Daniel Alexander
J. Sterling
DANIEL ALEXANDER
Copyright © 2018 by J. Sterling
All Rights Reserved
Edited by:
Jovana Shirley
www.Unforeseenediting.com
Cover Design by:
Michelle Preast
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ISBN: 978-1-945042-11-9
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PROLOGUE
ELIZABETH
I walked across the busy intersection, leaving my sprawling college campus behind me, as I headed the four blocks toward my two-bedroom apartment. My school wasn’t in the best area of Los Angeles, so instead of walking with my head down and eyes plastered on my cell phone screen, I pocketed my phone and looked around at my surroundings. Little did I know that the personal violation headed for me would come from within the safety of my apartment walls and not the big, bad world around me.
Keeping my pace quick, I longed to get out of the heat and into the comfort of my almost constantly running air-conditioning. Indian summers in Southern California varied between two temperatures—hot and sweltering. Today was the perfect example of the latter. When the depressingly gray stucco building appeared in the distance, I had to stop myself from running to the front door.
I had no idea what I was about to walk into would change my life dramatically.
Wait for it.
3…
2…
1…
Turning the handle, I flung the front door open and habitually went to throw my bag on the kitchen table, but something stopped me mid-toss. My roommate, Kim’s, hot-pink panties dangled from her left foot as her toes curled and uncurled. Her black skirt had been pushed up as high as it would go on her waist, and it bunched up all thick in places, the fabric looking lumpy and uncomfortable. One of her hands dug into the kitchen table we shared, and I couldn’t help but notice the way her pink nail polish had chipped. It looked tacky. It was funny—the stupid details that would stick in your mind when your world was about to fall apart.
Kim moaned, her voice dragging out his name, “Ben…oh God, Ben.”
Ben.
My Ben?
My boyfriend, Ben?
Ben’s head was partially blocked by Kim’s thigh, but I’d know that head anywhere. Thick dark curls sat atop a lean but defined swimmer’s body—a body I knew by heart after almost three years of dating exclusively.
Well, at least I had been exclusive.
My stomach lurched and twisted, and my head felt like it might roll right off my shoulders if I tilted it too much to one side. I needed to brace myself on something, but the kitchen table was the closest thing to me, and I vowed never to touch that piece of furniture ever again. Taking two steps back, I leaned against the front door, the weight of my body slamming it shut.
Ben pulled his head out from between Kim’s legs and stared at me with something in his eyes. It wasn’t guilt. Horror maybe?
“Elizabeth, this isn’t what it looks like!” He stumbled over his words.
All I could stare at was his glistening face.
Kim screamed, attempted to push her clunky skirt down, and swatted at Ben’s head as if he had attacked her without her knowledge, as if he were in the wrong. She didn’t even look at me before running into her bedroom and flinging her door closed.
“It’s not what it looks like,” he repeated, taking a cautious step toward me.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” I sucked in a breath and moved away from the confinement of the door, not liking the way I felt stuck against it.
“Just hear me out.” He raised his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.
“What is there to hear out? Let me guess…” I paused, begging the sickness rising in my stomach to please keep at bay. “She tripped, and her vagina fell on your face?”
“You’re such a bitch,” he spit.
I took two steps back, not wanting a single iota of his body or fluids to touch me, as my jaw dropped with his accusation. “I’m a bitch? I’M A BITCH?” I shouted at him as anger rolled off me in violent waves. “You’re the one cheating on me with my fucking roommate, but I’m the bitch?”
“You’re never around. You’re always working or interning or studying. You can’t blame me for needing more, Elizabeth.”
I guffawed at his idiocy and refused to accept the blame. “Oh, so this is my fault, right? I pushed you to fuck my roommate and whomever else you’re fucking because I have a life outside of you?”
“You’re too ambitious.” His arms flailed wildly as he attempted to prove his point. “Everything you do is focused on your future, and your goals are so high, so fucking high.”
I stopped him from speaking further, “So what? What the hell is wrong with being ambitious and having goals?”
“You’re a woman!”
“Uh…” I balled my hands into fists. “Tread carefully, dipshit.”
“Listen, Elizabeth, no guy wants a woman who’s more successful than he is. Guys are supposed to be the breadwinners, the champions of the house, not the girl. I need someone who is going to support me and my dreams, not have lofty dreams of her own.”
I started shaking my head, wondering if this was real. This had to be a fucking dream, so I pinched my arm. “Did I just walk out of the heat and into the nineteen forties? Who the hell are you right now?”
