She's got a cat, according to her lease, whose name is Taco—weird name for a cat, by the way—lives in a run-down neighborhood, has a bad rap with her landlord because of being late on rent a lot recently. Probably due to her blacklisting. Personal contact inside of kNight Ent–Arista Simmons.
Valedictorian, despite her struggles. One thing that her former client tried to bury in his company—a sexual harassment complaint against him. By Denali. No details, no police report to speak of, the only trail Icouldfind didn't actually have an attached complaint anymore. My guess is, he buried it. Paid good money to, too. Things like that don't usually go away on their own.
Some medical documentation turned up, surprisingly—I spotted a diagnosis for PTSD, though I'm not sure what it pertains to. I'll keep digging there, but you know how hard it is to get medical details without personal connections or alerting the wrong people.
You need anything else, you know where to find me.
I close the email and promptly delete it. Things like this can't stay connected to me in any way. The intel was what I needed. I don't need the trail.
The security office is only around the next corner, but before I can make it there, I run smack into the woman I'm searching for—Denali. And she's?—
She's shaking.
Her forehead is wet, like she splashed water on her face, stray tendrils of damp hair clinging to her skin. Her makeup has been washed off, and though she's no longer wearing any, her natural beauty is still remarkable. Her eyes, though, are sunken in, and the light she usually has radiating from them is gone now, replaced by a dim, low shimmer. They're red-rimmed and swollen, and her cheeks are red.
She's been crying.
"Oh, hey," she says quietly, looking up at me with a half-smile. "I was just coming to look for you."
"Sorry about the delay," I tell her, my eyebrows furrowed at her off-kilter appearance and obviously fake personality. "Meeting took longer than I'd planned."
I don't tell her about the fact that I have to play nice now. She'll figure that out on her own. And besides, what's important now is fixing my assistant. Denali isn't at all her usual self, and eventually, that'll start to affect performance. And by association, my reputation. Which currently is in the shitter with the company. And beyond that, I'd have to be a pretty shit person to not want to help her if I can. She's important to me, after just a month. I don't know where I'd be if she hadn't fallen from the sky and landed in that conference room when she did.
I can't watch her go off the deep end. Not when I can do something about it.
"There's a block of time in my schedule that's blacked out for some reason. Care to explain what you have me doing?" I'm slowly guiding her to the car, hoping that if I can get her alone, I can ask her what's on my mind. I need to understand how bad off she is, so I can make adjustments. Hire a replacement and have her take a few days off, if that's what she needs. She's been going nonstop since I first hired her, and that has to have taken a toll on her no matter how much she's used to working.
I don't get the chance.
"Oh, you're scheduled for a meditation and massage session at a little spa I used to frequent," she mutters, lifting her tablet like she's fine, and this is any other day working for me. "It's about a half hour away, which is why there's such a huge time chunk sectioned off." Her eyes, still dull and lifeless, lift to me, and I see the first hint of genuine emotion in them. "You told me once, when I first started working for you, that you liked to meditate. To calm yourself. I figured, since you haven't had timeto do that like you used to, maybe it would be nice to squeeze in a relaxation session."
I think back to last week, when I skimmed my schedule, and realize she cancelled one of my other engagements to make this happen. It was one I wasn't particularly eager to attend, so there's some relief, mixed in with appreciation, but I'm also confused.
How did she get the company to agree to take that interview off my schedule? And why would she go out of her way to make me happy? It's not like I've made her life easy these days.
"You booked me a spa visit?" I'm speechless. Well, not entirely. "Why did you do that?"
She shrugs, like it's a stupid question. "You needed a break. I made you one."
I don't like that she assumes I needed saved from myself. That I was running myself into an early grave. She pities my workload, and I'm the one who set it. I don't need rescued, dammit. I can handle myself. But beyond that, if Ideservea spa day, then she deserves three, with how hard she works. I intend to tell her that. Instead?—
"You should have consulted with me first," is what comes out of my mouth instead. I should be grateful for her consideration, for the work she put in to make it happen, but all I can feel is defensive.
I hear the voice of my old manager in my ear, the asshole from Korea that I'm running away from by being here. The one my company insisted on keeping around, even when I begged them to replace him.
You're working too hard. You have to know your own limits. Nobody is perfect. Especially not you. We can't all be superstars; be happy with what you have. You'll only be disappointed if you shoot for stars you can't reach.
The man was justfilledwith motivational speeches, for anyone but me. When he spoke to me, it's like he took one look at me and had already decided I wasn't worth the work.
"Well, I'm so sorry for giving a damn about your health and well-being, boss man," she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. "If you don't want to go, I'll cancel the appointment."
There's no point in wasting money, or a perfectly good appointment for a relaxing block of time I wouldn't otherwise have. "I'll go," I grumble out, leaning back in my seat. "At least I'll get something good out of it. But for future reference, please check with me before making such decisions."
"Oh, will do. But heads up, if you don't like this adjustment, you're not going to like the schedule mindfuck I had to pull off to make next week's appearances all fit in there." When I shoot her another death glare, she rolls her eyes and looks away. "Hey, if you don't like it, take it up with the company. I'm just the assistant."
And just like that, the conversation is over, and I'm left holding all those questions that just a few minutes ago burned at the back of my mind.
I'll ask her later.
