Sentient

Sentient: Chapter Five

The night ended with me keeping a promise to Mr. Cavanaugh—that I would visit Boracay if ever got the chance to. He took me home and we resigned for the night.

I wake up earlier than my alarm clock. I don’t know why but I’m feeling good about today, so I decided to whip up some breakfast: a turkey sandwich and a bowl of chicken noodle soup for some energy. I put it in a Framtung lunch bag and went to work. 

Christie’s already hogged up at my desk when I arrived. Her eyes light up as soon as she sees me and frantically waves a paper bag in the air. She must’ve brought me breakfast. 

Quickly, I subtly hide the Framtung bag I’m carrying behind me and slides it behind my desk away from her sight. 

“I thought you were sick?” I ask. “You did that on purpose, did you? You can be an asshole sometimes, Christie, you know that?”

Christie laughs, “Oh come on! It’s not like something bad happened. Or is there?” 

I roll my eyes at her, before asking, “Is that breakfast?” 

She smiles innocently and hands the brown bag over to me. 

“Is this bribe for ditching me last night or bribe for me to tell you details?” 

“Whatever do you mean!” Christie replies fakingly, still smiling like she’s hidden the Yamashita treasure in her desk drawer. “You know I just love you too damn much, I don’t want you to ever feel hunger even for a second in your life. But yeah, both.”

I chuckle. “No way! Not gonna cut it. I’d like steak and wine for lunch and your navy blue heels for a week. Now scoot! I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

She eyes me curiously as she walks away. “Fine! I’ll see you later but don’t think you’re off the hook! You’ve got to tell me everything!” 

I glance behind me and find that Mr. Cavanaugh’s office is still empty. I grab the Framtung bag from behind my desk along with today’s schedule and enter his office. The files from last night are stacked at the corner of his big glass desk—which I just noticed now. This used to be a huge mahogany desk that Mr. Sandmoore loves so much. I wonder where it is right now. 

Suddenly, my phone vibrates on the pocket of my pencil skirt and I fish it out. It’s a text from an unknown number. 

From: +1 212 257 6441

Good morning Charlotte. Can you please bring me the files from last night? Address is 212 West 95th Street. 

I frown at my phone. Is this Mr. Cavanaugh? How did he get my number? 

Is that really a valid question, Charlie? He’s your boss and the owner of this company. He’s got ways more than you can imagine and he’s entitled to it more than you are. 

Putting my phone back into the back pocket of my skirt, I grab the files from the corner of his desk together with the timetable I had put there before and the lunch bag too. I lock the door behind me before putting all the files in a black document bag and head outside. 

The sky’s a bit dusky for a June morning so I bet it’s going to rain—which weirdly reminds me of Patty’s engagement party. Maybe the gloominess of it all is what made me associate rain with a family matter. I hail a cab and immediately give the address to the driver. 

Oh right! I need to tell Christie about that. 

The driver drops me off in front of a towering building covered in white European porcelain panels and glass floor-to-ceiling windows. It looks relatively new and is even surrounded by perfectly manicured greenery in front of the lobby. 

I hesitantly enter the building and approach the receptionist.

“Hi, I’m here for Mr. Darren Cavanaugh.” I say politely, 

She smiles at me and asks, “Ms. Charlotte Edwards?”

I nod and smile. Ha! I’m in the right place. 

She gives me a weird metal key and a little white envelope. “Penthouse, Ms. Edwards.” 

Gulp. Penthouse. Of course. Where else would the owner of the company live other than a penthouse in the Upper West Side? 

I bid her a quick thank you and proceeded my way to the elevator—which I barely found. As soon as I’m inside, I open the envelope. 

0-5-2-1-8-8, it says smack in the middle in big bold font. I wonder what this is for. 

The elevator reaches the top and comes to a soft halt. It opens and a huge grey double door welcomes me five feet away. Problem is I can’t seem to get myself out. The elevator doors close again but then my hands subconsciously stop them. My feet decided to work this time.  

I take a deep breath in before approaching the grey double doors. The lock is a digital one, accompanied by a keyhole at the bottom. I insert the key and the screen lights up, showing a number pad. I quickly type in the numbers written on the envelope and hear a soft electronic ping that signals the doors are open. 

The penthouse is huge. As soon as I enter, I’m overwhelmed by the tallness of the ceilings, accompanied by glass window panels of the same stature. On the corner is an exquisite glass staircase and beyond that is a terrace patio overlooking all of midtown. 

“Mr. Cavanaugh.” I cry but it comes out more like a squeak so I had to repeat it, this time a little louder. “Mr. Cavanaugh?”

As if on cue, he trudged down the staircase looking like an Italian model, folding the cuffs of his white dress shirt, a blue plaid dot stripe tie hung loose around his neck. 

My knees wobble and I feel a little light-headed. Darren Cavanaugh is indeed the most handsome man on the planet and I officially consider myself lucky to witness him like this. 

“Good morning, Charlotte.” He greets me casually as he walks over to the white suede sofa chair where his suit jacket is hung. He puts it over and it pulls through perfectly. There’s a black velvet box on the sofa chair which I came to know is bearing two black and gold cuff links. 

I immediately run over to him and then offer my help in putting them on.

“May I?” I ask. 

Mr. Cavanaugh looks at me before nodding. “Please.”

I unhook the first link from the box and gently grab his left hand. He has big muscular hands with long, slender fingers. They’re a bit cold but his palms are completely red. I put on the first cuff link and do the same to the other one. 

“You’re good at this.” He says, breaking the silence. “Do this often?”

I nod. “I used to.”

“Boyfriend?” He asks teasingly. 

“Ex…” I look at him with pursed lips before completing my sentence. “Boss.” 

Damn! I forgot to call Mr. Sandmoore again! I’ll call him later.

Mr. Cavanaugh grins. “Ah. So I can count on you to continue doing this for me from now on?”

I nod again and smile softly. “Whatever you need, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

I gesture at his tie and say, “May I?”

“Hey, you already got both my hands. Why else should I deny you my neck?” He answers with a teasing voice. 

I chuckle softly and start putting on his tie. I’ve done this countless times for Mr. Sandmoore in the morning whenever he spent the entire night at the office. His wife, Janine, calls me his work-wife since she’s entrusted most of her spousal duties to me when her husband’s at work. I begin to miss her now. 

For a brief moment, my eyes shoot up to his and I meet them. 

Oh God. They’re mesmerizing. Now I know why most women fall for him regardless of his M.O. 

It’s the eyes.