The Gift

Chapter 2: Send Me an Angel-2

Doren

Through the glass panel he watched the small man in the waiting area, not just intrigued but completely entertained—so freakishly awkward, so painfully cute, in one of the most hideous suits Doren had ever seen in his life, short of the folks who had a specific need to look ridiculous. Even the man’s worn shoes, as appalling as Doren found them, were endearing as they were crossed, uncrossed, and set flat, before the process began all over again. Although the man continued to watch the door with a wide-eyed deer-like expression after Doren had passed through it—many of them had—the navy-covered-fashion-disaster hadn’t broken into nervous chatter or started patting his hair or rearranging his clothing like the rest of them did. He just took another long look at the magazine in his hand, did a quick take around the room, and slipped it into his jacket—a gesture that Doren couldn’t help but chuckle at.

“Did you say something, love?”

Doren didn’t flinch. Nor did he turn his focus away from the glass. When Diana touched his arm to ensure his attention, Doren simply rested his palm over top of her hand to let her know he’d heard her. “There sure are a lot of people out there.”

There was a smile in her voice when she replied. “There sure is. We got a great turn out. You’ll be able to pick the best PA this city has to offer.”

Doren hadn’t heard the door open, and the man who entered hadn’t speak, but Doren felt him arrive, nonetheless. While his lip twitched to hide a sudden expression of distaste, Doren nodded at his own muddled reflection in the glass. “Anton.”

“Doren,” Anton gave him back. “How are we today?”

Every time they spoke Doren could tell that Anton was riding a thin line between doing everything he could to suck up to his new protégé while making sure the singer remembered who the boss was. It was a trait Doren found amusing, to say the least. It wasn’t like Anton needed a name tag to identify him as the label’s CEO, after all. He managed to carry a look that identified him as both important and expensive all on his own. His hair was very short, very neat, very dark, and very shiny. So was his suit. His car. His smile.

“This is good. Very good,” Anton continued without waiting for Doren to answer. He stepped between the two of them, effectively moving Diana along without speaking a word to her, and peered through the panel alongside Doren. “You know what they say, don’t you? A good assistant is worth their weight in gold. A best friend, even. Better than a wife. They’re more devoted, more concerned, and at the end of the day,” he looked over at Doren and winked, “they can’t take you for half of everything you own.”

He was expecting a laugh that Doren didn’t give him, evidenced by the tightening of his lips when Doren merely nodded at the window. “It’s okay. I only want to see one of them.”

Diana sighed from behind him, but she sounded more resigned than surprised. “Just the one? I mean, there’s almost a hundred people out there, Doren. I’d hate to just send them home.”

“Yep,” he turned to grin over his shoulder at her. “Just the one. That one. There in the suit.”

A snort came before Anton’s incredulous, “Okay, so I’m obviously confused on what you deem to be a suit. Surely you aren’t referring to that awkward little runt in the navy polyester?” He said the last word with so much inflection it could have been poison on his tongue.

Doren nodded, impassive but pleasant. “Yes, that’s the one. Diana, would you grab him for us, please?”

She stepped forward and was instantly waved back.

“Be reasonable, Doren.” Anton first frowned, then loosened his expression. He gestured at the crowd. “As Diana said, there are many candidates out there. It makes absolutely no sense to jump at any one person before you’ve even starting interviewing. I’m more than certain you can find someone more…appealing…or, suitable might be a better phrase, to follow you around, no? Someone a little more in tune with the…shall we say, our industry?”

“I get to choose,” Doren said simply. “That’s what it says in my contract. My assistant, my choice. Besides, what do you care? He’ll be working for me, not your label. You should have no concerns whatsoever as to who he is, where he comes from, or what he looks like.” He sought out Anton’s reflection in lieu of actual eye contact. “Or is it your intention to start reneging on our negotiations already?”

Anton’s entire demeanor hardened, but Doren didn’t lower his gaze until Anton broke the stare himself. “Of course not. There’s no need to act testy. I have no intentions of getting in the way of your decision. It is, after all, just an assistant.” He lifted an arm, directing Diana toward the door. “Diana, go ahead.”

Doren chuckled dryly and shook his head. “But, Anton?” He paused long enough for his boss to turn back. “I thought you just said that an assistant is a man’s best friend. Better than a wife, I believe was the comparison.”

Anton nodded. “Oh, I did. But to be honest, Doren, I’ve never really found the idea of a wife all that appealing.”

The both watched Diana move to the door and as she turned to close it behind her, she looked over at Doren, his line of sight once again settled back on the slim man in the blue suit.

She smiled.