It’s Lazarus. He’s watching me with a strange expression on his face; like a mix of pain and pride. Our eyes lock for a moment, and then he looks away, ashamed.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he announces to the room, his voice faltering slightly. Then he clears his throat and turns on the charm, striding confidently to the front. “Does anyone have any questions for me?”
 

I excuse myself with a quick nod and head to the back of the room. I get a cup of coffee and collapse into an empty seat in the last row. Lazarus calmly launches into a presentation of his ideas for the project. He doesn’t once look my way.
 

It’s surreal. Last night I was showing Lazarus my panties and he was feeling me up. Now it’s like we’re total strangers. Maybe it’s better this way. Less complicated. Less dangerous. Less of a threat to my emotional stability. And yet, even though I try not to, I can’t take my eyes off his perfectly sculpted face. I imagine the feel of his strong muscular body beneath the dark trousers and sports coat. My heart quickens thinking of the way he felt pressed up against me. I try to push the thoughts out of my head, but I can’t. They’re unstoppable.
 

After he finishes the presentation, I collect the computer and clean up the coffee cups scattered around the room. Lazarus holds court with a few of the most senior members of the board. Just as I’m ready to head out the door and catch the bus back to the office, I hear his voice calling me.
 

“Michaela?”
 

I turn around. Lazarus is shrugging into his coat. He doesn’t look directly at me as he gathers up his things and shoves them into his satchel. “Let me give you a ride.”

Chapter Four

We’re both silent in the car. Lazarus seems lost in his head. His jaw is working the way it does when he’s anxious, and I notice for the first time that he has a shadow of whiskers. I’ve never seen his face anything but smooth and clean-shaven. The whiskers look rugged and ridiculously sexy. I turn to stare out the window, trying to play it cool, but I’m so tired I feel drunk just smelling his cologne. When I realize that we’re not going in the direction of the office, I glance over at him. But Lazarus doesn’t look at me.
 

I realize I’m holding my breath and let out a long, quiet exhalation. He drives to a far side of town filled with old growth trees and big houses. At first I think maybe he’s taking me to his house and my stomach does crazy summersaults. But then he stops at a beautiful park of rolling green grass and a shimmering pond. The sun is high and the yellow light dances on the water. He pulls out the key and for a moment we just sit there listening to the ticking of the cooling engine. Finally, he turns to me.
 

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
 

He climbs out of the car and heads down the slope of grass toward the pond. I follow him, both curious and scared of what he’s going to say. There’s something about the setting that suggests a very grownup moment is coming, the kind where one person breaks another’s heart. Of course, that’s inevitable when you fall for someone who doesn’t love you back.
 

The park is nearly empty, except for a jogger and an old woman walking her dog in the distance. Lazarus sits down on a park bench and stares blankly at the pond. I settle in next to him and wait. I watch his strong, smooth hands clasping and unclasping in his lap, and flash to the memory of them squeezing my nipple. The thought makes me shiver.
 

“I hope you realize,” he begins, his eyes still locked on the water, “you’re far from just a secretary.” He gives my legs and knee high boots a side-glance, then looks at the water again. “You’re a bright young woman. Every day you amaze me.”
 

Even though I’m trying to play it cool, I can feel the smile creep onto my face. “Thanks.”
 

The sound of my voice makes him turn toward me. He squints at me, as if seeing my face for the first time. “I just had no idea you were so beautiful.”
 

I blush and look down at my hands. It’s like my dream is playing out in real life. The compliments. The sweetness. Except that I can sense a
but
on the way. In order to stave it off, I meet his gaze and smile. His beautiful, amber eyes look like honey in the sunlight, and they hold mine for a long time. We are locked in a gaze like two people about to kiss. Except, of course, we don’t.
 

“You didn’t need to change your looks,” he practically whispers. “I kind of liked the way you didn’t fuss about those things. It was nice. I felt comfortable with you.”

“And now…?” I realize with surprise that there’s a teasing, almost flirtatious tone in my voice.
 

Lazarus smiles, allowing his eyes to roam over my face and down my body. The sensation of being admired is still so strange; it makes my skin feel like it’s buzzing. “Now,” he says, turning his eyes away from me, resting them safely on the water again. “Now it’s not so comfortable. At all.”
 

“Don’t you want an attractive assistant?” I ask. “I mean, you didn’t even want me on screen with the Skype call last week…”
 

“What are you talking about?” He turns back to me again, confused.
 

“The English guy,” I go on, suddenly feeling foolish. “I figured you were embarrassed to be seen with such an ugly assistant.”
 

