Page 8 of Enthrall
“Of course,” I said, turning back to face him. “What else would I be?”
His keen stare found me again. “Buddha Nine.”
“Sorry?”
“The password to my Gmail account.”
“Got it.” I closed the door behind me.
In the kitchen I poured myself a coffee from what was left over and returned to my desk. Within minutes I’d used Richard’s code to access his emails. Nervous he’d know I’d rummaged through the old ones, which I really wanted to do, I resisted.
Other than a new email from a Cameron Cole, confirming meeting Richard later this evening at some place called Soho House, nothing else came in for several hours. This gave me time to rearrange my desk. The office supplies were all over the place so it took me a little over an hour to get organized.
The elevator pinged and I knew to expect Monsieur Trourville. His name had been neatly written in Enthrall’s diary for a 2:00 P.M.
Lotte had explained that clients were uncomfortable with their names being stored on any kind of database, therefore all appointments were written in pencil and erased by the secretary when the client presented. I wondered how they kept track for billing and tax purposes, but wasn’t going to mention that in case she handed that aspect of Enthrall’s administration over to me. Hanging out here at reception, transferring the occasional call, typing up the odd letter for Richard, as well as welcoming guests, had a nice feel to it. After trying to hold down two jobs I was grateful for the break. And just this for the amazing salary of seventy-five thousand dollars a year showed I’d landed on my feet for once.
Monsieur Trourville strolled down the hall. I rose to greet him. His name made him sound old, but he was in his thirties. His air of superiority broke when he smiled. He looked so formal in his three-piece suit and waistcoat. A kind face and regal arched nose would have said European even if his name hadn’t.
“Monsieur Trourville,” I said, “May I get you a drink?”
“No, but thank you,” he said. “You must be Enthrall’s new secretary? Mistress Lotte told me a new girl would be here when I came in.”
I went to shake his hand. “I’m Mia.”
Aghast, he glared at my hand. “I don’t...”
Lotte burst through the staff doorway. “Monsieur.” Her usual kindness was gone, her demeanor domineering. “Sir, you’re late. This is unacceptable.”
The wall clock proved he was in fact right on time. Yet he accepted this accusation and bowed his head in shame.
“I see you’ve met our new secretary.” She turned to me. “Unlock the gate please, Ms. Lauren.”
Relieved Lotte’s sternness wasn’t directed at me, I removed my well hidden key from the second drawer down. I eased it into the lock of the golden crisscrossed gate. It turned smoothly. On Lotte’s nod, I slid it open and called the lift with a push of a button. The doors parted and Monsieur Trourville and Lotte stepped inside.
“Lock it,” said Lotte.
The doors closed on them.
I hoped they had another means of escape should one be needed. Though to be honest, the way Lotte had Monsieur Trourville under her control that was the least of his worries.
Lotte carried a whip.
AFTER A WEEK I really felt I’d gotten the hang of this.
Richard had stayed out of my way, hardly giving me any work to do, and I’d actually gotten to hang out in the coffee room with Lotte, Scarlet, and the former Ms. BlackBerry, now known as Lady Penny. Though Penny only worked some of the time at Enthrall, apparently.
I felt grateful when they welcomed me into their clique, offering words of encouragement and sharing their wisdom about all the life lessons they’d learned on work, love, and as Scarlet put it, most importantly, shopping. All of this while sharing crumbling homemade cookies that Lotte had brought in. They may have looked menacing in their dominatrix outfits but they were kind to me.
I took pleasure making them coffee every morning and ensuring they had everything they needed, running errands for them, making visits to the post office, dry cleaners, and even picking up the occasional grocery item.
The highlight of my day was eating my catered lunch outside the back of the club in the private garden overlooking the carp pond. Watching those orange and silver fish swim around had a soothing effect, and I wondered why no one else took advantage of this setting.
Back at my desk, with half an hour to go before Monsieur Trouville’s next appointment, I opened my pocketbook and spent half an hour or so calculating where I was financially and estimating I’d be able to pay off my step-mom’s medical bills in about two years. That was, of course, if I stayed on track with my spending. Light shimmered at the end of this dark tunnel, though it hardly compared to the blackest years of my life. That award went to losing my real mom after she’d overdosed on cocaine, right after my tenth birthday, and four years later my dad crashed his motorcycle in a fatal accident.
With a shiver, I buried those thoughts where they belonged, far away from where they could touch me or hurt me anymore. They had no right to infringe on my new life and cast a dark cloud over what promised to be a better future. My hands clutched the edge of the desk.
The entryway lift pinged.
