Exercise Discretion

ARIA

After sifting through the folder with a fine-tooth comb, I feel like my picture of Jett Abrams is becoming clearer.

His coffee drink of choice is a latte, unless he is meeting with a powerful client—then he prefers black drip coffee.

He typically prefers Asian food that is prepared fresh and not breaded, as there are a lot of Thai salads and spring roll dishes on his lunch and dinner list.

He meets with his personal trainer five times per week, and he requests that his PA be there most of the time, so they can go over notes and upcoming engagements.

He travels frequently, though not as often as other clients I’ve seen, and he has an extensive list of items that need to be available on his jet and temporary accommodations, such as twelve bottles of Tiftin Fresh Spring Water and imported 4000-thread-count sheets laundered at 110 degrees prior to use.

There are contacts for everyone from his personal trainer to his doorman to his housekeeper. Of course, these are all already programmed into the phone, but I look them over anyway and add the appropriate notes to the phone contacts.

When I have a moment to look up from my desk, the landline beeps.

“Aria, please come in here,” Jett’s voice thunders from the phone.

I grab a pen and the planner and promptly walk across the reception area to Jett’s door. When I enter and walk up to his desk, he doesn’t acknowledge me for a full minute as he types away.

Finally, he closes the laptop and looks up.

“Please prepare a water pitcher and glasses in the conference room. There should be twelve places besides myself. Ask Jerome to meet me at my home gym instead of here this evening, then I’ll have dinner at home. Confirm the flight plan for next week, and make sure the hotel in London has my requirements.”

“Yes, sir,” I say as I write furiously. Suddenly, my PA phone beeps, and I look at it.

“Is something more important, Aria?”

I look up and see Jett’s hands folded in front of his face, which is stone cold and laser-focused on me.

“I apologize. Apparently, Peter Field needs to reschedule your lunch meeting today,” I say.

Jett lets out an annoyed scoff.

He stands up and looks out the window with his arms crossed over his chest. “Schedule something for two weeks from now, then cancel it the day of.”

I crinkle my nose. “I’m sorry, what?”

Jett turns to me, his eyebrows slightly raised. “You’re sorry for what? Not listening? I gave a clear instruction. If you don’t want to follow it…”

“Er, no, I—I’m sorry, sir,” I say. Geez, what a prick.

He regards me carefully for a moment before turning back to the window. “Good. You’ll learn soon enough; I don’t like to repeat myself.”

I slide back into my best customer-service voice. “Of course. Would you like me to cancel the lunch reservation?” I ask as I write a note.

“No, you can join me.”

“Okay,” I say. I look up and see Jett watching me again. “Do you need anything else at this time, sir?”

Jett pauses, staring directly at me. It feels like he’s looking into my soul with those gold eyes. “No. I’ll see you at nine fifteen.”

I leave and begin working on the list of tasks I was just given, starting with rescheduling Peter Field. His assistant is nice enough, but even though Jett wants to cancel the rescheduled time, I go back and forth with her until we settle on a date in three weeks.

I immediately set up the conference room to Jett’s specifications, and before I know it, it’s time for people to arrive for the board meeting. I check in with Vivian, and she confirms that I am to meet the members at the elevator and show them to the conference room.

The board of Alastair Holdings is made up of ten men and two women of various backgrounds. Some are friendlier than expected, like Keir Hamlin, a Southern gentleman from Tennessee. Others are quiet and reserved, like Alisa Chao from Vancouver, BC.

I do my best to remember everyone and put faces to names for future reference. Luckily, the board is easily googled later when I have the chance.

After everyone is seated, Jett comes striding up to the conference room. He gives me a small nod on the way and, after closing the door, I immediately book it to the kitchen to prepare his latte.

After a few tries, I manage to make a decent-looking drink and bring it to the conference room promptly at nine-fifteen.

I walk in while Jett is listening intently to a man asking about the acquisition of the ride-sharing company, and I place the latte in front of him. He nods and gives me a small smile, which I’m assuming is for show.

