Page 53 of Love in Mission City
Ihad a problem.
Well, I had several problems, but one persistent one kept appearing before me.
My new assistant, Orlando.
Well, he’d been working with me for three months, sonewwas relative. But I don’t tolerate change well, so I was still adapting to having this…peacock…in my space.
Damn Simone for finally getting pregnant, delivering high-risk twins, and then deciding she’d take the maximum maternity allowed in this country. One year. She expected me to be without her expertise for ayear.
Which had made life interesting when I looked for an assistant in my architecture firm. I needed someone who could do both interior designandadministrative work.
Along came Orlando, strutting in his colorful suit with itsfunkywaistcoat, carrying a pocket watch, with a fuchsia handkerchief poking out of his pocket. And with a newly minted interior design degree with a minor in business administration.Just enough accounting classes to assure Simone he knew what he was doing.
She hired him on the spot.
Did I have a say?
No, of course not. Because, despite my name being on the door, my sister-in-law pretty much ran roughshod over me. I told myself this was because I wanted her to have a harmonious marriage.
Whatever.
This morning, Orlando wore a royal-purple suit, emerald-green waistcoat, and a bright-blue tie that matched his handkerchief.
And his Converse sneakers, of course. Because, well… Somehow, he’d talked me into that one. Some kind of fashion statement I had no chance of understanding.
In reality, I wanted to yank off all his clothes and fuck him over the conference table.
Repeatedly.
Until I got my fill of him and until he couldn’t walk straight. I wanted him to know who was in control. Who called the shots. Who was the boss.
Or…I saw myself taking an important phone call while he gave me a blow job—tucked under my desk, of course. I’d stay focused on what my client wanted. All the while, Orlando would be sucking my cock, nuzzling my balls, and making me come like a freight train.
Just as that fantasy was about to have me coming in my boxer briefs, Orlando waltzed in.
Knocking wasnota thing in his world.
"I just got off the phone with Jeanie, and you'll never believe what she said. She said theylovedthe designs you submitted for that Collard job, so she thinks that you may be getting aphone call tomorrow about it." He tapped a few times on his omnipresent tablet.
I’d sworn I’d have to surgically detach it when Simone came back and he left. Somehow, that gave me a sad feeling in the pit of my stomach. And a promise of relief for the low-grade headache I’d endured for the last three months. “Jeanie being happy is good news.” She was, after all, one of the most demanding clients I’d ever dealt with. “When does she want to come in to review the final designs?”
“Monday afternoon.”
“Why not Friday?” I glanced at my desk calendar. Orlando teased me about not using the app on my phone, but I preferred to look at anactualcalendar that showedactualmonths at a time.
“Because Friday is Canada Day?” Orlando scowled. “That’s a statutory holiday—as in a paid day off.”
I waved my hand. “Yes, of course.”
He arched one of those eyebrows I swore he plucked. “And you’re taking the day off, right?”
“Uh, sure.” Was that the right thing to say? He’d arrived the week after Easter, so we hadn’t had to deal with that, and I’d vaguely remembered Victoria Day because he’d flown home to Yellowknife to see his parents. I still couldn’t fathom he’d come to Vancouver from the Northwest Territories. Then, once he finished design school, he’d landed in Mission City. It all felt very…improbable.
Of course, my darling Simone had likely convinced him to move to Cedar Valley, where house prices were about half those of downtown Vancouver. I blinked. “Am I paying you enough to buy a condo here?”
He stood, clearly stunned, with his mouth open—as if he’d been about to say something and I’d interrupted his train of thought and that had caused a crash of some kind.
Which I kind of had. Interrupted him, that was.
