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

  In some ways, this proved she had no power at all, considering a silly bit of gossip as some sort of collateral.

  It was awkward, listening to him talk to his wife, who likely didn’t know Vanessa was in the room. Vanessa had never met Hank’s wife, never met his adorable dark-haired, round-eyed son. All she knew were the things Hank told her, and what she could imagine from the photographs on his desk. Large, obviously expensive photographs.

  One eight-by-ten was a studio shot of his wife dressed all in white, holding three-month old Kevin. In the background was a field of grass, a thick oak tree, and a vast sky, filled with sunlight. Deb was plump with the weight of childbirth, but there was something angelic about her with the ankle-length flowing white dress. Holding the round soft flesh of her naked son, she didn’t look overweight, just pleasantly maternal. A goddess, with her hair long, draped over the baby’s legs.

  More recent photographs told a different story. Deb’s hair was cut short, sliced in a sophisticated style with sharp lines that brought out her large eyes. She was a beautiful woman with dark hair and dark eyes, but with Hank living in another city during the week, didn’t Deb worry about him looking at other women? She should.

  Vanessa shifted in her chair, crossing her legs. She leaned forward and rubbed her ankle, feeling the hard line of her bone. She straightened and looked at him. He was watching. She gave him the suggestion of a smile and scooped her fingers through her hair, letting it fall down over the back of the chair.

  Finally, Hank ended the call. “We were talking about interviews.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you print the résumés and do a first pass to get rid of the nonstarters?”

  “Yes. The rest are in those folders.” She pointed to the shelf behind his desk.

  “The internal candidates also, including Laura?”

  She nodded. She sucked in her breath and held it for moment, feeling the stillness in the office, the dark sky outside clinging to the windows. If she touched the glass it would be like a sheet of ice.

  He stood and walked to the window. She half expected him to touch the glass, feeling the chill against his fingertips, as if he’d read her mind and wanted to experience it himself.

  “On paper, Laura is the best candidate,” he said.

  “You haven’t looked at the external résumés.”

  “I can guess what I’ll find.” He turned and walked to his chair. He put his hand on the back and grimaced. “I have doubts about her.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you can avoid interviewing her.”

  “I can always count on you to bring me back to earth.”

  She picked up her water bottle and flipped up the top. She put it to her lips and took a small sip. She could ask him whether she should schedule interviews for Laura and the other internal applicants—only two of them. But why rush things? It might be fun watching Laura worry and become increasingly aggressive, which would only make her look desperate. Vanessa took another sip of water. “There’s something else about Laura.”

  He sat down. “What’s that?”

  “She’s been gossiping about me. About us.”

  He waited. She glanced away from him and took a breath before she met his gaze again. “She told Janelle that you and I are having sex.” That wasn’t quite what Laura had said, it was more complex, more full of suggestion, but that was what she wanted Janelle, and everyone else, to believe.

  Hank ran his fingers through the sides of his hair. It was almost as if he hadn’t heard what she’d said. She’d hoped for a change in the set of his lips, or the set of his gaze. She’d thought he would lean forward, or stand. Something. There was nothing to indicate whether the words excited him, or scared him, or if all his attention was on Laura’s flaws and not on the suggestion of he and Vanessa together.

  She shouldn’t have spoken so fast, should have made him question her, dragging the information out so he was forced to respond to each piece.

  He lowered his hands. He picked up his phone and glanced at the screen. The clock behind him said ten past six. “What did you say to her?”

  “They didn’t know I was listening.”

  He nodded.

  She studied his mouth. There might be the suggestion of a smile, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “And why are you telling me?”

  She swallowed. She hadn’t expected him to ask a question. She wanted to see the muscle move in his jaw, something to acknowledge his desire. No matter how carefully she studied his face, there was nothing. “I thought you should know what’s being said.”

  “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “She made it sound like it was all me, that I was coming on to you.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s not okay.”

  “Don’t get upset.”

  “I am. I don’t want to hurt your reputation, but it’s not fair. She made me sound like—”

  “Ignore her.”

  “She came by while Sandeep was talking to you. And she said things. That she bets I know what you like.”

  “Don’t let her get under your skin. This is one of the reasons I have concerns about her.”

  So, he was going to make this about Laura and her lack of discretion and pettiness. He wasn’t going to let Vanessa see inside his thoughts. She could feel his desire, she knew it was there, but he refused to let a single word slip through his lips. Had he ever said something he regretted? Or only at parties, when he’d had a few too many drinks, and then promptly forgotten what he’d said? In the office, every single word was crafted before he spoke. Did that mean all their conversations weren’t friendly and confidential after all? He only told her what he thought was safe, putting on a show of intimacy?

  She uncrossed her legs and took her phone off the table. “It’s late.”

  “It is.” He stood and put on his jacket. “I’ll walk you out.”

