No, she absolutely wasn’t going to think about their almost friendship ever again. Because, as per point one, perfect, professional PAs did not do that.
How hard could it really be to stick to that? Her destiny was in her own hands, after all. She could do this.
Her best-laid plans were sorely tested the moment she glanced over at Elena’s open office door. She could smell her. Her perfume, mixed with the sharp scent of ink from proofs and a hint of chai tea. Elena wasn’t even in her office, but it felt as if she was just there. Watching her. Like always.
Maddie frowned and distracted herself by sorting out her own desk, sliding pens into drawers, rattling a tray of paperclips.
“What is this?”
Maddie looked up to be met by Elena’s long, hard stare.
“Who are you supposed to be?” Elena came around Maddie’s desk for a better look before pointing at the mid-thigh, grey skirt.
“Your personal assistant.” Maddie hated the words the moment she said them. “It’s what Felicity wears.”
“I see.” Elena’s lips pursed. “Well, if you must be a clone, try to at least emulate a professional whose look you actually like.”
She stalked off. That became the sum total of all she’d said to Maddie all day. Any assignments for her arrived via email. The pings of the incoming messages were constant.
Elena, ensconced in her office, looking as regal as a queen, never glanced up, never made eye contact, never said her name in that beautiful French way she used to, with the last e of Madeleine turned into an a.
It was ridiculous, this no-talking thing, because her boss was sitting right there. Within easy earshot. Instead, Elena gave Maddie a wall of silence.
Her wardrobe critique, both mocking and cool, remained in Maddie’s ears for the rest of the day.
Emulate a professional whose look you actually like? Fine.
The following day Maddie sauntered into work wearing her own version of an H.G. Wells vest. Plus chunky boots. She’d given the fob watch a miss, because she wasn’t that derivative, but her message was clear.
All morning she waited for a reaction. No new work decrees pinged from Elena, who had been in and out of the office without a word or look, so Maddie was bored. She adjusted the photo of her family on the desk, along with one of her goofing around with Simon. She spun around on her chair a few times when no one was looking. Rummaged around her desk. Dug up something called The PA’s Unofficial Handbook with a note on the front to read this VERY carefully. A few folded papers were wedged inside. They contained a list of names of some sort. Weird. And where did she know the name Frank Harkness from, anyway? She noticed some notes in the margin. She started in dismay when she realised what the list meant. Just then, the outer door banged open.
Elena came striding in, so Maddie thrust the handbook and its hidden list back in her drawer to study later. She sat up straighter, hoping she wasn’t looking too eager, as she waited for a comment on her outfit. How would Elena take her clear imitation? She waited. And waited.
Elena passed her, glanced at her, and didn’t say a word.
Three hours later, Elena stopped at her desk and studied her new look properly. Finally, she nodded. “Where are my budget reports from the Kensington Group? I should have had them on my desk an hour ago.”
And that was that.
* * *
Over the next few months, little changed. Maddie fetched cups of tea, made calls, took notes at meetings, picked up samples, memorised the unofficial handbook and its sobering details, and traded witticisms with Perry. She even picked up a little about how fashion worked. It was entirely unintentional, but she couldn’t unknow it now.
Maddie had tried to work on her second vow, but she spent so much effort being the consummate PA that she’d had no time to write anything beyond scribbled memos and food orders. Some nights, she sat at home, staring at the wall, trying to write but too exhausted to tap out anything beyond her name. She told herself she was looking for a new job, a real job, even though she had made no effort to do so.
She didn’t even have the creative outlet of her Aliens of New York blog anymore. Jason, the single dad who’d loved it, had taken over for her. That seemed fair, since he was actually in New York. But it meant Maddie often stared at the walls, robbed of words, wondering what had happened to her writing dreams.
