Six Months Earlier
7:02.
My eyes linger on the number a moment longer than necessary. Red digits stare back at me, taunting me, its weight upon my shoulder. I continue to bang on the bedroom door, aimlessly shouting into the door.
"Elsie, come on, it is after seven. If you don't wake up now you are going to miss your bus!" I exclaim for what feels like the hundredth time this morning. Nothing. Not a grunt, not a moan from my eleven-year-old daughter who stayed up excessively late last night.
I groan as I slam my head against the door, jiggling at the locked handle. Mornings as these remind me why I should swap out her door handle, but honestly, the moment is as fleeting as a yawn at 5:30am. "Elise, let's GO."
A gurgled, muffled mmph finally shuts me up, and for a flicker of a moment, I am satisfied that I can at least finish buttoning my shirt up. I shuffle into my bedroom, stopping in front of the dresser to finish my own task of getting dressed. I stare at my reflection as I slip the buttons through their respective holes, tired eyes of an exhausted, working mother mimicking my movements. Without further thought, I feel my hands mechanically pull at my dull, limp blonde hair, surprisingly only three days unwashed, into a tidy bun. My hand itches to grab the tube of mascara that I abandoned in my makeup tin, but I forgo it in favor of redirecting thirty seconds to check on my nine-year-old son.
As I walk out of the room, I knock on Elsie's door one more time. "I'm UP," I hear my precious daughter bark from behind the door. I can feel the blood rushing to my fingertips, but I shake my head instead. Some days, it is not worth it. Especially days where I have a brief I cannot be late for.
I poke my head into Alex's room. "Hey bud, you awake?" I ask my son, who is laying in his bed in his usual Nike attire, black hair sticking in different, unkempt directions. As I should have expected, his eyes are glued to his laptop. The lack of response irritates me, especially when I see he has his airbuds in. God, I hate those things. It reminds me of when people had their Bluetooth accessories in all the time. Seriously, they all looked like douches. And now, it's airbuds. Why the fuck did Seiya get him airbuds I'll never understand. Or is it called airpods? Whatever.
I knock on the doorframe loudly once again, feeling slightly victorious when I somehow manage to startle him out of his game. "7:13 bud. You've got 20 minutes before the bus."
"Yeah, Mom, I know. 5 minutes," he dismisses me; his eyes unremoved from that forth night game.
I sigh again.
It's literally the same thing every morning. Wake up at 5, stream and complete a workout on demand, make and drink a cup of coffee, attempt to wake up family at 6, and proceed to shout at everyone until the bus arrives. Sometimes if I'm lucky, Seiya wakes up early enough to assist me in coercing the kids out of bed. And, more times than not, if the kids are especially useless that morning, I get to cart them to school while they're moaning about how they missed the bus.
I shuffle down the stairs, currently vacuumed and matted with cat fur, and into the kitchen where the coffee maker beckons me once again. It's probably unhealthy the amount of coffee I drink before 7am, but fuck it. There are worse ways to die. Pouring myself yet another cup, I stare out to the vacant kitchen table, waiting for my children and husband to sit in their respective seats.
I lift my mug mechanically to my lips as I watch them file to the table. First to arrive is Alex, who quietly tucks into his bowl of cereal. Seiya is next, striding in smoothly to the kitchen dressed in his jeans and button-up top, looking every bit the computer science instructor that he is. And, of course, Elsie is last to skid in to the kitchen, dressed in her typical fashion: her long, black hair pulled into a messy top-bun paired with leggings and a hoodie. Always leggings and a hoodie. Hey, at least it's better than what some kids wear nowadays.
My eyes glance away from the table and to the activities calendar I mounted on the fridge. Honestly, life is becoming so chaotic that I had to create two separate calendars: life events and daily activities. Today is just another Tuesday: work and school followed by soccer practice for Alex, hip-hop for Elsie, Taekwondo for Seiya, and working until '?' for me.
That question mark next to my neatly chalked-in name haunts me temporarily. I have been blessed, and cursed, to be a legal assistant at Wilford and Shields, one of Washington's most prestigious law firms, long enough that I have a flex schedule. Meaning, I can leave and pick the kids up from school to take them to practice or attend afternoon games, but in return, I have to return to work to make up my hours lost. Granted, this isn't every day – typically only when Seiya has something at night – but some days it is draining.
