The Assistant

Chapter Seven

Jesse

After

Two interviews yesterday, two earlier today, and the last one was scheduled for this afternoon. Out of all of them, the only candidate Emery had shown any interest in so far was the fifty-five-year-old woman who had come in this morning. He liked the amount of experience she had, but she was ten minutes late, couldn’t find a pen inside her purse, and her sneeze reached us all the way over to the other side of the table because she didn’t cover her mouth.

She wasn’t a good fit.

We still had one more appointment to go and with about fifteen minutes until she arrived, I went into the kitchen and filled two glasses with seltzer, splashing in some cranberry and fresh lime juice, and I set them both on the table. On the other side I placed a bottle of water, and then I went into Emery’s office, holding onto the doorframe while I said, “It’s almost time for the last interview.”

He slowly glanced toward me, his face telling me he was exhausted with the process. “I don’t know if I have one more in me.”

I just needed him to hang in a little bit longer.

“You do,” I assured him. I turned my body but kept my focus on him. “Meet me at the dining room table in a few minutes. I already got you a drink. You want some almonds?”

He gave me a peek of a smile. That was all I needed, just that tiny bit and I would immediately stop breathing, my heart feeling as though it were going to burst in my chest.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d love some.”

Suddenly, that feeling was quickly turning into something else. My thoughts were everywhere. My breathing was becoming labored. He was staring at my mask while inside I was falling the hell apart. I was doing everything possible to hide it from him, but I knew I couldn’t for much longer.

“I’ll see you out there,” I said, and I turned, trying not to make it obvious by rushing out, but I still hurried along until I got to the library.

Once I was inside with the door shut, I grabbed one of the shelves with both hands and squeezed the wood with my fingers, my face falling between my extended arms.

I just needed to hold on to something—anything.

My throat was tightening. My ears were ringing. My breath was long gone. Somewhere deep inside of me, a pair of hands were wrapped around my throat and they were getting tighter and tighter and tighter.

And then …

It was over.

I sucked in a mouthful of air, my skin so slick, my hands slipped off the wood. I turned around, now facing the massive shelves in front of me, and I tried to calm my breathing, stopping the tremors that were shuddering through me.

The panic attacks had been happening more frequently in the last five months. This one had almost occurred in front of Emery. If he had seen me in the library, he would have questions.

And those were questions I couldn’t answer.

I left that thought behind as I walked to my favorite shelf. Starting all the way to the left, I ran my fingers across the spines of the entire Shakespeare collection my father had given to me. I read the titles and I tried to slow my heart rate, and I got into the headspace where I needed to be. And right before I reached the last book of the collection, I heard the sound of the doorbell.

It was like an alarm.

I didn’t just hear it. I felt it, too. All the way through my body like the tremors that had shaken me earlier.

Once I made sure the mask was on tight, I made my way to the front of the house and opened the door. I swallowed, blinking hard. And just as my eyes connected to hers, I heard, “Hi, I’m Charlotte.”

She used one hand to hold the strap of her oversized purse and the other was sliding through the air toward me.

I took in as much as I could—her long lashes, her grin, her dark red nails. “Hi,” I said, clasping hands with her. “I’m Jesse, Emery’s wife.” I still wasn’t breathing right, but I was doing the best I could.

Now that I’d been standing in the doorway for a few seconds, I realized it wasn’t as cold as yesterday, but it was still freezing out. I wondered why Charlotte didn’t have any gloves on. Her hand was warm. Even a little sweaty.

I was sure mine was also and that was what I continued to think about when I said, “Please come in.” Once she was inside, I shut the door and added, “We’re going to be chatting in the dining room, so please follow me.”

Before I turned around, she shrugged out of her jacket and draped it across her arm, revealing a white top underneath. White wasn’t a forgiving color, I stayed away from it, but it looked excellent on her.

Her light brown hair fell past her shoulders in waves, my stare going back to the red lipstick every time. It pulled you in as did her red pants.

I didn’t have red in my life.

I left it for women like Charlotte.

I finally put my back to her and led her toward the dining room where I knew Emery would be waiting. As soon as I rounded the corner, I saw him with his hand in the almonds, chewing a mouthful of them. When he heard my shoes on the floor, he faced me, our eyes connecting for only a second, and then they moved to Charlotte. She was behind and to the left of me, giving him the perfect view of the both of us.

There was a dip in his gaze, and then he was back on me.

With a smile, I stopped before my husband, turning halfway so I could see the two of them, and I began the introductions. “Emery, this is Charlotte Scott.”

He stood and moved beside me to shake her hand. The hint of the smile was back just at the corners of his lips. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

“And you as well,” she answered.

Her voice wasn’t too sweet. It wasn’t sassy either. It was this neutral tone that didn’t hurt or bore.

“Charlotte, why don’t you take a seat and tell my wife and me a little about yourself,” Emery said.

I followed him to my usual chair where I could focus on the woman across from me.

Her résumé said she was thirty-two, from Florida, and a graduate of the University of Vermont. Her first job out of college was an AP English teacher at the local high school. The rest of her employment history, knowledge, and skill level was higher than what Emery needed.