As I’m leaving, Mr. Hamlin grabs my wrist, nearly tugging me off my balance. I adjust myself on my heels and turn to him.

“Would you be a dear and bring me a seltzer water?” he asks in his jovial Southern accent.

I smile and nod.

“Keir, what are you doing?” Jett interrupts the man, and all eyes turn to him and then to Keir Hamlin.

“I was simply asking Miss, uh—”

“Aria James, my new assistant,” Jett says.

“Right, Miss James for a seltzer water,” he says as he smiles at me again.

“Would anyone else like a seltzer water?” Jett asks.

Four more hands go up.

“Great. And if anyone else dares to grab at Aria James in my presence, I will not respond so kindly.”

My insides turn to ice as I look at Mr. Hamlin in horror. His smile drops, and the apples of his cheeks turn red.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“That is all, Aria. Thank you,” Jett says loudly, cutting him off.

Whoa.

I feel thirteen pairs of eyes on me as I swiftly exit the room.

I pause in the kitchen, taking a few deep breaths. That was incredibly awkward. Why did Jett react that way? It felt protective and slightly possessive, but he barely knows me. He has no reason to be protective.

I’m suddenly reminded of my nights doing bottle service at swanky nightclubs in college. Men had no issue grabbing my wrists, arms, and occasionally an ass cheek.

Of course, those fine specimens would receive a random bottle charge and a minimum gratuity of twenty-five percent.

I place eight bottles of seltzer and a few extra glasses on a tray, along with a bowl of sliced lemons and a small pair of tongs.

Always anticipate what someone will ask for before they ask for it.

When I enter the boardroom again, there’s tension in the air, but I’m not sure if it’s because of the earlier interaction or whatever they’re discussing.

“Jett, you are quite good at fostering success in hostile environments, but I frequently worry that you spread yourself too thin,” a stern-looking older man says.

“I agree. Why not focus on your current companies instead of purchasing new ones?” a middle-aged brunette woman who is not Alisa Chao asks.

Everyone pauses as I place the bottles, glasses, and dish of lemons on the table. I stand back and look around briefly in case anyone else tries to get my attention.

Most eyes are on Jett or the items I just placed on the table, but Jett’s eyes are on me. He’s placed a finger to his lips pensively, and he has a slight smirk on his face as he leans back in his chair.

I feel my cheeks blush slightly, and I try to look focused on the menial task in front of me.

When no one says anything for a moment, I nod and promptly leave.

Back in my office, I decide to make a list of the items I need to complete throughout the rest of the day, including ordering Jett’s dinner and attending his personal-training session.

Organization is the key to success.

When I hear the board meeting adjourn and leave for the day, I hold my breath as Jett walks by my office. But he doesn’t stop or even glance in my direction.

I clean up the glasses from the meeting and decide to make myself a latte before sitting back down at my desk.

By the time I’ve sifted through the unopened emails in the PA inbox, it’s already eleven twenty and time to leave for my lunch with Jett. I take a compact out of my purse and check my reflection.

“Ready?”

Jett’s voice surprises me, and I involuntarily jump.

I turn around and see Jett leaning against the doorframe of my tiny office, again smirking at me.

“Yes, I’m ready,” I say, then I stand in front of him with my hands crossed, but he doesn’t move. “Is there…something else I can do for you?”

“Yeah, there is,” he says. “You can cut the bullshit.”

I’m completely caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t need your prim-and-proper facade, Aria; I’m looking for someone capable and honest,” he says.

“Have I not been honest with you?”

Jett lifts his chin slightly. “I can read people quite well. I know for a fact you would’ve handled Keir harsher in different circumstances, and you probably would’ve told me to fuck off a time or two already. I want someone with a spine—not someone to placate me or lie to me.”

Wow, he does seem to be a little paranoid. I wonder what happened to make him feel this way—especially toward someone he just met a few hours ago.

I sigh and give a small shrug. “Okay, thank you for the feedback. I’ll take the kid gloves off now,” I say.

He nods approvingly, and I have to admit it feels good to be praised by him, even if it’s just a small nod.

“Great, now let’s go,” he says.

