Summary: Shawn is successful architect with his own company and at twenty five he's been called a prodigy in the architecture world but not all is as it seems, and with his skill comes a great deal of inner turmoil. Enter you, an assistant hired by Shawn's mother to help keep him on track, but you'll take on much more than just scheduling a few meetings as the two of you get closer day by day and build something even he couldn't have planned out.
Word Count: 15.6k
The sound of your heels clicking frantically across the marble floor is deafening. Your legs won't carry you any faster and you're already late. Your interview was at 9am and it's 9:08am.
"Third door on the right," you mutter to yourself, passing the second door.
The third door is ajar and you take a deep breath, straighten your skirt and push it open with one delicately manicured hand. To your horror you realize that your ring finger nail is broken. Quite literally ripped off across the top. A victim of your piece of shit car, having gotten snagged when you were attempting to free your skirt of the spring that sticks out of the driver's seat.
There is no time to panic now. Your interviewer is sitting before you on a lavish sofa that you could only hope to afford in two of your life times.
"Hello, you must be Mrs. Mendes?"
The well dressed woman stands, extending her hand politely. "Yes, and you're my new client," she says in a lovely British accent that throws you for a bit of a loop. You hadn't expected it considering where you were.
"I do hope to be."
Mrs. Mendes smiles and drops your hand in favor of picking up your resume folder on the coffee table beside her. "Oh no, the job is absolutely yours. No other applicants were nearly as qualified."
"Oh," you laugh softly "Thank you, I suppose the other applicants must be complete morons then."
Mrs. Mendes raises her eyebrows.
"No no no, I just mean, this isn't a degree level job or anything. It's fairly straightforward...I-I am making an ass of myself oh my God I'll shut up."
You turn away toward the open door, your cheeks bright pink, nearly matching your blouse. Honestly, could you stick your foot any father into your mouth? You were about to reach your knees for Christ's sake.
Mrs. Mendes clears her throat delicately to get your attention. "You can start tomorrow. I'll show you the house and the grounds. My son won't be home for another few days so you will have to meet him on your own unfortunately."
"Your son? He lives with you?"
"No, no this is his home. I just manage his accounts."
"Oh, gotcha." You look around a bit. Never did you think you would be cleaning a home this large, but here you were. "I did have one question for you. In the application it said additional skills required. What exactly are those?"
Mrs. Mendes' heels click across the hardwood floor of the study you're currently in. "You can cook yes?"
"Yes ma'am."
"And you can make appointments and schedule meetings?"
"I have done a little bit of that sort of stuff for a friend."
She smiles and folds her hands in front of her dress. "Perfect, you're going to do great. Now come with me, I'll show you out and give you a copy of Shawn's schedule for the next month."
"Why would I need-"
"You'll need to travel with him, the schedule is for you to make arrangements to do so."
