Keeping Denver

Iwalk into work fifteen minutes early with a bit of trepidation swarming in my gut. The office is quiet as I stroll past Kelly’s desk finding it empty once again. When I reach my desk, murmured voices coming from Mr. Hawk’s office catch my attention. I’m usually not a nosy person, but when I hear Mr. Hawk mention my name, my ears perk up. Setting my bag down on my desk, I look around to see if anyone is watching before I make my way over to his office door, which is slightly ajar. The next voice to speak is one I recognize; Frances.

‘I don’t see the problem, Callan. You needed an assistant, so I hired one.’

‘The problem is you didn’t run it by me,’ he barks.

Oh, God. He’s going to tell Frances to fire me.

‘Seeing as you fired the last two assistants you had and I have been carrying double the workload for weeks now, I made the call to hire her. Did you or did you not say it was up to me? I believe your exact words were, just find someone competent enough to answer the phone.‘

I can’t see Mr. Hawk, but I imagine him grinding his teeth right now. ‘Is she even old enough to be working here? She looks like she’s still in fucking high school,’ he continues.

‘Denver is twenty-three according to her ID, Callan. Also, watch your language.’ Frances’s voice takes on a tone I have yet to hear from her before. ‘Besides,’ Frances continues, ‘the last two assistants you hired were nitwits. They didn’t know their asses from their elbows. Hell, Callan, the last girl interrupted you while you were on a conference call because she couldn’t find the power button on the computer.’

‘That’s beside the point, Frances. I don’t think Miss Hollis is the right fit for the job.’

Frances and Mr. Hawk are silent for a moment before I hear the words I knew were coming.

‘I want you to find me someone else.’

‘I will…’

Frances’ words are cut short at the sound of Kelly calling out my name.

‘Denver. What are you doing?’

I whip around to see Kelly standing behind me with her hand on her hip and a wicked gleam in her eye.

My face heats, and my heart pounds in my chest. ‘I was just going to see if Mr. Hawk wanted some coffee,’ I say as my voice shakes.

Just as Kelly goes to open her mouth again, I feel a looming presence directly behind me. I don’t have to look to know who it is. Not only do I smell his woodsy cologne, but I can feel his heat against my backside. When Frances steps out of Mr. Hawk’s office, I turn around.

‘Good morning, Denver. Mr. Hawk already has his coffee. So, why don’t you come with me and we’ll get us a cup.’ Frances looks down at her watch. ‘We still have ten minutes to spare.’

I don’t think twice to follow Frances as she sidesteps Mr. Hawk. When I chance a glance over my shoulder, I see him still rooted in place with his heated gaze fixed on me. I also notice how Kelly stands next to him for several seconds, waiting for him to acknowledge her. With a huff, she gives up and goes on her way.

Frances and I fix ourselves a cup of coffee in silence. As I am stirring in the cream and sugar, I feel I need to apologize. ‘I’m sorry for eavesdropping on yours and Mr. Hawk’s conversation. It wasn’t my intent. I arrived a little early, and when I heard my name…’

Frances waves her hand at me as she takes a sip from her cup. ‘No need to apologize, dear.’

‘Am I losing my job?’ I ask.

Frances frowns. ‘Of course not. Don’t you worry about Mr. Hawk. I can handle him. He knows I want you here and won’t go over my head to fire you.’

‘You seem very comfortable with Mr. Hawk. How long have you worked for him?’

‘Oh, I’ve known Callan since he was sixteen. He’s very close to my husband. He’s kind of like a son to us. I have been working here alongside him for close to seven years now. Ever since he opened this law firm.’

Well, that explains why Frances has no qualms reprimanding Mr. Hawk on his cursing. I’m also curious as to how she came to know Mr. Hawk as a teen, but I don’t ask.

The remainder of the morning passes quickly due to Frances adding more duties to my workload, which I found to be a bit overwhelming. At one point, I felt terrible for having to repeat questions, but Frances was patient with me. I nearly fell out of my chair when I saw how much Mr. Hawk charges for a simple consultation. Six hundred dollars for an hour of his time. He must be one hell of a divorce attorney because the man I talked to yesterday didn’t hesitate to agree to the charges when he booked his appointment with my new boss over the phone. Being a bit curious, I took a quick peek at some other files, and find he takes on more pro bono cases than anything else.

Biting my lip, I let my curiosity get the better of me. Opening a second browser on the computer, I google the name, Callan Hawk. ‘Holy shit.’ The words tumble from my mouth. The first page that pops up is the most recent article on a tabloid magazine. Renowned attorney Callan Hawk slams the CEO of Loughtny Manufacturing, Richard Loughtny III in court. The Judge awards Mr. Loughtny’s estranged wife 7.6 million dollars in money and assets.

The second article I pull up is from five years ago.

