The Assistant: A gripping psychological thriller with a nerve-shredding ending

  The Assistant

  Cathryn Grant

  Revised Edition 2020

  INKUBATOR BOOKS

  www.inkubatorbooks.com

  First published as “Getting Ahead” by Cathryn Grant (2014)

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  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  THE GUEST

  Free Psychological Thriller

  A Note from the Author

  Also by Cathryn Grant

  Rights Info

  For my Father

  Prologue

  SHE RAN. THE towering hotel rose up into the night sky beside her like an endless wall, preventing her escape. The pavement was cold and the rough surface tore at her stockings, gravel stabbing into the soft flesh of her feet. She kept running, her lungs filling with air, greedily drawing in more. Her heart pumped hard and her legs were on fire. She’d never run so hard or so fast in her life. She couldn’t stop. If she stopped, she would be dead. There was no doubt about that now.

  A gunshot sounded behind her. Did she feel the bullet passing by a few feet from her? Was that bit of heat on her cheek telling her how close it was, or was it her imagination and fear?

  “Stop!”

  Terror hammered through her entire body. She didn’t think she could go any faster. Already, her lungs burned. She felt as if her heart might explode, thudding inside her chest, screaming for relief. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take, but she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, the next time that gun fired, she’d be dead.

  1

  Vanessa

  VANESSA KNEW SHE was considered eye candy. Sure, she looked good—long red hair, cut in layers so it spilled around her shoulders and tumbled down her back like a waterfall. Jazz classes twice a week kept her body lean but definitely female, and she wasn’t going to hide it under jackets and shapeless cotton business shirts.

  Still, it was unfair that most of her co-workers didn’t recognize the skill required to do her job well. Just because she didn’t have a college degree didn’t mean she wasn’t smart or didn’t understand business. Her boss said she was smarter than they gave her credit for.

  She shouldn’t have allowed their opinions to bother her—being underestimated had always been to her advantage.

  But the things they said stung. Only a few days ago, Laura and Janelle had been standing near Vanessa’s cubicle waiting to meet with Hank. Laura announced that she disagreed with the plan to trim pricing. They should raise prices. “Customers are very willing to pay for systems that store data they consider crucial to their business operations—willing to pay a lot, if we guarantee security. And not everyone trusts a cloud solution,” she said.

  Janelle shook her head in violent disagreement. Clouds of blond hair swept across her face and her pink beaded earrings danced as if they had lives of their own.

  Vanessa hated when they stood in front of her cubicle, talking as if she were nothing but a potted plant. She decided to speak up. “I agree with Laura. No one thinks the cheapest thing out there is the best. Most of the time, it’s the opposite. Look how many people shop at Bloomingdale’s instead of discount stores.”

  Laura turned. She folded her arms and raised her eyebrows slightly. Her voice was low, the edges of her words hard: “We’re discussing business strategy, not fashion.”

  “I know,” Vanessa said. “I’m agreeing with you.”

  Laura smiled. She took a few steps away from Vanessa’s cube and turned her back. Her next words were spoken so quietly, Vanessa couldn’t hear, even though Laura was only five or six feet away.

  Now, rain pounded the windows and ran down the glass in sheets. The sitting area outside Hank’s office had a gray cast despite the fluorescent lights. The halls were silent, as if she were alone in the three-story building that overlooked the southwest tip of the San Francisco bay. The others were in Hank’s weekly staff meeting.

  She picked up a mug with the Avalon Systems logo—a silver sword with a black grip, red-and-gold embossing on the guard, purporting to look like King Arthur’s Excalibur. She wheeled her chair away from the desk. She pointed her toes and looked at her feet—nude patent leather Michael Kors shoes with four-inch heels. She stood and adjusted the waist of her skinny jeans. As she turned, she saw a balled-up foil wrapper from a chocolate kiss lying on the corner of the counter that formed one wall of her cubicle. She picked it up and tossed it into the trash.

  She walked down the hall toward the break room. The hiss of the espresso machine rushed down the hallway to greet her. She slowed her pace. The staff meeting should have started by now. She had assumed she’d have the espresso machine to herself. She’d thought she could take half a donut from the plate on the counter without being observed. She liked doing things without being observed. She paused a few feet from the doorway.

  “Who told you that?” Janelle’s voice was sharp, authoritative.

  “I thought everyone knew.” Laura’s voice was laced with a false surprise.

  “Who’s everyone?” Janelle asked.

  “I honestly don’t remember. But it makes sense. She’s in his office every day with the door closed. Most of the time when I leave, both their cars are still in the parking lot. Sometimes, even at 6:30 or seven.”

  The espresso machine made a spitting sound and stopped.

  Janelle laughed. “You think they’re doing it on the office floor? Come on.”

