2. Camilla

2

CAMILLA

"It says walk! " someone yells in my ear as they pass me.

I look at the street corner light, a drink carrier in one hand and my personal phone in the other and, sure enough, the light has changed to the walk sign.

My hand vibrates as my phone starts ringing. The name on the screen reads "Dave PI".

I'm on my work hours, so I usually wouldn't have my phone off "Do Not Disturb", but Dave told me if I want to get instant updates, I need to be reachable.

And do I ever want instant updates.

I shake off the asshole who just yelled at me and answer the phone, stepping into the crosswalk while the flashing red hand starts to count down. "Hi, Dave."

"Camilla? Is this a good time?"

"Yes, it's fine. Can you hear me all right?"

"Yeah, but that won't matter much, just need you to listen, kid."

Dave is a grizzled Long Island private detective. He had the best reviews online that were corroborated by Reddit.

"So, I hate to be the bearer of bad news…"

My heart drops, and my eyes start to pinch.

"The address that I found, had a contact go out and check for me if your birth mother was still living there and unfortunately, she isn't. In fact, she hasn't lived at that address for five years."

I keep my head down, curls falling over my eyes, as I slide into the revolving doors of the CipherBit building. Don't need to accidentally make eye contact with someone I know who might wonder why I'm looking glum. "I take it the person who lives there has no idea who she is or where she went?"

"No, unfortunately. I've been trying to get in touch with the landlord for any information, but I'm afraid that's proving to be a bit difficult."

I hurry through the lobby, pop the badge on my hip against the reader before walking through security, giving the guards a soft nod, phone still to my ear. "So, what's this mean?"

"Well, if you think I'm giving up, you'd be wrong," Dave says with a hearty laugh.

That brings a smile to my face, however solemn.

"This is just a small hiccup. I'm just keeping you in the loop. It's important you know where we're at so you can adjust your expectations accordingly, all right?"

"I understand." I duck into one of the elevators that's about to close, keeping my hand as steady as possible so as not to ruin any of the drinks. There are a few businessmen in the elevator, but I avoid looking at them and turn to the panel of buttons and squat down to tap my floor with my elbow.

"This is normal. All a process. I know you were hoping I could snap my fingers and we'd find her, but that's not how this works most of the time."

Dave has been working at this for a month now. That's not a ton of time, but it's not no time either, and it's certainly not no money. However, after my most recent pay bump, I finally have the funds to look for my birth mom.

The closed adoption posed a lot of barriers. My adoptive parents don't know anything.

The second I turned eighteen, I went to the mutual consent adoption registry, the way that people who have come of age can get into contact with their birth parents, and I left my information.

However, eight years later, and still, nothing from my birth mother.

I understand people make choices throughout their lives out of necessity sometimes. I don't blame her for leaving me. I had a great childhood, grew up with loving parents and siblings.

But according to DNA testing, I'm Mexican. Probably from Jalisco. Yet, I never learned Spanish, and I don't know much about my culture other than what I've learned through books and the internet.

It's hard to explain the hollow feeling I have from being disconnected from my true self. I've never felt I belonged anywhere. Not with my white family, not with other Mexicans.

And if I don't know where I come from or where I belong, I don't know how I'll ever be able to invite others into my life. Deeply and truly.

Of course, I understand my biological mother might not want a relationship with me, and though that would hurt me, I would accept it. But I need to know who I am and where I come from.

Dave has already been well worth the money, though. Miraculously, through his magical investigating ways, he was able to find my mother's name. Juana Gonzalez.

It might only be a name to me, but to Dave, it was a trampoline that propelled him from one clue to the next. And his optimism is reassuring.

"Well, thank you for…doing what you do."

He chuckles. "Of course, sweetheart."

I don't like it when people call me terms of endearment like that, but Dave somehow manages to make it sound polite and natural. I don't correct him, though I'd do it to most anyone else.

The elevator stops and the businessmen walk off, doing their best not to knock into me. Finally, I have the elevator to myself. I back up to the wall and wait for the doors to close.

"Wait!" a voice calls out and an arm shoots through to catch the doors.

Color drains from my face when I see it's Seth.

He smiles at me. "Hey, glad I–" His eyes bug out when he clocks the phone. "Oh! Sorry."

I'm the one who should be sorry. A personal call on company time, even if I was out getting coffee, isn't appropriate.

Seth steps beside me and waits with his lips sealed as the doors close and the elevator continues its climb upward.

"I'll call you with updates as I have them," Dave says. "Don't give up hope, Camilla, okay?"

"Yes, thank you. I appreciate that," I say in my most buttoned-up voice.