  They didn’t speak while she got her coat and purse and locked her desk. They walked down the stairs side by side. They were the same height when she wore her highest heels, and she felt as if the rhythm of their steps was identical. They had an ease around each other, knowing how the other would move, familiar with each other’s gestures. Anyone watching would assume they were close. If they weren’t in the office building, they’d look like any couple going to dinner—Hank’s hand in one pocket, his thumb on the button of his remote, his other hand free to take her elbow when they stepped onto the wet pavement outside. Except he wouldn’t.

  Things between them were unfinished, but it was too late to say anything more.

  He walked with her to her car. “Have a good evening. Sorry I kept you so late.” He turned and headed to his car, parked far away from the others so he could count on having plenty of empty spaces around him to protect the paint job of his black Mercedes. He pulled out of the parking lot before she started her car. She waited a few minutes, checking her phone to be sure there weren’t any text messages from Matt. Why had Hank apologized for keeping her late? He’d never done that before.

  4

  Laura

  THE FISH IGNORED Laura when she approached the tank that evening. It was as if they were saying, You didn’t feed us, we aren’t going to dance and tease you with our exotic markings and our beautiful, dangerous appendages that have the power to bewitch you.

  She went to the kitchen and removed the lance fish from the fridge. She stared at the limp silvery creatures. She impaled the first one on the acrylic feeding stick. She returned to the aquarium and wiggled the piece of flesh through the water, luring her fish with the illusion of life. The Radiata closed its mouth around the smaller fish and continued its graceful path through the water, pausing to wave its spines, always moving.

  After both had eaten what they wanted, she replaced the cover, washed her hands, and sat in the coffee-colored leather armchair to watch them for a few minutes. The room was silent except for the hum of the pump and her own mind, thrumming as the day’s event
s raced through it.

  The morning seemed so long ago. The intrusive man at the track was like a ghost from her past. Her fear had been written over by the frustrating conversation with Brent and Vanessa’s stonewalling. Laura had gone by Hank’s office because she’d foolishly hoped Vanessa was gone for the day. She should have known better, should have checked the parking lot first.

  There was no way an admin was going to continue to wield such power. That open position belonged to her, and Vanessa was a heartbeat away from actively sabotaging Laura’s promotion. She’d hoped the rumor would make its way back to Vanessa, that it would deflate her sense of self-importance. She longed to see a confused, worried look on those pouty, over-glossed lips. But if Vanessa had heard any whispers, she wasn’t letting on.

  Laura slid off her shoes and tucked her feet close to her thighs. She should think about fixing dinner. In some ways, it was her favorite part of the day, now that she lived alone. Even after nine years, she relished the antithesis of the life she’d lived when she was married to Tim.

  Her adult life had started out well. She was the poster child for having it all—an MBA from Santa Clara University, a new job in high-tech marketing at a growing company, and a fiancé who was smart and charming. It didn’t hurt that he had dark hair, blue eyes, and a lean, muscular body that made him look positively edible. The guy could throw on cargo shorts, a torn T-shirt, and flip-flops, and women would stare at him shamelessly as he passed by.

  Tim had doted on her. She was ashamed that it had taken seven years for her to fully realize that doting was not always a good thing. A real estate agent specializing in historic homes in Palo Alto and Menlo Park, Tim should have admired her ambition. He had a constant flow of sterling referrals, which meant he managed to do well whether the housing market was up or down, and when he and Laura got married, it was headed up. Way up.

  “You don’t need to work twelve-hour days,” he’d said.

  She laughed. “You’re funny. I got an MBA so I could build a career, not stay home and cook for you.”

  “I love your cooking. And I don’t see you enough. Even when you’re here, you’re not.” He stroked her hair, and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

  Laura felt a strange mixture of desire and anger. She’d outlined her goals in great detail, many times. Why was he doing this? Still, she’d caved, choosing the desire. She stretched her head back, inviting him to stroke her neck with his lips until the anger washed out of her.

  The tug of his demands was gentle at first. He joined her on a business trip to the UK and Germany so they could spend the weekend together in Munich. It hadn’t gone well. When she was busy, he’d stayed in the hotel all day. He sulked when she got in late after dinners with customers and the local sales teams.

  Every Christmas, he’d bought her a new cookbook. He gave her a set of Demeyere cookware. The kitchen eventually became a showcase of high-end appliances. And she used them all. When she was home.

  Slowly, everything between them tarnished. She traveled too much. She didn’t cook dinner often enough. “You’re my wife. I shouldn’t have to grab fast food all the time because you find Avalon more interesting than me.”

  “I don’t think it’s more interesting than you.”

  He looked at her, his facial muscles slack. He stared until she was forced to look away because his glare was a little frightening.

  “I thought you liked cooking,” he said.

  “I don’t like cooking when you force me to do it.”

  “I’m not forcing anything. I’m asking. I need to eat.”

  “I make sure we have leftovers. And eating out is nice.”

  “I thought you wanted to be a wife.”

  “What does that mean?” She backed away from the center island, all the way into the breakfast room. From that distance, he looked like a stranger.

  “It means you want to be with me.”

  “You mean feed you,” she said.

