I take a breath as she nods and keep going. See if she can keep up. If she can't handle the first day, there's no point in wasting either of our time.
"My dietary needs are listed out in a memo in the personal information section, there's a company card scanned into the portable virtual wallet on there, and I'll have Arista procure you a new physical one, since I lost the last one at lunch. Oh, and there's a list of requirements you'll need to meet in your contract—you can call Arista and have her send that over via email, if you have time?—"
"Right," she mutters, her eyes scanning things on the device as I ramble on like a prick.
"Pop quiz time."
Thatgets her attention. "What?"
"Where would you find my dietary needs?"
She flicks her fingers across the screen and turns the tablet around, showing me the list I sent Jun's wife when I accepted the job. "Right here. And might I just say, it's a shame you're allergic to shellfish. I hear they're big in most Asian countries. That must really limit your?—"
"It's not a real allergy. I just hate them."
She scowls. "You listed it as an allergy. Do you know how serious it is to lie about allergens? How much work goes into making sure someone's not accidentally cross-contaminated?"
I watch as she removes it from the list, and then starts a new list on the next page, titledDislikes/Intolerances,and adds it there. She thinks for a moment, and then addslazinessto the list, too.Incompetencejoins it in short order.
I crack a smile despite myself, then quickly school it into a frown as we approach the curb and the car comes to a stop. "You'll do."
I leave the car before she can ask what I mean, and just when I think she's starting to flag, I turn around and find her on my heels, quick to make sure she doesn't lose me in the busy atmosphere of the local media company.
They own the local newspaper, three magazines, and two hundred billboards across the city. And today, they're interviewing me for their featuredNew Artistsection of the local entertainment magazine. I'd be honored, if their last candidate hadn't backed out at the last moment, leaving them no choice but to take whoever they could find on short notice.
And then there's the fact that nobody reads printed media these days. What's the point?
"Mr. Kobayashi, so glad to see you, right this way?—"
We're led into a nearby interview room that reminds me of the police department's TV interviews where they drag in a suspect, stick him in a shitty chair, and grill him until he breaks.
"This is the best you could come up with?" I'm used to comfortable couches, a relaxed atmosphere, and a reception that's less cold. This feels like a slap in the face.
"I do apologize, Mr. Kobayashi, some of our other conference rooms and lounges are undergoing repairs from the recent storm?—"
"It's fine," my new assistant says with a flourish of her hand and a wickedly disarming smile. "We appreciate it. Would you be so kind as to track down some water for Mr. Kobayashi? He likes to stay hydrated." She consults her notes, and then beams up at the man who led us here. "Sparkling, please, room temperature."
He sputters a response and is out the door in seconds. And in a few more, I'm whirling on her.
"What the hell was that?" It's an insult for my assistant to override me when I'm in the middle of ripping them a new one over the lackluster treatment. Just wait until my agent hears about this. It's an insult to the whole company, really?—
"I sent him off on a distracting mission. I figure while he's gone, I can document the insulting and sub-par situation and CC Arista, so she knows to put her people on it."
She's learning fast."I thought you'd never done this before."
She shrugs and glances down at her tablet again, typing away with one hand as she holds it up to take pictures, I assume. "I'm a quick learner. And I worked for celebs like you before. I picked a little up here and there."
I cock my head to the side and settle into the lest uncomfortable-looking chair in the room. "Anyone I know?"
All at once, her whole demeanor shifts, and I get the feeling she'd rather I not ask any more questions about her previous employer. "Not likely. You aren't from around here, are you?"
I shrug. "I'm not even from thiscontinent.So no."
Her gaze is cold, focused on the screen. "Then I doubt it."
"What if I want to reach out for a reference?"
Her eyes widen, and the cool demeanor she'd possessed a moment ago shifts to pure panic. "I have other professional references you're more than welcome to reach out to?—"