"Buh-bye."

"Bye." I hang up in a hurry and stick my phone back into the pocket of my slacks, not able to look Seth in the eye. "Sorry about that."

He chuckles. "Why are you sorry?"

"I–it's–I don't know." Apologizing unnecessarily is a bad habit of mine, however in the business world, I find it keeps many of the people I work with comfortable.

"Here's your coffee." I hold out the tray toward him.

"Oh, thank you!" Seth takes the tallest cup of hot coffee and sips it. "Ah. Perfect."

Always perfect. It's my job.

"Speaking of coffee–" he says, just as the doors ding open. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Okay, well, let me drop these off and then–"

Seth waves his hand at someone. "Effy! Can you deliver these coffees to Mark and June?"

Effy, the latest intern, rushes over and takes the drink tray from me. "Can do!"

"Wait, my coffee–" I call after her, but she's already halfway through the office, bounding toward Mark's office.

Seth grimaces. "Sorry. She'll figure it out. She's exuberant, but she gets the job done. Reminds me of someone…" He looks straight at me.

I roll my eyes, but smile. "That was a long time ago."

"That's true. Which is why I want to talk to you. My office, huh?"

I follow Seth to his office, my heart pounding as we go.

I am frequently called to Seth's office as his assistant, but I can never shake the fear that I'm going to be delivered terrible news. Seth used to rule with an iron fist, cutting people left and right if they simply breathed in his direction. However, this past year, he's softened quite a bit.

He closes the office door behind me before we take a seat in our usual positions: him in the leather chair by the window and me on the plump ottoman across from him.

The view from Seth's office is as picturesque as it is intimidating. Just one tall building amongst iron giants. Below, people as small as ants rushing in the New York minute way. Though I work here every day, I still have never shaken the childlike thrill of being high in the air. Much different as opposed to the plains of Kansas.

I reach into my pocket for my work phone, but Seth waves his hand. "No, you don't need that. I'm not dictating. I have an offer for you."

I quirk my eyebrow, returning the phone. "All right…"

"You look nervous." He sips his coffee.

"Yeah, you're acting in a way that's making me nervous."

Seth laughs. He might be my boss, but we have a rapport that's grown since my intern days.

I could tell Seth respected me from day one because, and I quote, "Even when things feel like they're on fire, you're in control."

I graduated from intern, to assistant, to executive assistant. And now, I have a voice in most meetings.

"You don't need to be nervous, I promise."

I heave a sigh. "Okay, then what's up?"

His eyes are focused on me. "I think you've…grown as much as you can here."

I sit forward as if a swarm of bees is attacking my back. "I thought you said I don't need to be nervous!"

Seth holds out his hand palm facing me. "Relax, please. Just hear me out. I have a point, I swear."

I brace for whatever is coming my way because it sounds like I'm getting fired.

"You're beyond good at your job, Camilla. You know that, right? And I want to work with people who are beyond good at their jobs, absolutely. So, you can stick around here, wearing your Executive Assistant title and getting raises every now and then…" Seth narrows his eyes. "But I have a feeling that's not going to sate you for much longer."

"I'm perfectly sated."

Seth's eyes widen, he smiles. "Fine, then I won't tell you about the better offer I have for you."

"I–what better offer?"

"Ah…I knew you'd be curious."

"For God's sake, Seth, just tell me what's–"

"Fine. So, my friend Jack's starting a business. Coffee. And he's never been the boss. He's been a yes man. Stockbroker. Smart as hell but burnt out. Needs good people on his side. A good team, yes, but he also needs a partner. Someone to lean on while he navigates things. I immediately thought of you for the job. No one better in my mind."

My jaw drops. I knew it. "You want to get rid of me?"

"Not at all. But I know you're the best, and Jack deserves the best. He's more like a brother than a friend."

"Thank you…" Is that even the right thing to say? I have no idea what is happening right now.

"Better pay. More input. Getting in at the ground floor. Somewhere to grow and go with your career. What do you think?"

I blink. I've been running on autopilot for years now. I know I'm good at my job. I know I could stay here and go above and beyond, just as I always have.

But there's an itch inside me, one I haven't felt needed scratching until this very moment.

There's another road for me. Something beyond assisting.

Creating.

I grin. "Where do I sign up?"

And more importantly, what the hell am I getting myself into.

The next day, I'm standing outside the door of Jack's FiDi apartment.

When Seth said "ground floor," I didn't know that meant that his friend, Jack, doesn't even have an office space. I'm trying to take that as a good sign. That I have room to do a lot of good work here.