Callan Hawk, age 31, son of the late Thomas Rawley, is set to inherit his father’s multibillion-dollar empire.

The article was five years ago. That would make Mr. Hawk thirty-six. Next, I pull up the image selection in Google to reveal photo after photo of Callan Hawk with numerous women on his arm. All socialites, actresses, and models. He doesn’t appear to be photographed with the same woman more than once or twice, except one. The one I’m looking at now is of a model that he is pictured with the most. She has sleek black hair and is wearing a lavish white gown while clutching Mr. Hawk’s arm at some gala, which doesn’t surprise me. A man like Callan Hawk can get any woman he wants.

Not wanting to get caught googling my boss on company time, I quickly close the browser and get back to work.

Thirty minutes later, I’ve just finished adding a new appointment to his schedule for next week when the phone on my desk rings. ‘Mr. Hawk’s office, how may I help you?’

‘Well, hello, sweetheart. To whom am I speaking?’ the caller on the other end of the line draws.

‘Denver Hollis. I’m Mr. Hawk’s assistant.’

‘Denver. What a pretty name. I bet your face is just as pretty as your name, Denver.’

I blush, feeling my ears heat from his compliment. The guy sounds sweet. He also sounds like a hopeless flirt.

‘Tell me, sweetheart, is Mr. Hawk in?’

‘May I ask who’s calling?’

‘You can ask me anything.’ I hear the smile in his voice. ‘Tell him Spencer Knight is on the phone.’

I recognize his name immediately. Spencer Knight is one of two names on the Post-It Frances gave me.

‘Hold one moment, Mr. Knight.’

‘Sure, thing, sweetheart.’

I place Mr. Knight on hold and press Mr. Hawk’s extension. He picks up on the first ring and his clipped voice fills my ear. ‘What?’

I flinch at his tone. ‘I have a Mr. Knight on the phone for you.’

‘Put him through,’ he says before the line goes dead.

Asshole.

A few minutes later, Mr. Hawk steps through his office door and straight up to my desk. When his looming shadow lingers above me, my fingers pause over the keyboard of the computer and I look up. I go to ask him if he needs me to do anything, but before I can speak, he cuts me off.

‘What were you and Mr. Knight talking about on the phone?’

My brow scrunches. ‘Nothing, Mr. Hawk.’

‘Really? Then tell me, why is he on a first-name basis with you?’

‘He asked me my name, Sir.’ I swallow. ‘I didn’t want to be rude.’

Mr. Hawk’s nostrils flare. ‘In the future, Miss Hollis, I would appreciate you didn’t flirt with the people who call this office.’

Flirt? What is he talking about? ‘I wasn’t…’ I go to defend myself only to be dismissed.

Mr. Hawk turns on his heel and heads back to his office. He calls out once more before slamming the door. ‘I have a friend stopping by for lunch. I want you to order my usual from TARANTINO’S along with an order of Antipasto Salad with Bocconcini and green olives with a side of Vinaigrette dressing.’

I grit my teeth at his flippant attitude toward me. Flirting? There is no way I was flirting with Mr. Knight. Did he tell Mr. Hawk I was flirting with him?

Brushing the incident aside, I place a call to TARANTINO’S. Mr. Hawk’s usual food orders are another thing Frances wrote down for me. She said he’s a creature of habit and rarely asks for anything outside of the list. After placing the order, I immerse myself back in my work. It’s the sound of heels clicking on the tiled floor that have me looking up from my computer screen. The woman headed in my direction looks like she walked straight off the runway; tall and willowy, has a perfect olive complexion, and her straight midnight black hair hangs just past her shoulders. I continue to stare. The woman’s makeup is flawless. The way she glides across the room on her five-inch heels while wearing a white slouchy sweater paired with black leather pants, a fur coat draped over one arm, and her Louis Vuitton bag clutched in her hand, would make anyone stop in their tracks and take notice.

The woman saunters past me without so much as a glance. As she goes to open Mr. Hawk’s office door, I stand from my chair and fly around my desk to stop her. ‘I’m sorry, but you can’t just go in there.’

The woman stops with her hand on the doorknob. Slowly she turns and glares down at me. She must be at least 5 feet 11 inches, towering over me as her face morphs into a sneer. I suddenly recognize her as the woman I saw on my computer earlier when I was googling Mr. Hawk.

‘You must be new here.’

‘Yes.’ I straighten my back.

The door to Mr. Hawk’s office opens, and the woman in front of me wastes no time wrapping herself around my boss. For some inexplicable reason, something ugly settles in my gut watching them, and I cast my eyes away.

‘Come in, Joslyn,’ Mr. Hawk addresses the woman whose eyes are still on me. Only this time, her sneer has transformed into a victorious smile. ‘Thanks, baby.’ She kisses him on his cheek. Through the whole interaction, Mr. Hawk keeps his focus on me and not the woman in his arms.