Lazarus winces. “What a terrible thing to think. Michaela…” He puts a hand on my knee. It sends an instant flash of heat through my body. “Please don’t think that. You’re the best assistant I’ve had,” he says quietly. “You’re smart. You’re disciplined. You’re funny.” He gives me a wan smile. “And you’re damned charming when you want to be.” He takes his hand back and I feel the new cold on my knee. “I don’t want to lose you.”
 

I’m suddenly overwhelmed with restlessness. I stand up and cross my arms over my chest. “Why would you lose me?”
 

Lazarus freezes on the bench unable to look at me. “It’s hard to explain. A long story. There’s something about my assistants…something that happens to me. It’s like Jekyll and Hyde. It’s powerful… overwhelming, really.”
 

I nod as if I understand, but I don’t. “But only the attractive ones…”
 

Lazarus stands up quickly and shoves his hands into his pockets. I can tell he’s embarrassed. He takes a step away from me and shakes his head. “It’s dysfunctional,” he mutters. “It’s…” he glances at me, his jaw tense, “sexual. Well, obviously.”

It’s ridiculous. Just hearing Lazarus say the word
sexual
turns me on. I don’t know how to explain to him that I don’t care if it’s dysfunctional, as long as it’s dysfunctional with
me
.
 

I take a deep breath, trying to conjure up enough courage to tell Lazarus how I feel. I step close to him and put a hesitant hand on his back. It’s ridiculously solid, which makes me want to strip off his coat and shirt and feel his hard muscles and smooth skin. He tenses at my touch.
 

“You know,” I say, my voice quiet and low, “I kinda liked it.”
 

At first I glimpse the flicker of a smile. Then Lazarus’s face darkens. “You don’t understand. It’s not nice.
I’m
not nice.” He turns fully toward me and grips my shoulders, like he wants to shake some sense into me. “But I like you. A lot. I have to protect you from that. Otherwise, I could never live with myself…”
 

I want to shout,
I don’t care if you’re nice! Just do it again! Do whatever you want to do to me! I just want to feel your hands on me again
! But, of course, I don’t. “What about Celestina?” I ask quietly.
 

Lazarus shoves his hands in his coat pockets again. “What do you mean?”

“Are you…dysfunctional with her, too?”
 

Lazarus shakes his head, flustered. “No, no. Celestina is my fiancée. Our relationship is…normal.”
 

Fiancée. The word stings like a slap to the face. Lazarus is going to
marry
Celestina? My mouth opens, but no words come out. The breath strangles in my throat and I feel dizzy. I sit down on the bench again. A pair of mallards splash-lands into the pond, and I focus on them, fighting back the tears burning behind my eyes.
This is stupid
, I think.
You’re coming unhinged. He doesn’t love you back. He will never love you back.
 

“Michaela,” he says earnestly. “This is all wrong. I need us to get back on a professional footing here. I’m sorry for what I did. I do regret it. I need everything to go back to how it was before. You are not like the other women in your position.”
 

“How am I not like them?”
 

He looks at me, his beautiful face strained with anxiety. “You are not expendable.”

Chapter Five

On the drive back to the office we get stuck in bottleneck traffic. I can tell that Lazarus is antsy. Nothing between us is resolved. Instead, we’ve both resorted to an uncomfortable silence, both tacitly agreeing not to talk about it anymore. Now
I
know that Lazarus has a weird sexual kink for his assistants. And
he
knows that I’m more than happy to have him feel me up and slam me into doors. But he has too much respect for me. Now we both just want to get back to the office so we can get away from each other and regroup.
 

Lazarus pulls abruptly off the main route and tries to find clearer back roads. But the traffic is bad everywhere. He gets farther and farther from the main streets until we’re in the industrial zone. I wonder if he’s lost.
 

I look at him. “Do you know this part of town?”
 

He frowns. “It’s the only way to get around the traffic.”

It’s weird to drive through this neighborhood with Lazarus; like two very distant sides of my life coming uncomfortably close together. But I just act normal and stare out the passenger window, just wanting this weird day to end.
 

That’s when I see it. There’s a scuffle along the side of a warehouse on a dead end street. Two big men are kicking a figure that’s hunched on the ground. They look like junkies and their energy is relentless. With a surge of panic, I recognize the red and black ski jacket of the man on the ground. It’s Captain.

“Stop!” I yell. “Stop! Pull over!”
 

Lazarus slams on the brakes. “What the hell…?”