Page 12 of The Assistant
And right now, I welcome the challenge.
Chapter 6
Harper
Even after stayingout late the night before, Dawson isn’t remotely lenient with our schedule at work. He moves from meeting to meeting, giving me very little time to breathe in between. I don’t even have a minute to eat the turkey sandwich Maggie made for me before leaving.
With every spare moment I have, I try to familiarize myself with the business as much as I can. Last night at dinner, Richard was not interested in “showing me the ropes” at all. Instead, all he wanted to do was try to feel me up and ask about all the sexual experiences I’ve had. Which is none, to be totally clear. I don’t know why I thought that was the right thing to say, but it seemed to turn him on even more, and I wish I had just lied.
I don’t quite understand what this company is. I can’t figure out what products Dawson manufactures or sells, or what exactly it is that he’s investing in. The only thing I can even find is that it’s about defense innovations and infrastructure. I barely know what any of that means. Maybe I should have paid more attention in other classes, not just art.
The end of the day rolls around, and a pit forms in my stomach when I think about the pool party tonight at Clear View Country Club. Of course, in thinking of a novel way to torture me, Dawson made me get the skimpiest bikini at the boutique last night. It barely covers my boobs, and I don’t even want to think about my ass. I was able to negotiate a black caftan to wear on top, but I know I’m not going to be able to have it on all night.
If I can get away with it, I wear oversized T-shirts and baggy sweaters everywhere I go. Being on display for so many people—especially people like Richard—is going to be a nightmare.
“Ready to go?” Dawson asks in my doorway, not looking up from his phone. I don’t even stand up before he’s walking toward the elevator, expecting me to follow him. Of course, I’m contractually obligated to do just that.
The door is closed, and neither of us says a word to each other as we head down to the limo.
“What’s this party even for?” I ask when we’re settled in and ready to drive to the club.
“The founding of the country club,” Dawson says with the most disinterested voice I’ve ever heard.
I turn my attention to the window and watch trees and cars pass us by as we head to the country club. It’s my first time going, and I’m a little nervous. I don’t know how to act around people like this. My mom was raised around these wolves, and all she’s ever wanted was to stay in this pack. She left me behind a lot of the time when she was trying to claw her way back in.
I know I’m not the vision of beauty all of these people desire, too. They all have plastic surgeons on speed dial to get emergency lipo, after having too much to eat on vacation. They keepOzempic in their fridge in place of food. On top of that, they all have trendy hairdos and wear expensive Prada and Dior makeup and perfume. I don’t do any of that.
I’ve always worried about fitting in, and I never really had anywhere to fit in. Being homeschooled makes adapting to social situations really challenging, especially when you get virtually no socialization as a child. All that’s just to say I’m awkward.
We finally get to the country club, and Dawson leads me to the women’s changing room, standing outside as he waits for me to change into my bikini. I try not to look at myself in the mirror because I don’t want to spiral about my appearance if I don’t have to. I know Dawson is waiting for me, and every moment that passes is just going to be another that he complains about.
I put on the bikini, marveling at how it can even hold my boobs in place. I wrap myself in the caftan as quickly as I can before heading out in a pair of wedge heels Dawson picked out for the outfit.
When he sees me, his eyes widen, but he forces himself to look away. I stand awkwardly beside him, not knowing what to do with myself. A few people walk by us, and it feels like I’m the only thing they can look at. I try not to think about what crosses their minds. They no doubt think I should be wearing something more modest, and I would be inclined to agree.
“Come on, we have to make the rounds,” Dawson says, gesturing for me to follow him. I wrap the caftan around me, glancing around anxiously.
Dawson finds a few people and stops to say hello, introducing me as his assistant, not his stepsister. After about half an hour, I find myself starting to relax. Nobody is looking at me like I’ma huge eyesore; most of them don’t even really seem to care. Everyone here is in a bathing suit, so there’s nothing particularly scandalous about mine.
But then my mom walks in hanging off of Henry’s arm, and her eyes go wide as she spots me in a bikini. Her cheeks are red, and she clenches her fists at her side, clearly upset at the sight. Dawson waves them over, and I almost want to plead with him not to, but it’s too late.
My mom tears her eyes away from me to give Dawson a fake smile. “You must be Dawson,” she greets overly sweetly. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” Dawson answers in a bored tone, as he looks around the space.
Henry looks between the two of us with a casual smile as my mom forces one on herself. Someone calls Henry over, and he excuses himself to mingle with the crowd. Dawson follows, leaving me and my mother alone. As soon as they’re gone, Mom takes a step closer and squints her eyes at me.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing wearing that here?” she asks, looking me up and down with disgust in her eyes.
My mom has been petite since the day she was born. Believe it or not, she brags about being born underweight. I suppose it’s not entirely her fault because her mother wanted her to be a star, and these impossible beauty standards were put on her from a very young age. Mom has tried to put them on me since as young as I can remember.
“Everyone can see every part of you,” Mom continues, shaking her head.
“Do you think I wanted this?” I ask, whispering at her through gritted teeth. “This is what Dawson wanted me to wear. I don’t even want to be here.”
Mom rolls her eyes and scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why would anyone want to see you in that?”
Dawson is still close to us, and I’m not sure what all he can hear. I don’t know why I would expect him to come to my rescue at this point. He’s made it damn clear that he wants me to be as miserable as possible. So my mom berating me for my body in public is no doubt a pro in his book.