‘Bring our lunch in as soon as it arrives,’ Mr. Hawk orders, and I nod, keeping my eyes cast down at my feet. Just keep your head down, Denver. You can’t afford to lose this job. Dealing with people like Callan Hawk and Joslyn is a small price to pay at the end of the day. Stay focused on your future—a place to live and food in your stomach every night.

When the food is delivered, I quickly make my way to his office. Knocking, I wait for him to answer. ‘Come in.’

‘I have your lunch, Mr. Hawk.’ Stepping into his office, I find Joslyn sitting on top of his desk beside his chair, her legs crossed.

‘Set it up over there,’ he jerks his chin toward the sofa and table on the opposite side of the room near the large window that overlooks the city.

Doing as I am told, I place the bag down on the table and begin pulling food containers out. The smell of grilled chicken and roasted potatoes fills my senses, causing my mouth to water and my empty stomach to rumble. I’m so hungry I’m on the brink of tears.

‘God, Callan. Where did you find that one? The bargain bin down at the thrift store?’ Joslyn does little to keep her voice down as she blatantly takes a dig at me. I pause what I’m doing and look down at the same pink blouse I wore the day before yesterday, the black dress slacks I have been wearing for three days straight and the too small, scuffed shoes on my feet currently screaming in pain.

Refusing to show weakness in front of my boss and his girlfriend, I ignore the jab and finish setting up their lunch. When I’m done, I exit his office without a word. Noting it is time for my lunch break, I stop by my desk, set the incoming calls to the answering service, and as fast as my feet will carry me, make my way to the stairwell at the end of the hall. I climb down one flight and fall to my butt on the same step I sat on the day before and allow the first tear to fall. I don’t know why I’m letting Joslyn’s words get to me. It’s not as though I’ve never been judged and put down before. It’s happened more time than I can count. The nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach makes me think it has everything to do with my new boss, and the way he just sat in his chair as his female friend berated me. I’ll never be able to understand women like her. Women who tear down others to feel good about themselves; to make themselves feel as if they have some power over them. I could never treat another human being that way. There is no satisfaction in another person’s pain.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, wrap my arms around my middle, and lean my face against the cold concrete wall. I’m hungry. One of the coping mechanisms I use to ignore the pains from lack of food is to count. I have a thirty-minute lunch break. That’s one thousand eight hundred seconds. So, starting at one thousand eight hundred, I count backward to myself.

I stop counting when I feel a presence behind me. Turning my head, I glance over my shoulder, to see Mr. Hawk standing in the stairwell several steps above me. As I wipe the tears from my face, I notice how his large hands grip the metal handrail with such force his knuckles begin to turn white. This time I don’t shy away from looking at him. There’s no point. He’s witnessed my little breakdown and there is no denying I’ve been crying. I’m the first to speak. ‘I’m on my lunch break, Mr. Hawk, but if you need me, I can cut it short.’ I’m proud of how strong my voice sounds at the moment.

‘No. That won’t be necessary,’ he says before walking away, which seems to be a trend with him.

By the time my workday is over, I am emotionally drained and slightly embarrassed for the events that transpired today. Not only was I treated like a pile of dog crap, but my boss caught me all up in my feelings about it. Not that I have anything to be ashamed of. We all have breaking points. I just rather no one would have witnessed my moment of weakness.

‘You finished for the day, Denver?’ Frances asks as she walks up to my desk with her coat, purse, and briefcase in hand.

I smile. ‘Almost. I have this one last email to send off to Judge Harrell for Mr. Hawk, and I’ll be done.’

‘Great. Do you have any plans for dinner? My husband and I would love to have you over.’

God, the invitation for a free hot meal sounds like heaven, but I don’t want to lose my chance at a bed tonight. It’s either food or a place to sleep other than the street. Plastering on a fake smile, I answer, ‘That’s sweet of you, Frances. But I’m meeting a friend later. Can I get a rain check?’

‘Of course, dear. If there isn’t anything you need help with, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Nope. All good here. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Once I have clicked send on the email, I power off the computer then grab my bag from the filing cabinet. As I make my way down the hall, I stop by the employee’s lounge, spotting a pack of saltine crackers lying on the counter next to the refrigerator. I peer over my shoulder, finding no one around. A sense of guilt washes over me with what I am about to do, but I do it anyway. Swiftly I dash in, swipe the crackers off the counter, tuck them into my bag then quickly make my way to the elevator.

As I step out into the bustling city streets, the bitter cold cuts at my exposed flesh like a sharp razor blade. Trying to shield part of my body from the wind, I tuck my backpack close to my chest, hearing the cracker crinkle inside. I do what I have to in order to survive another day, but stealing something so simple still eats me up inside.

I walk briskly, weaving in and out of the crowds of people trying to make my way to the shelter.

One day at a time.