"7:28," I robotically call out to the table, summoning the noise of chair legs scraping their way against the worn-out wooden floor. Both kids pick up their backpacks and shout their goodbyes down the narrow hallway that leads to the front door. And, like usual, before I can even call out any response back, the door slams shut, advising me that both are on their way to the bus stop on the corner. Seiya, on the other hand, continues to munch at his cereal, his day not starting for another hour.
Our routine conversation begins. "Busy day today?" he asks. I, having been his wife for the last eleven years, know that he stops listening after 30 seconds of my agenda, so I keep it brief.
"Yes, I have a meeting at 8."
He nods. "Are you picking them up from school today?"
I return the nod. "Yes. Mina is bringing them home from soccer and dance today." Mina Dupre is our neighbor and one of the best damn women who graced this Earth. Seriously, if it wasn't for her, I don't know what I would do with my kids and their sports. Honestly, they would be limited to Saturday-only sports, if they were even that lucky.
"Okay. What's for dinner?"
"I'm working late, so, probably pizza."
"Sounds good."
And, so concludes another routine, marital conversation. God, were we always so boring?
We exchange maybe one or two more pleasantries before we move on, him clearing the table, me turning off and washing out the coffee pot. Before I know it, I have my bag and my purse slung over my shoulder, calling out to Seiya that I am leaving. I hear a muffled goodbye from behind a closed door, and I know that, like every morning, he is taking his morning shit.
Some days, it's hard to imagine that I am only 33 years old. Two kids, a husband, a mortgage, and a mini-van on life support, I feel like every bit of the girl who got pregnant young and less like myself with each passing day. Most of my friends are just starting to have babies, whereas I have a preteen and a young man living under my roof. At first, I really thought it would be fun having my kids young. I convinced myself that when they were adults, I'd be young enough to be able to go out and enjoy a social life with Seiya in my late 30's and early 40's. Hell, I believed I could maybe be young enough to be that Mom who is her daughter's best friend, like in Gilmore Girls.
Instead, I am finding it to be incredibly lonely. While I was at home tending to two little kids and working nights, my friends were going to trendy bars on the weekends dressed in their gorgeous apparel or would travel to different destinations for girl's weekends. Sure, I made it out here and there for a few hours, but it was painfully obvious I wasn't versed in the lifestyles they lived.
To top things off, I wound up sacrificing my career path. Serena Tsukino, Esquire quickly morphed into Serena Kou, Legal Secretary when I discovered my pregnancy my first year in law school. With Seiya wrapping up his Masters degree the first year of Elsie's life, it made no sense having two parents in school and working nights to make daycare payments. So, I stayed home with Elsie during the day, and Seiya was with her at night while I worked as a third-shift secretary. I naively thought that once Seiya got his Masters and got in as a teacher somewhere I could make law school work again, but it proved to be impossible for us. I struggled greatly before dropping out midway through the semester, unable to dedicate my time. So, I made the career change to working as an assistant and applied at W&S. It was a wise move at that time, as I found out I was, oops, once again surprised by another pregnancy. So a shotgun wedding and two kids later, I find myself feeling nothing at all like how I imagined I would be 10 or 15 years ago.
Not to say I'd trade my kids for anything. I love my children dearly. It's just, I really wish I had them a little later in life. But, I also know that if I waited, I wouldn't have Elsie and Alex.
I pull in to the dedicated lot for W&S, mechanically making my way to the same spot I have parked in the last four years. As I pull in, however, I can't help but notice a sleek, sexy Maserati parked a few spots back. God, I'm a sucker for sports cars. I always envisioned having a cherry-red Audi R8 Spyder convertible myself, but I can appreciate an expertly crafted set of wheels.
I'd also be a damn liar if I didn't have a picture of an Audi R8 taped in my desk drawer for when I need to 'escape' for a moment. It's much better than picturing myself in my beat up Toyota Highlander that somehow smells of Goldish crackers. My kids haven't eaten those forsaken crackers in years, yet, no matter how many times I bring my car to get the interior cleaned, it magically retains like that damn cheddar flavor.
Hell, I'd take a 1868 BC Ford Pinto at this point. Anything to get me out of this minivan of servitude.
I make my way into the side door of the building and up to the third floor. I have been working for Senior Partner Damien Shields and his team of attorneys for the last seven of my eleven years here, and he has been an absolute amazing mentor. Rumor has it that he is planning on retiring soon, or at the very least reducing his hours. It's bittersweet; while he is 65, his mind is still as sharp as ever and continues to serve a lot of dedicated clients.
What I was not expecting, however, was my colleague and good friend Lita to shuffle over to my desk immediately with a knowing look on her face.
