Page 19 of His Temptation
I keep telling myself it’s just because she is the only woman to ever tell me like it is. She’s become a lot more brazen with her words. Ever since it was all out in the open with her résumé, it’s like she feels she has nothing to hide. Not only is she my assistant, which is one reason these feelings are wrong, but she is also quite a bit younger than me. I may only be thirty-three, but that’s a lot older than her.
I should fire her. There have been many instances since she started where I would have fired any other assistant without a second thought. What’s different about her that stops me from treating her like the rest of them?
It’s not logical. Sure, the other ones would swoon and bat their eyelashes at me, but they did have a college degree. They had work experience. But they had gone to college on mommy and daddy’s dime. And they were only working until they found a rich husband to step in and provide for them.
It’s not like that everywhere, but here, the city is flooded with beautiful women trying to find an eligible bachelor. It’s nothing I didn’t see growing up. My own father wasn’t immune to the women fawning all over him despite being a married man. He didn’t exactly push them away. He basked in the attention. I’m no fool. I know he wasn’t faithful to my mother.
The number of parties we had at our home, where my father would be in a corner with his hand inappropriately touching someone’s ass, is too many to count.
At nine years old, I creeped out of my bed and leaned over the banister. I was always curious what happened at those parties when I was asleep. Much to my surprise, I saw my father pushing a woman into the back corner of the foyer as he leaned into her neck. His hands touched her in places I never even saw him touch my mother.
My body fills with that all-too-familiar rage whenever I think about my family. I stand up and walk over to my window. The view of the city always reminds me how far I have come. I stare out at the Empire State Building—a landmark in this city that always makes you feel something deep down in your soul.
Some may claim I have no soul, but that’s a cop-out. They get their feelings hurt, and suddenly, I’m an evil villain. But I never pretend to be anything but what I am. The same people calling me soulless would take my money in a heartbeat. They’d kill tohave what I have. Their judgment is just jealousy, wrapped in self-righteousness.
These people judging me have never walked a mile in my shoes. They have no idea what it took me to get here. Their opinions of me are as insignificant as they are.
9
KYLIE
Itype away on my laptop, even as I sit in the waiting room of Benny’s speech therapist’s office. His first four appointments, which are weekly, I’ve been able to get out of work. I know the time is coming where I’ll have to have a talk with Mr. Monroe about my need to leave work before the end of the day.
God knows how that conversation will go. The man has a serious work addiction. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went home at night and continued to work. I don’t think he knows how to have fun.
The irony that I’m currently working while in the waiting room isn’t lost on me. I guess if you’re a workaholic’s assistant, you become a workaholic yourself.
“Okay.” Gretchen, Benny’s therapist, comes waddling out.
I look at her belly, which seems to have doubled in size since last week.
“Wow. It looks like that baby must be ready to come any day now,” I say as I stand and smile at her.
She rubs her belly unconsciously, like most pregnant women seem to do. I find it sweet and endearing.
“Yes, I think he’s ready to come out. I’m certainly ready for him to get here.” She smiles. “That’s actually why I walked out here. I wanted to tell you that I’m starting my maternity leave next week. Today will be my last session with Ben for twelve weeks.”
The thought of not having her for so long makes my entire body deflate. I know Ben loves working with her, and he just started his therapy.
“Aww, don’t worry. We have a volunteer who is going to step in and work with him. He’s going to be in great hands.” She looks over at Benny. “And, you, I know you’re going to continue to do amazing. I expect to see some amazing results when I’m back.”
He smiles at her and nods his head. “I-I-I …” He starts to get stuck on his words, but before I can step in to say anything, Gretchen nods at him like she’s telling him to do something. He takes a deep breath and tries again. Going slower this time, pausing between each word. “I. Will. Be. A. Master. By. The. Time …” He breathes again. “You. Are. Back.”
I’m shocked. It might have taken a while for him to get his words out, but he did it without a stutter. My eyes become damp with emotion.
“There you go.” Gretchen smiles. “Keep at it, and you’ll be speeding it up in no time.”
As we walk back to our apartment, I think about how I should’ve pushed to find a job with insurance sooner. I feel like I’ve failedhim in so many ways. Maybe I should have found a way to afford community college while working. That could’ve given me a leg up somehow.
It’s obvious all he needed was a professional to help him. It was my responsibility to give him that, and I couldn’t. If only that damn life insurance money had made its way into my hands. It’s still out there, sitting in a bank somewhere, collecting dust, while I struggle to make ends meet.
The court says since my parents’ bodies haven’t been found, they’re still ruled missing and not dead. Therefore, the insurance company refuses to give me a penny until the seven-year waiting period is up. The state of New York has a law that requires you to wait seven years from the day the person went missing to collect any life insurance.
That means I still have two more years before I get that money. I can’t afford a lawyer to help me, so all I can do is wait it out. By then, Benny will be in high school. I’m going to put half of it away for him to either pay for school or maybe start a business.
My portion will be used to pay the bills, maybe put some away for retirement depending on how much I get. I would love to retire early and at least spend some of my years enjoying my life. I didn’t get to do that during my teenage years, but maybe I’ll get to enjoy some of my fifties without any worries.
The next morning at work, I stumble into the break room for coffee, where a bunch of the other assistants are sitting at a table, laughing. They obviously have entirely different bossesthan I do. I can’t imagine what Mr. Monroe would say if he caught me sitting down and chatting while on the clock.