  “Maybe not actually fucking, but you know.”

  “Oh God.” A coffee mug tapped the counter. Water rushed into the sink between the espresso machine and the refrigerator.

  “What do you think we should do about it?” Laura asked.

  “It’s just gossip. Stop repeating it and it’ll die.”

  “I’m not repeating it. I assumed you already knew.”

  “Well, I didn’t, and I’m planning to forget I heard anything about it.”

  “You don’t think I should go to HR?”

  “Why?”

  “You see the stuff she wears…how he’s always staring at her.”

  The break room was silent for several seconds.

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Janelle said.

  “It’s inappropriate.”

  “It’s not hurting you. Or anyone else.”

  “He thinks he’s hiding it, but it’s embarrassing,” Laura said.

  “Well, lots of men stare at her. She’s hot.”

  “Exactly. And she’s inviting it. Look how she walks.”

  Vanessa sidled further away from the break room until she was at the corner, easy enough to slip out of sight if they stepped into the hallway, but still able to hear. They weren’t doing anything to ke
ep their voices down. The machine fired up again and she couldn’t make out their words. She waited. The machine hissed and went silent.

  “If they do have something going, which I think they do, it’s interfering with the business,” Laura said. “I don’t like how she controls access to him.”

  “It’s her job to manage his schedule.”

  “Not like that. I’ve been trying to meet with him for a week about the Ops Director job. She keeps saying he doesn’t have time. No openings? Not ten minutes? Ever?”

  “Send him an email.”

  “I did, but he hasn’t answered yet. You know how he is with email sometimes.”

  “Maybe he’s redefining the role.”

  “She acts like she knows things.”

  “Don’t get distracted by slimy stories.”

  “I’m not distracted. I’m tired of the private meetings at the end of the day, tired of the twosome lunches, tired of her acting smug, like she sees our performance reviews and knows how much money we make. She acts like she has an inside track and she needs to know she’s not as clever as she thinks she is.”

  It was surprising that Laura would talk this way to her manager, as if they were peers. But, when had Laura ever been careful with her mouth? At least you knew where you stood with her.

  “It won’t reflect well on you if you keep gossiping,” Janelle said. “It’s not going to help you get where you’re trying to go.”

  The two of them were now almost ten minutes late to the staff meeting. They’d walk out of the break room any second. Vanessa stepped around the corner and started down the hall toward the second floor landing. She had no destination, but she could easily loop around and back to her cubicle, then wait a few minutes before she returned. She walked slowly, feeling the sway of her hips, focused on the graceful arc of her legs in her high heels, trying not to think about what she’d heard. Not yet. Once she’d secured her donut and espresso, she’d sit at her desk and think about it.

  Fifteen minutes later, she returned to the break room. All that remained were two cake donuts, a fluffy glazed donut, and half a donut with chocolate frosting. Glaze had oozed onto the plate, creating a sticky sheen. Luckily, it hadn’t made its way to the chocolate-covered donut, and that was the one she wanted. She grabbed a paper towel, placed the donut on it, and made a cup of espresso. She carried the donut flat on her palm, and the mug, fingers slippery with steam and perspiration, back to her cubicle. She put the mug and donut on her desk and went to the restroom.

  A woman dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, her dark hair pulled into a tight coil on top of her head stood outside the janitorial closet. In front of her was a large plastic garbage can on a cart loaded with a mop, bucket, and cleaning supplies. The woman snapped thin ivory plastic gloves over her hands. She looked down as Vanessa approached and nudged the cart so it wasn’t blocking the restroom door.

  Vanessa smiled. “Are you getting ready to clean? I can use another one.”

  The woman shook her head. “It’s fine.” She pulled the cart closer to the open closet.

  “Thanks.”

  The woman smiled carefully. The cleaning crew crept around the building like ghosts. They rarely looked the Avalon employees in the eye, never spoke. It seemed to Vanessa they were treated like a nuisance as they wiped down counters in the break rooms, cleaned toilets mid-day, and replenished paper towels. The company saved money by utilizing a cleaning crew during business hours rather than at night, and it made Vanessa’s stomach coil in knots when her co-workers walked past as if they didn’t exist.

  Vanessa pulled open the restroom door and went inside. Her heels were loud on the tiles, echoing violently off metal stalls, tiled walls, and porcelain. Even the rush of water was a roar in the sink. She washed her hands. The paper towel dispenser whirred as it spit out the amount of towel considered appropriate for a thorough drying of two hands.