"Have you heard?" she exclaims as I began to power up my computer.
I shake my head. "No, what?" I turn my attention back to my computer as I log in, but she taps the landing of my desk to regain my attention.
"We've acquired a new firm."
"Really?" So? That's not that unusual, I can't help but think.
"It's Mr. Shields' son's firm."
A little more interesting. "Oh, that's a little surprising."
"Yeah, and, rumor is, that Shields' son is taking over his client base as he exits out of the firm."
Now she has my full attention. "Wait, what?"
She nods. "Yeah, so, you know what that means."
I can't help but stiffen my jaw. "I'm getting a new boss," I answer.
"Yup," she confirms. "I wanted to give you the heads up as soon as possible. I'm sure Mr. Shields is going to formally announce it, at the very least to you, but, so you can prepare."
Great, I think gloomily. I love working alongside Damien. After seven years of assisting him, I picked up on his mannerisms and ethics very quickly. And with working with someone in such a position, I, too, achieved accolades and respect amongst the attorney's. With new blood coming in, I had no idea what to expect. Honestly, I had assumed John Dowers, Damien's number two, to take over the team. I definitely did not think Damien's son had been any part of his succession plan.
I look back up to Lita, who appears to have been watching me process. "Wait, how do you know all this?"
"Pillow talk," she smiled coyly, and I'm instantly reminded of her relationship with our HR Manager, Amy.
"Ah, yes," I grin. God, it's good knowing people with these connections. "Have I mentioned yet how fabulous you are today? Because you seriously just saved me a dumb shock face in front of Mr. Shields."
"I believe you just did. You know I got your back, girl," Lita smiles as she tosses her chestnut ponytail over her shoulder before making her way back to her desk. I can't help but watch her as she walks away. Not that I'm checking her out or anything, but watching our male colleagues eyes on her continues to be absolutely hilarious. Usually when they find out that Lita is bisexual, they find her to be ten times more attractive. Not that she isn't already with her tall frame and well-endowed blessings, but knowing she loves men and women? They probably assume she has the golden pussy.
With that thought, I sigh again. Not that I want people checking me out, but I know I look nothing like the beautiful Lita. Why she's even friendly to someone like me baffles me sometimes. Bags under my eyes, stretch marks, and the bare-minimum maintenance. That's me, rolled up into a pasty white shell of a woman.
Rather than dive back into the pity party, I decide to focus on my work. Being a legal assistant does keep my day extremely busy, allowing me to disassociate from the woes of my monotonous rut of a life I'm currently living. For a few hours, I feel productive, having taken extensive notes during my earlier brief and typing them up into a more formal memo for the client's file. When Mr. Shields calls me into my office, I am especially grateful for Lita's heads up, especially when he closes the door behind us.
Mr. Damien Shields is the definition of a professional in my opinion. His salt and pepper hair is always expertly combed out of his face, his suits are always pressed and in immaculate condition. When Damien sits behind his desk and leans back into his oversized, mahogany desk chair, I can't help but notice a twinkle in his eye, and I feel myself mentally prepare for the news that Lita already disclosed.
"I wanted to share with you before the press release is distributed later this afternoon that effective August 30, I will be will be transitioning into retirement," he shares with me.
I smile sadly at the news. "Congratulations, sir," I reply. "Will you be leaving the firm entirely or will you be slowly transitioning out?"
"Slowly," he confirms. "I will serve as a Senior Counsel Member for the next year, but I will be serving more in a mentor role before I retire completely."
"I have to admit that I am glad you are not leaving us completely just yet," I reply with a smile, my words truthful. His smile broadens further, and I brace myself for the next steps in this discussion.
"This does mean, however, that someone will be filling in my shoes, which leads me to my next piece of news. We finalized our merger with DS Law Practice, which you know is my son's small group of attorney's. It turns out that my son's business partner wanted to move on, which, to be honest, he's better off without." A knock at the door interrupts him, to which he waves the figure behind the window in. "What I'm getting at, is that when I step down next month, my son will be taking my place."
When I turn my body to greet Mr. Shields' son, I feel my body suspend. He is an absolute vision, his expertly tailored fitted suit a shade of deep black that matches his styled, pulled back locks. His eyes, a deep, unsettling royal blue greet my own, and I find myself unable to speak, let alone extend out my hand to shake his own. His face is one designed by the Gods, complete with a sharp nose, firm jawline, and tanned skin that looks like he has been pulled straight out of the Mediterranean Sea. I am fixated on his lips, catching the glimpse of his pearly white teeth, when I finally realizing he is talking to me. I blink rapidly, hoping to break myself out of my trance, when I gather only one piece of information: his name.