  “That, and work in the garden, get the laundry done so I don’t have to do it myself.”

  “I’m not a maid. We’re supposed to be a team.”

  “Yes, but I make more than enough. You don’t have to work.”

  “I told you what I wanted before we got married. You knew who I was.”

  “I thought you’d get tired of it.”

  “That was a bad assumption,” she said.

  He walked around the island and crossed the kitchen. He put his arms around her shoulders, pinning her elbows to her lower ribs. He put his face in her hair and took a deep breath. “You smell good.”

  She squirmed.

  “I need you.”

  That always got to her. There was something about a man, stoic and tough, unemotional, expressing raw need. Her body softened. He ran his tongue down the edge of her ear. She shivered and relaxed her shoulders. When he felt her muscles give way, he released the pressure on her arms. He kissed her throat and unbuttoned the first button on her shirt. She looked down and watched him unbutton the next, exposing the top of her bra, her nipples already as solid as the tiny buttons. He folded his fingers around the edges of the shirt. He took a half-step back and yanked his hands away from each other. She heard the sound of fabric tearing. Buttons skittered across the tile.

  “Stop it! What are you doing?” She tried to pull back, but his grip was so strong, his knuckles were white.

  “Turning up the heat. We’re in the kitchen, aren’t we?”

  “That’s not even remotely amusing. Let go of me. This shirt cost a hundred and fifty dollars! I don’t know if it can be fixed.”

  “Forget about the fucking shirt. You look like a man in it.”

  “Let go of me.”

  “I want to see my wife.” He unhooked the center of her bra. The cups sprang to the side. He let go of the shirt and placed his palms over her breasts.

  She shoved her hands against his chest, but he must have been expecting it, because he didn’t lose his footing. “Let go of me!”

  “You want a man to dominate you. That’s how it is at work, right? All the men in the power positions?”

  “Get away from me.” Her voice was soft. He probably thought she lowered it because desire was overtaking her, but he misread her.

  Then things turned a little ugly.

  She didn’t want to think about it anymore.

  She slid her feet off the chair and went into the kitchen. Cooking was fun when it was on her terms. All the pots and pans and most of the appliances ended up in her column when they split up their possessions.

  A brown paper-wrapped piece of sole sat on the second shelf of the fridge. She placed it on the counter. She opened the vegetable drawer and took out the bags of baby spinach, a yellow pepper, green onions, cilantro, and a jalapeno pepper. She put the bags on the counter and reached down to the open shelf where the colander sat.

  After the vegetables were washed, patted dry, and chopped, and the fillet was rinsed, she took a medium-sized frying pan and set it on the stove. She sprinkled in a few tablespoons of vegetable broth, heated the pan, and sautéed the vegetables. When they were ready, she scooped them onto a small plate, covered it with a plastic lid, and quickly cooked the sole. She poured a glass of Viognier from the open bottle in the refrigerator.

  It was her habit to eat at the table with a candle in the center, using a placemat and a cloth napkin. There wasn’t a single evening that she missed Tim. It would be nice to have a partner, but it would have to be someone who supported her goals. For now, she needed to concentrate on securing her new job. She also needed to figure out how to get Vanessa out of the way and lock down some time alone with Hank. She’d gone about it all wrong. An interview would put her on the same footing as the other candidates. She needed time alone with him. A conversation about current issues that proved her value, not a formal interview.

  Over the years, her interaction with Hank had been one of mutual respect. Recently, he’d started coming directly to her with requests, rather
than going through Janelle. He knew she was brilliant at understanding discounting and lining up products and add-ons so there wasn’t any confusing overlap or one product wasn’t disadvantaged.

  Once or twice, he’d looked at her with such interest in what she was saying, she had the feeling he was taken with her. She wasn’t unattractive, and that, in combination with her intelligence, had captured his interest. Hank gave the impression he understood that women were just as ambitious as men, and he liked that. It was an unacknowledged mental connection.

  The director position required a much broader view of the business, and that was the problem—Hank saw her as a pricing guru, narrow in her scope of knowledge, and maybe a little geeky. He was less familiar with her leadership skills. He didn’t see her as someone with authority. It was funny that you had to be in a position of authority before they saw you that way.

  Tim would have said it was her fault she wasn’t advancing. He’d say she must have screwed up, that she needed to stop blaming things she didn’t like on other people.

  She stabbed her fork into the last strip of pepper and put it into her mouth. She took a sip of wine. She’d poured too much, as usual. Still chewing, she stood and carried her plate and glass to the kitchen. She poured the rest of the wine down the drain, washed and dried the glass, and put the other things in the dishwasher. She returned to the dining room and blew gently on the candle flame, extinguishing it.

  If it weren’t dark, if she hadn’t just eaten, she’d go for a run. That always cleared her head, introduced ideas she hadn’t considered. Instead, she’d watch a little TV and set her alarm to wake her at four-thirty. Screw the whispered threats about the dangers of going out in the dark. She needed a longer run and a clever idea for getting Hank’s attention.