  She walked back to her cube, past inspirational posters and photographs artfully framed, their messages ignored. She settled in one of the comfortable chairs in the alcove outside of Hank’s office, facing her cubicle. The cubicle was nice enough—an L-shaped desk and work area with a large computer screen. Behind the desk was a credenza that held four snake plants in pink ceramic pots. There was plenty of space for the iron coat tree and a six-foot cabinet filled with office supplies. Everyone else on Hank’s staff had an office. They closed their doors when they didn’t want to be disturbed. From eight to six, five days a week, she was constantly available.

  She took a careful bite of the donut. The flaky dough and chocolate dissolved on her tongue. She chewed slowly. She would have to tell Hank what she’d overheard. It was part of her job to be his eyes and ears, mostly his ears. He’d even said so once, or something like that.

  It was difficult to imagine what his reaction would be. She closed her eyes and tried to picture his face, impassive, waiting for the full story. He never interrupted or assumed he knew what she was going to say. He was like that with everyone—gathering all the facts before forming an opinion, even before posing a question to gather additional information.

  It was exciting to think about how he’d respond, whether she’d see shock or fear on his face. Would he let down his guard when he looked at her? Reveal something? She crossed her legs and studied her ankles. She’d been told her ankles were beautiful. They were slim with bones that looked as though they’d been carved out of marble. It was shameful to admire yourself, but she wasn’t being arrogant, just honest.

  Laura would never say those things about one of the product managers or an engineering staff member. They were in a different class, too professional and dedicated to their work to let something as ordinary as sex cross their minds. And, of course, nothing was ever Hank’s fault.

  Laura had implied it was all on Vanessa—seducing him. A poor, helpless man who had stronger urges, simply doing what a man did. A woman taking advantage of male desire. Dressing provocatively, being too available. And that’s not how it was at all. Hank was the one attracted to Vanessa. She could see it in his eyes, his mouth, his lingering gazes, and his insistence that she sit across from him every day, planning his schedule, but also gossiping, while he looked at her and smiled and the atmosphere of his office filled with warm, liquid desire.

  Laura hadn’t said any of those things, but the echo was there behind her words—controlling access. Vanessa didn’t control anything. Every single thing she did was directed by Hank. He told her to block out parts of his schedule, deliberately making him unavailable so he could catch up on email. He asked her to close the door when they met every day at five.

  The truth was, he didn’t want to meet with Laura. Especially now, with Laura’s ravenous drive to insert herself into that job. She told everyone it was already hers, she was perfect for it, there was no way it would go to anyone else. Hank didn’t say anything, but Vanessa could see that Laura frightened him, just a little. He didn’t want to lose her, didn’t want to incite her wrath, but he wasn’t sure about promoting her. He didn’t like her sense of entitlement. It wouldn’t take much to push him toward hiring someone else.

  Laura was right. Vanessa did know things. Hank trusted her. He confided in her. She knew what he thought about every single person on his staff. She knew his plans and she could interpret his concerns. In some ways, she was closer to him than he was to his wife, who was almost sequestered at their home in Tucson where he lived on the weekends, flying back to the Bay Area every Sunday night.

  Vanessa swallowed the last bit of espresso and sat up straighter. She uncrossed her legs. In the chair to her left, wedged into the crevice where the back and seat cushion joined, was a tiny foil ball. Had someone really eaten a chocolate kiss and shoved the trash into one of his chairs? She stood and plucked it out. She dropped it on the paper towel with the flakes shed by the donut.

  It appalled her when the product management staff left their empty coffee cups on the conference room tables, leaving them for Vanessa to wash.
They ate the foil-wrapped chocolate kisses out of the glass bowl on the counter in front of her cubicle, never considering the fact that she supplied the treats out of her considerably lower salary. They stood in front of her desk and talked about the business as if she wasn’t there. When she offered an opinion, they gave her condescending smiles, their eyes widened as if a stray cat had wandered down the hall and begun speaking.

  And she was trapped where she was. There was no hope of advancement for an administrative assistant until the executive who was their immediate superior was promoted. Hank was already a vice president. When, or if, he moved up to senior vice president, Vanessa could expect a promotion. Until then, her salary was essentially frozen, already at the top of the range for her classification.

  They thought she was pleasant and friendly, wanting nothing, always available to do as they asked—ship packages, schedule conference rooms, order more soda for the break room, and refill the always-empty candy dish. They were wrong. Much of the time, she hated them all. Except Hank.

  VANESSA WAITED UNTIL the staff meeting had been over for half an hour before she wandered down the hall to the restroom to wash donut residue off her fingers. She walked past the break room, slowing to listen for gossip, wondering where the rumor would travel next.

  When she emerged into the alcove between the men’s and women’s restrooms, Laura was standing near the janitorial closet studying her smartphone. She looked up, but nothing from her slightly pointed chin to her narrow forehead registered concern that Vanessa might have learned she was the subject of vicious innuendo.