Staring into his shit-colored eyes, I wondered how this had never come up before. How had I been so blinded to the fact that my boyfriend was a complete chauvinistic pig?
“It’s an old ideal, but it’s still the way most guys think, Elizabeth. I promise you, I’m not the only one. You’re going to have a hard time keeping any man with the way you are. You’re too driven.”
“Stop saying that like it’s a bad thing!” I screamed, my head aching with each new thought that had entered.
“There’s such a thing as being too ambitious, and that’s what you are. No man can handle that kind of woman, and no man truly wants one in his life.”
After shaking my head as if I could spill his words right back out of my ears, I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. “Really? No man or just you?”
“You’re not listening to me. I’m trying to help you. Men want to be catered to, doted on, taken care of, and needed. You don’t need anyone.”
Why was that
a bad thing? “I sure as shit don’t need you,” I agreed.
“And that’s the problem. Good luck with your life. You’ll need that at least.” He shrugged with a disgusted smirk spreading across his still glossy lips.
“Get the fuck out of my apartment before I do something I might regret, like shove you down the stairs.” I moved toward the front door and opened it before waving him along. When his movements stalled, I shouted, “Leave! Now! Get out!”
He did, but not before turning around and delivering one last blow. “You’re heartless, you know that? It’s like you don’t even care.”
I laughed at the irony of his words as I clearly felt my heart breaking into irreparable pieces.
EIGHT YEARS LATER
1.
ELIZABETH
“Tell me why I’m going to this stupid mixer again.” I peeked out from behind my office door and groaned at my overly busty assistant, Barbara.
No matter what she wore to work each day, nothing could hide those double Ds from attempting to spill out. I respected her for trying though.
Shaking her gorgeous head of dark hair, she turned to me and answered, “Because you’re successful, and they invited you.”
Barbara was sassy and smart—two of the reasons I’d hired her to be my assistant in the first place. I needed a strong woman who wouldn’t be intimidated by or scared of me. And trust me, those qualities in a fellow female were hard to come by, especially when you were this young; and the boss. Which I was.
Barbara had been with me for over two years now, and we’d built an honest friendship around our working one. I couldn’t be more thankful to have someone like her on my side. Being that I didn’t have much time for a social life outside of work, I was extra grateful for her.
And I trusted her, which spoke volumes. In an industry where it was hard to count on pretty much anyone, I counted on her. I knew implicitly that she wouldn’t throw me under the bus to get ahead. Barbara was what we in the business liked to call a lifer. She wanted to be an executive assistant, and she had no aspirations to climb the corporate ladder any higher, which was good news for me.
Barbara loved working for me, and I loved having her here. My office life would seem to fall completely the fuck apart whenever she wasn’t around. That was a sign of a truly great assistant—realizing my workdays wouldn’t really work without her.
I rolled my eyes. “Ugh. You know how much I hate these things.” I ran my fingers through my dirty-blonde hair and pulled pieces of it across my face before letting it go and repeating the gesture. It was an old habit I’d never grown out of.
“Maybe you’ll meet someone,” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows at me.
“Oh, yeah, that’s exactly what I need—a man in my life.” I paused as I glanced down toward the floor. “No, thank you. This studio has more than enough testosterone for me.”
“Well, in case you change your mind, I put together profiles of everyone who will be in attendance tonight. Nothing major, just headshots and company information, so you can make your speech more personal to the group,” she said with a smile.
“I don’t deserve you.” I shook my head, grateful for her proactive ways.
With a wave of her hand, she giggled. “Just go and pretend you’re honored to be there.”
“Oh, I’m honored all right,” I said with mocked enthusiasm.
She flipped through the pages in her hands. “Daniel Alexander looks hot. Make sure you talk to him.”
I choked out a laugh. “Daniel Alexander, huh? Gotta love a guy with two first names.”
“Don’t hate. Procreate. He could have two heads for all I care—as long as they both look like this one.”
She shoved a picture of him in front of my face, and even I had to admit that the guy was gorgeous. His dark hair looked perfectly styled, and I could tell that his eyes were light in color, even in the black-and-white photo. Stubble lined his chiseled chin. If I had a type anymore, which I wasn’t certain that I did, this guy would be it.
“I should just send you in my place. Then, you could talk to this guy all night long.”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it,” she sassed.
I turned back into my office and groaned inwardly before sitting back down at my desk.
I clicked on my calendar for the day and noted the large chunk of time blocked out for the Top Thirty Under Thirty mixer later that evening. Could they really not come up with a better, more creative name for this thing? It sounded like a countdown show.
