I made the decision to walk down to the café and grab Robertt a cup of coffee in an effort to defuse the tense situation. I even asked Henry whether he preferred it to black. I walked back to his office door on edge, holding the cup, and summoned all my nerves to knock. His voice beckoned, "Come in," and I willed my shaking palms to calm. I opened the door with a welcoming grin on my face, hoping to make a better impression this time, only to see him on the phone, deeply engaged in a discussion, and frantically making notes. He spoke fluent French with ease in a deep, silky voice that made my breath catch.
"It will be perfect. Non. No, it is not necessary. Exactly four. Oui. Quatre. Thank you, Ivan.
He cut the phone off, but he never turned away from his job to look at me. He continued to speak to me sternly while standing in front of his desk. "From now on, Miss Brown, you will keep any talks that aren't about business outside of the office. You are being paid to work, not to blab. Is my message clear?
I was frozen in place for a brief period of time until he eventually lifted an eyebrow and looked me in the eyes. The reality about Robertt Ramirez suddenly became clear to me as I slowly came out of my stupor. Despite being much more stunning in reality than in pictures, he was quite different from the guy I had expected. He had nothing in common with his sibling or parents.
I managed to remark, "Very clear, sir," as I moved around his desk and set the coffee in front of him.
My heel, however, tripped on the carpeting as I was about to approach his desk, sending me flying forward. As the coffee sloshed over his fine suit, creating an unattractive mark, I heard a harsh "Shit!" from his lips.
Oh my God, I'm very sorry, Mr. Ramirez.
I quickly grabbed a towel from the basin in his bathroom and ran back. My cheeks burning with shame, I knelt in front of him and tried to remove the stain. I was mortified when I realized I had been furiously pressing the cloth across his groin. I instantly removed my hand and averted my gaze as a flaming flush went over my cheeks and down to my neck as I took sight of the obvious bulge in the front of his jeans.
He dismissed me with, "You may leave now, Miss Brown," and I retreated from his office, ashamed at the awful first impression I had created.
Fortunately, I was able to prove myself following that experience very fast. Even yet, he sometimes seemed to be moved by my work, even though he maintained his stiff, condescending approach. Although I put it down to his typical assholery, I couldn't help but wonder if there was anything about me in particular that irritated him. Of course, excluding that unfortunate towel episode.
I ran into Sara on my way to the elevator when I got to work. As she walked to her floor, we said our goodbyes and agreed to meet for lunch the next week. The door to Mr. Ramirez's office was closed, as usual, when I got to the 18th floor, so I couldn't tell whether he was there yet. In an effort to psychologically get ready for the day, I switched on my computer. Every time I sat in this chair recently, worry had taken hold of me.
Since we typically discussed the forthcoming week's plan on Fridays, I was aware that I would meet him this morning. But I never knew how he might be feeling. Despite the fact that his fury had recently been worse, his last words to me yesterday were, "Get the garter belt too." I did, too. I was really wearing it right then. Why? I was clueless. What on earth was he getting at with that? Did he really believe he would see it? No way in hell. Why then did I wear it? If he tears it, I vow to God... Before my thoughts took a turn for the worst, I stopped myself.
He wouldn't tear it, of course. Never would I give him the opportunity.
Brown, keep telling yourself that.
I briefly diverted myself from the problem by responding to some e-mails, reviewing the Papadakis contract for potential intellectual property issues, and making a few hotel reservations. His office door flung open a little over an hour later. When I looked up, I was greeted by a very competent Mr. Ramirez. The flash of color from his red silk tie wonderfully accented his sharp, two-button, black suit. He had no sign of the crazy guy who had ravaged me in the La Perla dressing room some 18 hours, 36 minutes earlier. He seemed serene and completely at peace. Not that I was keeping score.
He inquired in a serious tone, "Are you ready to begin?"
I managed a polished "Yes, sir," in my response.
He gave a quick nod before returning to his desk.
Okay, so this was going to be the situation. OK by me. Although I'm not completely sure what I had been anticipating, I felt somewhat relieved by our dynamic's familiarity. The tension between us was growing, and when it all ended, there would certainly be a heavier fall, leaving me to pick up the pieces of my career that had been broken. I thought that until I had my degree, we could get through this without experiencing any more catastrophes.
I entered his office behind him and took a seat, prepared to go through the list of commitments that needed his attention. He listened intently as I talked, making notes or putting data onto his computer as necessary. There were no inane remarks or idle small chat, and the tone remained professional.
"A meeting with Red Hawk Publishing is arranged for this afternoon at three. Additionally, your father and brother intend to go. Your calendar has been cleared since it's probably going to take up the remainder of the day. I went on, to give updates on numerous topics. We eventually got to the point I was dreading.
I added, pretending to be preoccupied with the doodling I had put in my planner, "And lastly, the JT Miller Marketing Insight Conference is happening in San Diego next month." The silence that followed seemed to go on for eternity, so I looked up to find out what was holding things up. He was looking at me and tapping a gold pen on the desk while maintaining an inscrutable face.
He inquired, his voice resonating loudly around the room, "Will you be accompanying me?"
I said "Yes," breaking the oppressive hush. We looked at one another and I had no idea what he was thinking. It's a prerequisite for the scholarship, and I also think it would be helpful if I helped you manage your affairs.
He firmly said, "Make all the necessary arrangements," and turned back to his computer. I got up and moved for the door, assuming I had been let go.
The term "Miss Brown."
I turned to face him, and while he did not look directly into my eyes, he seemed a little uneasy. That was very surprising, I must say.
I've been requested by my mother to extend an invitation to you for dinner the following week.
"Oh." Warmth was making my cheeks blush. Please inform her that I will check my schedule. I then turned to go out again.
He concentrated his eyes on me and said, with a touch of uneasiness, "I was told I must... strongly encourage you to attend." I slowly whirled around to face him. And just why should you do that?
Well, evidently she has someone she wants you to meet, he said after clearing his mouth.
This realization surprised me. Although Susan could have suggested a name casually, she had never aggressively sought to match me up with someone over the years I had known the Ramirezs.
"Your mother is attempting to manipulate me?" I crossed my arms across my chest as I headed back toward his desk.
He answered, "So it seems," but there was something about his look that didn't quite fit his carefree response.
I raised an eyebrow and said, "Why?"
His brow wrinkled, showing his anger. How in the world would I know? It's not like we sit here talking about you," he snarled. She could be concerned that you'll wind up an elderly spinster living in a home full of cats and wearing muumuus because of your bubbly attitude.
I scowled at him while leaning forward and placing my hands on his desk. Well, maybe she ought to be more worried that her kid will grow up to be a shady senior citizen who spends his time stockpiling underwear and chasing young women at lingerie shops.
He sprung from his chair with an angry look on his face as his rage flared. "You are the most—you know," The ringing phone unexpectedly cut him off in mid-sentence. While across the desk from each other, our eyes locked ferociously. I briefly thought that he might hurl me over the desk. And for a brief second, I almost wished he would. But even so, when he reached for the phone, we kept staring at one other.
He never looked away from me as he fiercely yelled, "Yes," into the phone. "George! Hello. I do have a minute, yes.
He sank back into his chair, and I stayed behind to see if he needed anything from me while he spoke with Mr. Papadakis. He motioned for me to wait while rolling his pen idly over the desk while paying close attention to the call.