Her thoughts drifted to where they usually did. She tried very hard to forget the woman she’d once known. It helped in some ways that Elena was direct, cool, boss-like, and shared nothing. Well, almost nothing. Because no one was an empty void. And Maddie always noticed the small, subtle things most people missed. As hard as she tried not to see, she saw them. It made keeping her last vow more taxing than ever. Maddie didn’t like to dwell on what it meant. It shouldn’t be this hard to ignore a boss who had gutted her old paper and fired everyone. It shouldn’t be this hard to pretend she wasn’t human.
But the struggle was getting worse. For instance, she tried hard not to notice whenever she heard a low, deep laugh from a certain corner office.
She also knew she definitely shouldn’t notice whenever Elena wore her H.G. outfit. Maddie shouldn’t be mesmerised by the way the black pants stretched across the woman’s tight, shapely ass, the pull of the vest at her waist and breasts, the crisp, white shirt that was always opened three buttons, revealing a hint of cleavage, not to mention the jaunty boots and the swing in her hips as she moved.
Noticing things like this wasn’t an isolated incident. But it didn’t mean a thing. How could it? Because Maddie was the consummate professional, and her boss barely even acknowledged her existence.
* * *
Simon dropped by on the weekend, looking about as smitten as a man could get. Caroline had seemingly moved from “playing it by ear” to “can’t take my eyes off her”.
“I wonder when it changed?” He looked puzzled. “How did Caro go from regular girl to most fascinating girl in human history in five minutes? How does that even work?”
Maddie didn’t have an answer but spent the next two hours patiently feeding him pizza and beer while he listed the woman’s many virtues, some considerably more shallow than others. His puzzled comment stuck with her, though. When had it changed for her?
After three sleepless nights in a row, Maddie decided she blamed the red dress. Garnet dress. The one that had stopped time when Elena tried it on for Perry in her New York office. That had been the moment. Ground zero. Ever since then, she had been hyperaware of everything about Elena. The way she ran her fingers through her hair when she was tired, the way she tapped a pen against her lips. Maddie had dismissed it as a simple attraction at the time. Chemistry. Her boss was stunning; Maddie had eyes. So what? It meant nothing.
But now she was aware of her and aware of her own awareness. Elena was all she could think about. She worked close to the woman, all day, every day. With the barest movement of her head, she could look right at her. So, she took advantage of this, often. Far too often. Maddie had finally come to an unfortunate conclusion—she wanted her boss.
The worst part was that it wasn’t just chemistry. Try as she might, she couldn’t crush the kernel inside her that cared for Elena. She wanted her to be happy. She wanted to connect with her again the way they used to. Wanted to see her throw back her head in laughter. Or in ecstasy. That thought thrilled her. It was a fantasy that sent shivers through Maddie. God, how she wanted her in every way imaginable.
It was insane, feeling this way, even knowing what Elena really was like. Driven and focused, she only cared about her business. And, at the moment, business meant her baby, Style Sydney. A fashion magazine that careless executives had somehow allowed to dive in circulation.
The first meeting with Style Sydney’s management team after Elena touched down was seared in Maddie’s brain. Elena had laid down the law with a pointed, furious speech about how the glossy mag had drifted from its passionate, core base of fashion readers into more mainstream topics that the now fired editor-in-chief had more interest in. But as pretty as luxury cars and Sydney Harbour real estate could be, and despite the expensive, $50,000, full-page ads they brought in, the topics had led their audience to abandon them for a more fashion-focused magazine.
This, apparently, was the reason for most of Elena’s wrath. Because the nearest rival the readers were bailing to was CQ, the same magazine Elena had left under a mysterious cloud.
So far, all Maddie had found out about that, while getting to know Perry, was that Elena had been groomed to be editor of CQ. Instead, Emmanuelle Lecoq had won the top role and become the most famous name in fashion-editing circles.
And now, in Sydney at least, the magazine that Elena had set up to crush CQ was losing readers to it by the thousands. The war drums were being pounded. Elena was in battle mode. And in spite of every feeble, internal protest, Maddie found it a thrilling sight. Her boss could stride in and own a room like no one else.