"It's nice to meet you, Darien," I managed to squeak out before I face Damien again. I can feel my cheeks reddening in complete embarrassment. Whatever I was expecting from this conversation, I most certainly did not foresee that Damien's son would be drop-dead gorgeous! After all, he didn't really keep a lot of family mementos in his office; if anything, it was photos of his kids from their younger years. Darien at 10 years old in his little league outfit had no comparison in how striking he was.
"I'm sure you have questions," Damien assumed, forcing me to come back to reality. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anything right off the bat, except for one really stupid assumption.
"Do you own the Maserati? The one I saw in the parking lot?"
To say both men were taken aback slightly would be putting it nicely. Damien looked quite perplexed, but Darien's smile, one as smooth as honey, and just as sweet, made my heart quicken.
"It is, actually," he purred. Dear lord, a sexy man with a sexy car to boot.
"Very beautiful," I manage to spit out.
"Perhaps I'll take you for a ride in it to lunch one of these days," Darien replied artfully, and like that, I feel myself turn a shade of crimson as I nod my head a little too enthusiastically.
Damien, however, seems uninterested in the direction of the conversation. "I meant in terms of the succession, Serena," he states as he redirects the discussion. I hang my head slightly, feeling every bit embarrassed as I should be in this situation. I am a professional, damn it.
"Yes, of course," I quickly regain composure as I think of some questions to ask. "Will I continue to remain in this position as you transition into retirement, sir?"
The smile reappears on Damien's face. "Of course," he assures. "You have been an asset to this team. It would be foolish to rehome you in light of this information. Darien is gaining quite a valuable asset by having you as his number one." I smile at the high praise from Mr. Shields, and once again, feel myself saddened and perplexed by the unknown.
"When will we begin working together?" I ask as I notion to Darien, though continue to keep my focus on Mr. Shields.
"Darien will be completing his onboarding over the next few days, but expect him to be lingering around here until he begins to move into my office. I will be transitioning to my new office during this whole process as well so we can establish Darien's presence as soon as possible."
We exchange a few more pieces of information before I am dismissed, and I am beyond thankful that the meeting was cut short. As I sit back at my desk, I drop my head in my hands. My first meeting with my new boss and I look and sound like an idiot. An idiot. Ugh.
I mentally chastise myself. Is that your car? UGH SERENA SERIOUSLY? WHY? WHY WOULD YOU ASK THAT WHY? He probably thinks your some brainless idiot who is interested in getting in his pants rather than app-
"Serena?" His voice douses me as I force myself to raise my head.
"Y-yes?" I stammer, flushed in embarrassment yet again.
"Sorry to interrupt, but, can you tell me where Andrew Furuhata sits? I have my next meeting with him."
I scramble to my feet immediately. "I will bring you," I squeak, hoping to overcome my lousy impression I have been giving him so far. He returns a beautiful smile.
"Thank you."
We glide through the office space before we reach the stairwell. "How long have you worked here?" he asks.
"Eleven years," I answer as we make our way down the stairs.
"Wow. Pardon my forwardness, but you don't look like someone who has worked at a company for eleven years," he replies with an element of surprise. I can't help but drink in the complement.
"Thank you," I laugh. "But it's true; I started here in my early 20's."
"I would say that is a testament to working for a good company," he muses, and he is spot on.
"Yes, Sir; I love it here. I can't imagine myself anywhere else." We make our way into the Enterprise team's section of the building in silence, but I can't help but be aware of how close he is to me. I mentally shake my head; I bring new employees down here all the time. Why on Earth am I so aware of Darien Shields? I mean, yeah, he's probably one of the sexiest men I've ever seen, but still. It must be because he's going to be my new boss. Yeah. That's it. I need to make a good impression on him. I need him to know that I am a valuable employee so I can, well, remain employed. No employment equals no money. No money means no mortgage payment. No mortgage payment means no roof. Yup. That's why.
We reach Andrew's office, who is the head of our HR Department and one of the sweetest men I know. I knock on his open door to announce our arrival.
"Sir, I have Darien Shields here for you," I announce confidently. I exchange what I feel to be a brilliant smile between the two men before I excuse myself.
"Thank you, Serena," Andrew announces as he stands up from his desk, extending his hand. I back away from his office and close the door behind them, letting out a long, stressed out breath.
Why do I feel like things are going to get a whole lot more interesting around here?