“Of course not,” I say, putting on my best waitress voice. The one I use with difficult customers who are determined to find something wrong with their food. “Nor would I ask you to. Just an observation.” My tone is light, and hopefully it’s working on him. I can’t see his face, but I swear I can feel the tension, even through the phone.
“Keep your observations to yourself, Ms. Harper.”
“It’s Ms. Leigh, actually,” I correct him without thinking.
He grunts, a sound I think he makes more often than not. “Fucking HR screw-ups,” he mutters.
I hear what sounds like a pen scratching across paper, presumably crossing out my name.
“Did they even tell you where to show up today?”
I feel bad throwing anyone under the bus, but I’ll go in and explain everything at the end of the day. Hopefully, I can convince this man, whoever he is, that I can be the best assistant ever.
Silence stretches between us, though I can still hear his breathing. “It’s not their fault. I, uh… I lost the email with all of the information,” I lie. It rolls off my tongue easily enough, though my stomach twists at the thought of deceiving anyone. “I’m so sorry. I was trying to find my way to your office but got a bit turned around,” I ramble on as I watch my bus roll away from the stop. I have a new destination now. As soon as I get the address.
He still doesn’t speak, but I can feel the weight of everything he’s not saying. It’s a long shot for him to give me a chance to make a good impression, but I have to try. An executive assistant job surely pays more than overnights at the diner.
“You have one day to prove yourself worthy of a second chance.”
I bite my tongue, swallowing back all the things I want to say. Prove myself worthy? Who does this guy think he is? The man answers my silent question when he continues.
“As the owner, CEO, and brainpower behind Sloan Investments, I need a reliable assistant. One who will show up on time and do what they’re told. Without sassing me,” he adds. “Is that something you’re capable of?”
You don’t even know me! You have no idea what I’m capable of, what I’ve been through, what I still go through every day. Also, did you just say you’re the brain behind the company? How arrogant can you be?
I don’t say any of that, of course. Instead, I focus on the pieces of information he gives me. Sloan Investments. I’d have to be living under a rock not to recognize that name. It’s one of the biggest financial institutions in the city. The name is plastered all over buildings and the news is always reporting on stocks going up and up and up. I don’t even pay attention to that stuff, but it’s successful enough to be a household name around the city.
“Vincent Sloan,” I whisper to myself, remembering his first name. I also remember a photo of the man himself on the cover of Forbes. He topped one of those lists about the most stupidly rich and handsome men in the country. As if they need more praise and bigger egos. Vincent stood tall, proud, and unshakable in that photo. Like nothing could touch him. He didn’t need to tell anyone he was powerful; his stance and dark, perceptive eyes said it all. I remember thick, dark hair that matched his beard, which is very uncharacteristic for the slick businesspeople in the upper echelons of society.
A half groan, half snarl leaves his lips, and I wonder if he’s mad or in pain. Maybe he thinks I’m being rude by using his first name.
“I-I mean, Mr. Sloan.”
Another tortured sound comes through the line, though it fades away as if he’s pulling the phone away from his face.
“Good, at least you remembered my name. Maybe not so worthless after all.”
“How d—” I inhale deeply, forcing the reprimand back down. Instead of asking him how dare he insinuate I, or any human being, could be worthless, I switch gears. “How can I be of assistance today, Mr. Sloan? I’ll get everything sorted with HR when I get there, then I’m all yours.”I’m all yours? Why did I say that?
Another rough, jagged sound rumbles through the phone, and I press my thighs together, trying to rid myself of the tingly feeling coursing through my body.
“Don’t bother coming into the office,” he snaps.
“Please, Vincent. Uh, I mean, Mr. Sloan. Let me prove my…worth.” I choke on the word, hating that I’m groveling. This job could mean serious money. Money my mom and I need. Money that could save her life. So, if I have to suck up to the most arrogant brute in the business world, so be it.
“Fuck,” he swears under his breath. After heaving out a huge sigh, he rattles off an address. I place my bag on the bench at the bus stop I’m still standing at, digging through it to find a pen and a pad of paper. “That’s for dry cleaning. I have an account there. Don’t let Mr. Santori rip me off. That’s your first task. Let me know if you’re successful.”
Then he hangs up.
Bastard.
Looking down at the scribbled address, I take a deep breath and scurry toward the train station. It’s a long ride to the Upper East Side, but I’m determined to keep this job. For the money, of course. And maybe a little bit so I can rise to every single one of Mr. Sloan’s challenges and show him he can’t just treat people like trash. Seems like a win-win to me.