Being the youngest development executive in the history of the movie studio where I worked came with a lot of additional events I was required to attend. Apparently, my age and title were a big deal, but I honestly didn’t care—no, scratch that. I absolutely fucking cared, but it wasn’t in the same way that other people seemed to.
They only cared about my age and my gender. Rarely would my name be brought up in conversation without those two aspects being mentioned close behind. It was as if that was all that truly mattered or all that I was. I realized this was a male-dominated industry and that my company had been run by men since its inception over seventy-five years ago. So, what happened with me seemed to be on the rare side, but the truth was, women had been making a name for themselves for years now, and I wanted to be one of them. I didn’t want to be known as the youngest female of anything. I wanted to be known as the best.
“Your driver will be here in thirty minutes. There’s a traffic accident on the four-oh-five, so you should advise him to take the one-seventy instead and get off on Sherman.”
I looked up to see my assistant’s face as she placed a large manila envelope in front of me.
“Could you be more awesome?”
“Probably not. The company jet is fueled and prepped at Van Nuys. You fly into SFO and back again at your leisure. Just call the car and let them know when you’ve taken off. They will be waiting for you when you land. I’ll see you bright and early in the morning unless,”—she paused—“Heaven forbid, you have any fun, and I don’t know maybe skip your return flight.”
“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” I shuffled through the loose papers on my desk, trying to coherently organize them. “You just want a day off.”
“Are you kidding me? If you didn’t show up, I’d have to reschedule every single meeting you have tomorrow, and those took me at least two months to schedule in the first place. So, please, Elizabeth, don’t show up because you know how much I love doing the same work twice.”
“You’re a brat.”
“I know, but I’m your brat. Have fun. Tell Daniel I said hi.” She blew me a kiss as she walked out of my door.
“Who?”
“Read the profiles!” she shouted.
2.
ELIZABETH
Stepping onto the company jet was like stepping into another world. Each seat was oversized and looked more like a recliner you’d find in your home rather than a standard seat on an airplane. Mahogany workstations equipped with outlets and USB ports were positioned between two seats facing each other. I’d never flown on the jet alone before, and I felt almost ridiculous doing it, but I was thankful the higher ups allowed me to use it for this gathering. Having access to a private jet made traveling a hell of a lot easier.
A pretty brunette appeared at my side. “Can I get you something to drink, Miss Lyons?”
I pondered only for a moment before deciding that some alcohol wouldn’t be the worst idea I’d ever had. Not wanting to smell like a brewery or arrive tipsy at the party, I made my decision. “I’d love a glass of wine.”
“Of course. White or red?”
“White, please,” I said, not wanting to speak at this event with red-stained teeth.
Once in the air, drink in hand, I attempted to open the envelope that Barbara had sent with me. Placing down my glass, I tore open the sealed folder with both hands. Twenty-nine profiles were inside, twenty of them men. Each profile contained a photograph with the
person’s name and age underneath as well as a brief biography and an analysis of what the company did for business and the person’s role in it. Side note: Most of them owned the companies where they worked.
This is why I loved Barbara. I would never have had the time or the initiative to think about doing this, but she did. She always instinctively knew, sometimes even before I did, what I’d need to be prepared for an event like this. She so deserved a raise.
Reading through the twenty-nine profiles, I acquainted myself with the other top youngsters on the West Coast. Barbara had been right about Daniel Alexander. His picture showed that he was ridiculously hot, and I’d admit that his was the only profile I had studied more than once. He founded and ran a web-based company in San Francisco, and he had a penchant for starting up and investing in small firms before selling them for billions. That was billions with a B.
He graduated at the top of his class, and from the looks of it, he wouldn’t do one thing for too long, which was a pretty common theme for the majority of tonight’s attendees. Business-hopping was one thing I couldn’t relate to when it came to my peers and their constant complaints about feeling unfulfilled.
I loved my job and the studio where I worked. It was never boring, and I was never bored. Aspects of my position sucked, and I disliked those immensely, but for the most part, every day would be different, and I loved being on the creative end of things. Creating art for people to consume inspired me.
****
As I walked onto the airstairs, wind ripped through my hair, blowing it in every direction. Each time I’d visited San Francisco in the past, I’d adored it, but honestly, I couldn’t wait to get back home to Los Angeles. The gloom, gusty, and cold air enveloping the city was in direct conflict with all the vibrant energy lying within it. Basically, I loved the way the city and its inhabitants seemed so inexplicitly alive, but I hated freezing my ass off to experience it.