Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I take a breath at the sudden change of pace, but I’m not going to waste this opportunity. “I wondered if I could change the waiting room around a little. I think if I move my desk opposite the window, it will free up some space.”
He shrugs. I’m going to take it as a yes.
“And I noticed earlier that you’ve blocked out your diary from eight until ten every day you’re in Wimpole Street. Is there anything I should be doing every Thursday and Friday to help?”
He glances sideways towards the door and I take the opportunity to fixate on his eyelashes. I wonder if he uses a serum. “Nothing for you to do. It’s just until I get busier.”
“So you’ll be coming in late?”
He stands. “Nope. I’ll be here. But please arrange any patient appointments for after ten.”
“Okay,” I say. Maybe he wants that time to do paperwork. I stand too, as if I’m going to throw myself in front of him to stop him from leaving his own office. “Before you go, I’ve been looking into the insurer recognition and have part filled what’s needed for the top five. Do you want to check it over and we can submit it? Then things should start getting busier around here.”
I just need it busy for eighteen and a half more months and then you can stay behind your desk doing…who-knows-what all you like.
I wait for him to exclaim in shock that I’m the greatest assistant who ever lived. Instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “What do I need to look at?”
I’m prepared with all the relevant tabs open on my computer. I place my laptop on his desk and twist it round so he can see. “I got most of the details from the GMC website.” Cue his praise about how proactive I’ve been…but no, instead tumbleweeds bounce past the desk.
In a life radically different from my old one, at least being underappreciated is consistent.
I take him through the screens for the Bupa application, he says yes to everything, and when I ask him if I can finalize, he sighs like I’ve convinced him to adopt a cat he doesn’t want. I press the submit button. “I imagine it will take a few weeks to get the approval through,” I say.
“That’s true,” he says as if I’ve just given him the good news, rather than told him his practice is still going to be slow going for a while. Really, he should have done these applications way before employing an assistant or renting this place.
“Okay, so Cigna is really similar.”
He glances at his watch like he’s got something better to do. I shiver like someone has walked over my grave. Shane always had something better to do than be with me.
I shrug off the feeling and focus on Zach’s long fingers as he trails one down my computer screen.
In just a few minutes we’ve submitted another application.
“We can do the rest later,” he says, stepping away from his desk, like we’re still talking about my cherry-and-almond bites and not the future of his career. I might be thrown off by his handsome face, but I swear there’s something I’m not getting about this situation.
Clearly, filling out these forms is no big deal for him. I thought he’d be delighted and I’d have already earned my spot as assistant of the year. I’m going to need to try a different angle if I’m going to impress him. He’s backing away towards his door. I think he’s forgotten this is his office.
“Can I get you a coffee?” I ask. “Happy to pop to your favorite coffee shop if you want me to.”
He shakes his head. “I’m fine.” He reaches for the door handle but it’s stuck.
He glances at me and I smile.
He turns back to the door and tries again, this time with more force.
“Did it lock by accident?” I ask.
“There’s no lock on it.”
I step forward. “Yes there is. It was locked the morning I arrived.”
He steps back, giving me space and crosses his arms. “Well, unless it’s an invisible lock, or maybe just a very, very tiny one that only teensy people can see, I can’t see one.”
My heart starts to rattle my ribs like it’s trying to get out of jail. It’s the same feeling I’d get when Shane lost a race. I knew he’d blame it on me or something I’d done or not done, and I’d try and prepare myself for his fury by figuring out what my crime might be.
“There must be.” No lock? I could have sworn it was locked that first morning. But he’s right, it’s just a brushed metal internal door handle. My grandma used to have the exact same ones in her house. I grab the handle and pull.
I snap my head to him. “It’s stuck.”