From behind the door come sounds of unlocking. Lots of locks. Is this guy paranoid or something?

I roll my shoulders back, hold my head high, and pull my portfolio closer to my chest. I want to make a good impression.

When the door finally swings open, I am face to face with Jack Lyons. My new boss. Or partner.

Whatever else he might be is secondary to how gorgeous he is.

Tall, dark, and handsome doesn't exactly cover it. There's something about him that's elegant and terrifying at the same time.

Olive skin and dark, well-kept hair. Clean shaven with youthful features. Dark eyebrows. And though he's lanky, underneath his white dress shirt are muscles that are begging to be touched.

Warm brown eyes stare down at me for a few moments, hand on the door.

I'm afraid he might slam it on my face for no apparent reason.

"You're Camilla."

I nod. "You're Jack."

He sucks his lower lip into his mouth and nods once before stepping aside to clear the doorway. "Um, come on in."

"Thank you." I nod, brushing past him into the penthouse apartment.

The place is gorgeous. An open concept dream. Incredible kitchen that opens up onto a spacious living area and windows with a staggering view of the upper bay. You can literally see the Statue of Liberty from here.

However, the apartment is the opposite of lived in. Everything is so clean. Too clean. It seems as though it's been staged for a showing by a real estate agent and they just…never took the furniture away. Nothing is personal. It's all leather and chrome, clean, dark lines, and no signs of life.

Except for the slate kitchen island which is covered in papers. It's not a mess, though. They're all organized in straight, parallel rows.

I might have met someone who might be more of a control freak than me.

Jack closes the door. "Um, we should just jump in, yeah?"

Wow, just jumping right in, huh? Not even a how do you do.

If Seth and Jack are as close as Seth said, Jack probably trusts my former boss implicitly. Still, I wouldn't mind a little introductory session. Just because he knows Seth and so do I, doesn't mean I know Jack.

"I guess. But do you mind if I have a glass of water or something first?"

Jack's eyes snap in my direction, wide. As if it is a crime I need to hydrate. "Oh. Yes, of course."

While he fetches the water, I place my portfolio on the only bare spot on the island. "I'm sure you'd like to see my qualifications or get to know me a bit before you decide if we proceed with the project together."

Jack says nothing, eyes downcast. He places the cup of water on the island and says in a measured, even tone, "That won't be necessary."

"Oh. All right."

"I think it's best if we just get to work."

If we're going to be working together as closely as Seth suggested, shouldn't he be interested in getting to know me? Who I am, how I work…

Is it that he fully trusts Seth or that he really doesn't care?

Or maybe it is something else. He is really attractive, but maybe he's shy. Seth says he was a stockbroker, so maybe it is that he has no idea what to look for in an assistant. Or maybe?—

"Ahem. So. Here's what I have so far if you'll join me."

I listen as Jack walks me through his plan. Or lack thereof. It's more of a sketch than anything. Buy a coffee plantation in Hawaii, find a warehouse to act as a roastery in Brooklyn, then find a storefront centrally located. Money is apparently no object. That's the certainty I hear as he talks, the only thing he seems to know for sure.

I've been in enough meetings to see when things aren't what they ought to be. And Jack's plan is all muddled. A daydream. A collection of thoughts all puzzled together.

"Seth is in charge of personnel, thankfully. We'll have a marketing team, an HR, finance director, and all the like by the end of the month."

Though I'm concerned, my chest warms at the mention of that one little word, we . I agreed to be here. We're in this together.

I'm just going to need to take on that "creative" role a lot faster than I anticipated.

Jack straights up. "So, the first step would be…getting a plantation, I suppose."

I raise my eyebrows. "Is it okay if I give you some feedback?"

Jack sucks in his cheeks and stares at me. "I suppose."

I place my hand onto a pile of documents. "This is a great…sketch. But we need to solidify things before we make any moves. We need at least a five-year plan and a mock budget and–"

Jack frowns. "I thought you were an assistant."

I hold my body in place, though I'd like to take a step backward. My hands want to fly to my waist, but I hold them where they are. " Excuse me?"

"What I mean is…" Jack sighs. "Sorry, I'm not good at this."

"At what? Talking to people?"

His forehead creases deeper.

I sigh. "Look, Seth told me you were looking for someone to come in with a firmer hand than an assistant . Obviously, it's your company. You have the final say. But if you want this done right, I can help."

Jack's nostrils flare.

"Or I can shut up and say yes. Up to you."

Jack glances down at the paper again. "Fine. Give me what you got."

I can't ignore the reluctance in his voice.

Let's see how long I last under the helm of Jack Lyons.