Love Song - 6

Beep, beep. Beep, beep. Beep, beep.

I reached out and grabbed my alarm clock, slapping it quiet. Grumbling sleepily, I sat up in bed and swung my legs off the edge. Pale grey light filtered into the room from the window, illuminating my messy bedroom. Groaning, I stood up and ran my hand through my tufted morning hair before grabbing my shirt and pulling over my head.

Ugh. Another day at work. Boring, boring work where I was business man and not a music man. Ugh. I shuffled to the kitchen, yawning and stretching, my taste buds and senses desperately yearning for milky coffee.

I walked to the machine and flipped the switch, sighing in contentment as the familiar hum of my best morning friend filled the kitchen. Within seconds, I cradled a steaming mug of sweet coffee topped with an inch of generous froth in my warming hands. Smiling, I raised the cup to my lips and took a scalding sip.

Work, work, work … when I had first inherited my late father’s music producing business, I had been excited to no end. Getting to work with music – the sole love of my life! What more could I ask for?

What more indeed.

As manager, if I ever heard any music, it was if I’d taken the time to put it on myself. Not that I had much of that. Time, I mean. Between checking that everything’s okay with the company and recoding my own songs and going away on millions of business meetings, I hadn’t had time to manage it all. That’s why the need of a PA had become essential, and …

Oh Lord. PA. Crystelle Giovanni. The funny, beautiful, smart Crystelle Giovanni that had haunted my dreams and thoughts for so many months after our break up. She started today!

The realisation hit, and I slammed my mug down with unnecessary force. I was going to see Crystelle again.

Two seconds passed, and then I flew to my bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time and laughing in a happy carefree way that I hadn’t heard in a long time. Crystelle. I sighed the name in my head, and then threw my wardrobe open. I had lots of tailored, well cut suits because of work – I was suddenly unsure at which one to wear.

Laughing at myself, I delved into the space and grabbed the first suit my fingers came into contact with – a smooth, simple black twp piece. I paired it with the classic crisp white shirt, and then fixed a skinny black tie around my neck.

Finally, my massive, dark shades to protect my eyes from the flash of the cameras as I got in and out of the car.

I pushed the glasses up my nose and walked out of my expensive apartment.

"Mr Carmichael! Mr Carmichael! We hear you have a new assistant! There’re rumours that the woman you employed is an old flame. Is that true? And if so, will you be reigniting your relationship?" Somebody yelled in my ear, pushing a microphone under my nose. I knocked it away the way you might flick your hand at a pesky fly.

"Will! Is it true that –"

"Mr Carmichael, are you –"

"William, will you be –"

Finally, I had pushed through the hoard and arrived at my limo. Where were the burly bodyguards when you needed them? Oh yes – on holiday, the break I had stupidly decided to give them. Idiot.

Sighing, I slipped into the plush leather seats of the car and slammed the door. Peter, my driver, began to drive instantly. I sighed in relief, relaxing against the comfy seats. It was all very well being famous and all that, but the side effects really do get tedious.

We were at the building in two minutes, partly because the traffic was quite light early morning, mostly because Peter was an excellent driver. Then I had to go through the whole paparazzi farce again, before striding into the building and being safe at last.

"Hello, Mr Carmichael. Your new PA has already arrived – she’s upstairs – and Roberta has your messages." Lucy, a pretty, blonde main receptionist, greeted me, tucking a straight lock of hair behind her ear. She fluttered her eyelashes, too, but I ignored that – instead, just smiling friendlily like I was inclined to do to everyone. She was good. I could hardly even see the disappointment on her face.

"Thanks, Lucy. Buzz Roberta and tell her to tell Miss Giovanni that I’ll be right up."

"Right away, sir." Lucy said, leaning over to pick the handset up from its cradle. "Hey, Robby? Yeah, Mr Carmichael says to tell Crys that he’ll be right up." She smiled again and returned the phone to its former position. I was suddenly very alert. Crys? Did Lucy know Crystelle? Were they friends already?

