He’s in his suit again. And it looks like mine arrived early this morning.
“Fifteen minutes until the meeting. We can’t be late,” he chimes, and sets down my coffee, lays the outfit on the bed next to me, pecks my cheek and he’s gone again.
The sound of his humming disappearing once I hear his office door closing.
I guess this is day one as whatever it is I am now… on a work day.
A Monday.
I throw myself back against the pillows, moaning with that ache again, the memory of Mason inside me yesterday and most of last night still so fresh I have to smile as I sigh to myself.
But I also realize he’s serious. Fifteen minutes to shower and get dressed for his meeting.
He’s all play when it’s playtime, but I know that Mason Thorne is all business when it comes to business.
I slurp my scalding hot coffee on my way to the shower, running that hotter than usual to soothe some of my aches, but try as I might by the time I’m scuttling for the board room opposite reception, I see the door closing.
Crap!
I’m late for my first day, my first meeting.
Whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing.
Crap!
I tiptoe up to the huge walnut doors, and I can hear Mason’s deep voice as he starts to address everyone in the room.
I open one door just a fraction and seeing everyone’s attention turned somewhere else, I try to slide in unnoticed.
“Ah! Ms. McPherson. Thank you for joining us,” Mason says, appearing beside me and scaring the daylights out of me.
Everyone’s eyes turn from the giant screen at the front back to me, and to Mason.
“Everybody, this is Jules McPherson. She’s starting with us today. She’s my new...assistant… and uh… more than that, anything she asks of you or gives approval to, it’s the same as if it came from my own mouth,” he stammers nervously, although his voice is still deep and true.
He shoots me a quick wink and ushers me into a giant leather chair, right next to his at the head of the even bigger board room table.
There must be thirty people, mostly men but a few women, all as sharply dressed as Mason and all looking at me like I should be saying something.
“Sorry I’m late,” is all I can manage, and like at a tennis match, all eyes shift to Mason, earnestly looking to him for what comes next.
He picks up where he left off, referring to the screen which has a bunch of graphs and charts on it. Someone passes me a thick, leather-bound portfolio, which I open after noticing everyone else has one and they seem to be studying it with great interest.
Mason continues, “I’d like to thank Marcus Fitch and his team who pulled an all-nighter to get this data to us. Great work, Marcus.”
Mason holds out his hand, singling out one man at the table.
A murmur goes around the table, pages turn and the guy I assume is Marcus stands up, clearing his throat.
Marcus starts to speak, but after about thirty seconds I can’t follow what he’s saying. I look down at my outfit, comparing it to the other women at the table.
Damn, I look pretty good in this, even without the diamond watch.
Mason shoots me a smile while everyone’s noses are following the narrative along with their portfolio data.
Mason lets Marcus run his presentation before summing it up in his own words, which I know is for my benefit only.
The rest of the board are looking at Mason like he’s cracked.
“It’s basically this folks. Thorne industries is changing. It has changed. There’s not going to be any more underhand, behind my back deals… on anything.”
Most eyes are on Mason as I look around, but quite a few aren’t. They’re looking at me and then to the door.
Mason opens a briefcase in front of him, pulling out a stack of large envelopes while he speaks.
“I only found out about a proposed development, a cheap land grab really, because of the auction we ran for the charities the other night. The soup kitchen Ms. McPherson was representing, I found out, was only part of it. Twelve city blocks all bought from the city at giveaway prices, with only a few of you signing off on it, deliberately keeping it from me. Why? Because you know I wouldn’t have gone along with it.”
A few people start to shift in their seats. Mason starts to move around the table, putting one envelope in front of each person. Except me.
No envelope for me.
“If it wasn’t for that auction. If it wasn’t for Ms. McPherson’s generosity and tireless efforts to serve others, I would never have gone down there and I would never have met Florence, the manager who told me the whole place had been bought out from under them.”
Mason stops to let his words sink in. But I can see he’s also struggling not to show his own emotions, especially when he looks at me.
“Mason Thorne does not put people out on the street. Mason Thorne does not kick people when they’re down.”
Someone stands, trying to interrupt Mason, but his pointing finger and look of total contempt sees the man sitting down again quickly.
“You and a few others, including my own personal assistant of twenty years went behind my back and tried to use my name to make more money for yourselves than you thought was fair as part of your tenure with my company.”
The last of the envelopes have been passed out and Mason is back at the head of the table, his leather chair creaking under the grip of his huge hands on the back of it.
“I’m buying back the latest so called Thorne development, by hook or crook. Using the entire company’s assets to back me if need be, and I’ll be buying back every other similar deal that whoever responsible thought they could slip past me.”
Eyebrows go up, a few toss forward their portfolio folders, and