The lunch reservation is scheduled at a fancy Thai bistro that I’ve only been to once. I peruse the menu, even though I know what I’ll be having.

When the server comes to take our order, Jett orders the spring rolls with shrimp.

“That sounds good. I’ll have the same thing,” I say. It’s a simple psychology tactic to help inflate someone’s ego, but I worry Jett will be able to tell and call me out on it.

Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything as I open the planner. “I thought we could go over a few things while we wait?” I say.

He folds his hands in front of his face. “Sure.”

“You have a marketing meeting after this, followed by a meeting with your lawyer. Would you like me to be present at either one of those?”

“Marketing, yes. Lawyer, no.”

“Great.” I scribble a note.

“Would you like anything in particular for dinner?”

“Salads will be fine,” he says.

“More than one?”

“Yes—unless you don’t like salad,” he says as he examines his cuticle.

“Oh, er, okay,” I say.

“And you are welcome to join my workout, but you’ll probably need to change, and we won’t be slowing down for you,” he says.

I scoff.

His eyes immediately shift to me. “Something funny? Care to share?”

I look at him and go to protest but remember that he asked for honesty.

I lean forward. “I’m certain I will have zero problems keeping up with you,” I say.

Jett leans forward slightly, his conceited smile firmly in place. “Is that so?”

I decide not to back down.

“Yes.”

He smiles widely. It’s irritatingly sexy.

“Excellent,” he says as he leans back. I’m not sure if he’s saying this in response to my confidence in working out or that I stood my ground with him.

I will myself not to roll my eyes as I scan the schedule for the rest of the week.

“You have a gala to attend on Saturday. Do you have a tuxedo picked out, or do we need to get one?”

“I have one that will work, but it needs to be dry-cleaned and pressed.”

“Great, I’ll take care of that,” I say.

“And do you have something suitable for the gala?” he asks nonchalantly.

I look up at him. “You…want me to attend?”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I reserved seats for Lena and me. Since she’s not going, it’d be good for you to meet some of the other benefactors.”

“Okay, I understand,” I say as I make a note to find some time to go shopping.

Our food arrives just then, and we eat in silence for a few blissful minutes. It’s the first moment of peace I’ve had since arriving at the office this morning, and I relish it.

“So, Aria,” Jett says as he swallows a bite. “I assume you know far too much about me at this point. Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Sure,” I say as I sit up straight and fold my hands in my lap.

“Favorite drink?”

I’m not expecting this, but I answer truthfully. “Martini or Pinot Noir,” I say. He looks at me quizzically, and I shrug. “Depends on my mood.”

He chuckles. “Okay. Favorite season?”

“Autumn.”

“Favorite book?”

“Slaughterhouse-Five.”

Jett’s eyebrows shoot up. I’ve finally surprised him. “Really?”

I chuckle. “Are you really never surprised by people?”

He laughs. “Not really, it’s sort of my thing. A gift, honestly.”

“Sounds kinda…boring?”

I freeze. That was probably a stupid thing to say.

“It is. People either tell me what I want to hear, or they are predictable.” He sips his water, then shrugs. “But I can’t help it. I like to figure people out.”

I smile and nod.

So, he’s lonely. Good to know.

“All right. Favorite food?”

“Hmm…Kraft Mac ’n’ Cheese made in my grandma’s old stainless-steel pot,” I say with a warm smile.

“See, now that’s super predictable. Everyone says that.”

I laugh as I take a sip of water. He does have a sense of humor.

For the first time in hours, the knot in my stomach loosens slightly. We chat for a bit longer before Jett pays, and we make our way to his car and driver.

Outside, a few paparazzi have gathered and are snapping photos and shouting questions as we walk to the car.

I’ve experienced this with other clients and always make sure to walk several paces behind so there’s no confusion about the nature of our relationship, but Jett stops halfway and places a hand on the small of my back to guide me into the car.

Inside, he picks up his phone and starts rattling off tasks for me to do as he slips back into demanding boss mode. The mask he’d taken off at lunch to reveal his sweet, funny personality is now firmly back in place.