Page 8 of The Assistant
“Why don’t you come sit with me, angel?” Richard coos, making me gag a little.
I plaster a wide smile on my face. “Thank you, but I’m fine?—”
“Harper, don’t be rude,” Dawson warns. “Sit on the other side.”
I don’t know who I’m angrier with. Dawson, Richard, or myself for being such a pushover. I take the seat next to Richard, feeling disgusted just being in close proximity to him. Everything inside of me tells me to get away from this guy. Instead, I grind my molars and get the iPad set up to take notes.
“I hope you don’t mind; I ordered you some champagne,” Richard says when the waitress appears with drinks.
“Thank you, but I’m not old enough to drink,” I explain, hoping he will leave it at that.
“Oh, they don’t care here,” Richard replies, lifting up the flute to hand it to me.
“I don’t think I should be drinking while I work,” I try again, to no avail.
“He doesn’t care either, isn’t that right, Dawson?”
I glance at my stepbrother, hoping he will at least take my side on this, but Dawson only wears an amused look on his face. “Have at it. I don’t mind.”
“There you go. You’re all in the clear. Here, drink,” Richard orders, holding the flute now directly in my face.
With a fake smile, I take the glass from him and take a small sip. At least I try to. Richard tips the flute up, so I’m forced to drink more. My mouth fills with the bubbly, bitter liquid before I swallow it at once. It lands heavily on my empty stomach.
I can hardly focus on the meeting I’m supposed to be paying attention to. I don’t even know if that meeting is happening anymore, if I’m being honest. What could these two possibly be here to discuss?
For my first day on the job, this doesn’t bode well. I’m momentarily distracted, thinking of some kind of way out of this situation. Do I really want to go to art school that badly?
Of course, the answer is yes. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, and it’s within my reach. I just don’t know how I’m going to put up with Dawson and these disgusting antics for so long.
Richard leans forward, taking a sip of his own champagne and looking at Dawson before letting his eyes fall back on me with a hungry grin. My stomach twists, and I feel like I’m about to puke up the champagne he practically forced down my throat.
A slimy hand lands on my knee, and I jerk it away instinctively, every cell in my body on edge sitting next to him. I look over at Dawson, silently pleading with him to say something. I know he barely knows me, and this is something he wants as much as I do, which is not at all, but he’s my stepbrother. That might not mean anything to him, but maybe he could show me a single shred of decency.
He doesn’t raise his eyes from the menu.
I scooch away from Richard, watching as his eyes light up. He knows I don’t want him, but he doesn’t care. He’s the kind of man who gets off on the chase. From everything I know about men, guys like him are dangerous. My mom’s dated enough of them for me to know that.
“Shall we begin the meeting?” I ask, unable to hide the quivering in my voice. I straighten myself in the seat, holding the iPad infront of me and trying to force a professional facade. The last thing I need is Dawson complaining about how I handled myself here today.
Richard reluctantly looks away from me and pays attention to Dawson as he sets the menu down. “It’s never good to rush business,” Dawson says, folding his hands and his lap and smiling at Richard.
A server comes and takes our orders. Both Richard and Dawson order expensive pasta dishes with lobster and glasses of white wine on the side. Because the billionaire I am forced to work for is too stingy to pay for my work meals, I have to go for the cheapest item on the menu. A plain Caesar salad with no chicken—and absolutely no nutritional value considering it’s just romaine lettuce with croutons. Even the cheapest thing on the menu is going to leave a big hole in my wallet.
Richard and Dawson make small talk as we wait for our food, and I sit patiently beside them, trying to ignore all the glances Richard sends my way. He places a hand on the bench between us, and I watch as it creeps closer with each passing second.
The food finally arrives, and I am, of course, disappointed with my meal. Both of them have incredible, delicious-looking plates of carbs in front of them, and I’m stuck eating like a model before fashion week. At least my mom would be proud.
“I haven’t seen you at Clear View recently,” Richard says with his mouth full of buttery bread dipped in pasta sauce.
“Well, I’ve been traveling abroad to meet with clients face to face and establish some new connections,” Dawson explains, politely wiping his mouth with a napkin. Dawson might be a complete and total asshole, but compared to Richard, he’s at least not adisgusting asshole. “I’ll have to visit sometime soon. I need to catch up with you and all the other members.”
They’re of course talking about Clear View Country Club. I personally haven’t been, but that’s where my mom met Henry and this whole nightmare began. After stepdad number three won the divorce settlement because of Mom’s affair with the gardener, we weren’t left with a lot of money. Thankfully for her, her name still carries some weight in this Godforsaken town.
She hasn’t been in a single movie, TV show, or even a commercial since the 90s, but her teenage beauty status means there are plenty of “Where Are They Now” clickbait articles written about her. It keeps her somewhat relevant, anyway. Mom needed a new meal ticket, and she managed to schmooze her way into Clear View at the exact right moment because Henry was there, and the moment she saw him, she sunk her claws deep.
Now I’m here being ogled by the most disgusting man I’ve ever seen in my entire life while she gets to sunbathe by an infinity pool. Tell me how that’s fair?
“Did you get to take your lovely assistant with you abroad?” Richard asks, his gaze landing on me once again. He flashes a greasy smile at me, and my skin crawls.
