Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
"Really? Well, I think you'll love it here in Chicago."
Stella nods. "I do like it already."
"What do you love to eat?" I ask her.
She touches the nape of her neck. "I like Asian food just like you. Thai. Vietnamese."
"Good. I'll give you a list of my favorite restaurants."
"Um, I actually have it already. Cindy, your old assistant, gave it to me."
Of course she did. I suddenly wonder why Dad didn't just promote Cindy. She must be pissed. Or not. She was always complaining about not having enough time to go out on dates when she thought I wasn't listening. Maybe Mark will give her that.
"What did she say about me?" I ask Stella.
She shrugs. "A lot of things."
None of which she wants to tell me. That's fine.
"Any questions?"
"A dozen," she answers. "None that I can think of right now."
I nod. "Well, you can ask me anything."
"Okay."
But I get the feeling she's not going to. She's more reserved than Cindy, maybe because she's younger. I'm going to take a look at her resume later, but I already have a feeling she's at least seven years younger than I am. Or maybe it's because she's new. Or maybe that's just her personality. She doesn't strike me as someone who likes parties or adventures. Not that those are requirements for an executive assistant.
I'm sure she's very capable. I'm just not sure if she's ready for this job. For that matter, I'm not even sure if I'm ready for my job. I know I'm going to be under a lot of stress, some of which I'll end up taking out on her. If she's scared of me now, she might run away then. If she looks daunted now, she might be overwhelmed then.
Can Stella last? Or is she going to scram the first time things go to hell? Because I'm pretty sure they will.
~
"Fuck!"
I pack all my frustration into that single obscenity and unleash it as I swipe my arm across my section of the conference table. Sheets of paper go flying across the room. Not content, I bang my fists on the glass. My shoulders heave as I try to catch my breath.
That son of a bitch! Does he think that just because my father is no longer the CEO he can just do as he pleases?
As the door to the room opens, I lift my head. A man, someone from the cleaning staff judging by his gray shirt, peeks in. He sees the mess on the floor and gasps. His jaw is still gaping when his gaze clashes with mine.
"What are you looking at?" I snap at him.
He scratches the back of his head as he looks away. "I'm sorry, sir. I..."
"Didn't anyone teach you to knock?"
"Yes, sir. I just - I didn't mean to come in, sir. I was just passing by and I heard a noise so I thought - "
"Get out!"
He scrambles out the door, leaving it open. I sink into my chair and let out a sigh. As my temper simmers away, I can feel exhaustion setting in.
I really should tell Stella to cut down the number of my meetings and appointments. I know I've only just started out as CEO and I have a heap of expectations to live up to, but at this rate I'm going to get burned out before I accomplish anything.
A few seconds later, she enters the room. Her eyes meet mine briefly but she doesn't utter a word. She just kneels on the carpet and starts picking up the sheets of paper.
I watch her, wondering what thoughts are bouncing inside that head of hers. I got a chance to read her file, so I know a bit more about her now. She's ten years younger than I am, she has no siblings, and her first job was at a library. Even so, I still feel like I don't know her.
I tap my fingers on the table. "Shouldn't you have left by now?"
"I had some things I needed to finish," Stella answers without looking up.
Right. She's just as busy as I am, maybe more. These past few days, she always seems to be on the phone or typing away on her laptop, sometimes both at the same time. And yet I've never seen her frantic or frazzled. Her desk is always neat. Every strand of her hair remains in place. Her shoulders are always straight. I've even caught her smiling several times. And here I thought she'd be gone by now, or at least have broken down in tears a few times.
I hate to say it, but she's doing better at her new job than I am at mine.
"How do you do it?" I ask her. "Do so much without complaining?"
"Complaining isn't going to make things easier, is it?" she says. "Same as yelling at people who didn't do anything wrong."