I wanted to ask all of these questions to the receptionist, but it would seem weird. Then I noticed she was looking at me strangely. I was stood there, at the front desk, staring off into space. Oh. A slight smile appeared on my lips as I walked towards the elevator. I was so distracted already. And it was all Crystelle’s fault. Crystelle, Crystelle, Crystelle. My smile grew wider as I repeated her name in my mind, trying it in different voices, different accents. My Crystelle.

>>Crystelle<<

I watched him unfold himself out of the limo, straighten himself up. He was wearing an amazingly flattering black suit, with giant shades covering up half his face. I thought he looked absolutely gorgeous. His tie was all hew skew, and his blazer was open to reveal a white shirt.

I watched with hypnotised eyes until he walked into the building and I couldn’t see him anymore. Then, like a teenager with a crush, I turned back around, leant against the glass wall and pressed a hand to my heart. It was racing. This wasn’t a good sign.

The door slammed open, and I scrambled back into a standing expression, guiltily sheepish. Roberta, the seventh floor receptionist, stood there with a kind smile on her face.

"Mr Carmichael says he’ll be right up." She announced, and then winked conspiringly. "Nice outfit." She added before turning and walking away. I looked down at my assemble. I had thought it very businesslike, and it was. It wasn’t my fault that the only pants I could find were skinny jeans, and that the shirt I was wearing was very well cut. I had tried to cover that fact up with a simple black silk waistcoat, but now, under the examination of Roberta, it seemed jazzy and cool. Which it was, but you know, I’m not dressed to impress.

And the black toe peep heels I was wearing were entirely Sara’s fault. She had taken all my black flats and knee high suede boots, so these were the only option.

I compared my outfit to Roberta’s. Hers was definitely flashier than mine. She was wearing a sequined mini skirt, black shirt and pointy boots. Why had she made that comment?! Why, oh why?

My internal distress was interrupted by the door slamming open again. This seemed to be Roberta’s trademark, so without lifting my head from my hands, I said,

"Is it really too much? I mean, shall I go home and change? I don’t own anything smarter than this. Your outfits just as nice as mine. What do I wear if I can’t wear this?"

"I think your outfit is perfectly lovely." A male voice replied. Recognizing instantly the familiar husk of Will’s voice, I raised my head. And then shot to my feet.

"Oh, Mr Carmichael, I’m sorry. I thought you were Roberta." I said in a rush, but for once I wasn’t that flustered. Why should I be? He was my boss, I was his assistant. Simple as the sky is blue.

"Its fine, Crys. And please call me Will. There’s no point in formalities now." He said warmly, leading me from the waiting room through to his massive office. Anger flared inside of me. No point in formalities? He was my boss, and I was his employee, and that was our only relationship now. I said so to him.

"You are my boss, and I am your employee, and that is the only relationship here, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to call you Mr Carmichael, Mr Carmichael." I said triumphantly, watching his face settle into an expression of annoyance.

"Yes, I am your boss, and I demand that you call me Will." He said in a strained voice. I smiled.

"Fine, Mr Will."

"Mr Will?!"

"Well, I’m still calling you Will, aren’t I, Mr Will? Just in a more formal way." I said, triumphant once again. Will sighed.

"Just call me Mr Carmichael." He said in this defeated voice, and then gestured toward the seat opposite his large one. "Please, sit down."

I sat.

"Now, I trust you already know all the things required of you, right? Dictations, forms, paperwork, general help with anything I need help with. Errands, coffee, biscuits, opinions. Basically, anything I need you to do, you do it, okay?" He said in a hard voice, leaning back in his chair. His was the triumphant expression now. I sighed and pursed my lips. My new job sounded about as interesting as the sports page when showing any team other than Man United.

"Okay." I agreed placidly, leaning back in my chair now. "Where do I start?"

Will seemed kind of stumped at this, before his mouth spread into the biggest smile I had encountered on him since … well, since we were going out.

"You can start by getting everyone on the floor coffee."