“Yes…” I did know that, but there was another conundrum at play. She was—by far—the best assistant I’d ever had. Replacing her would mean tolerating mediocrity.
“Anything you want me to take back to the team?” She stood up. “Praise for all their hard work? Notes to keep them moving despite being tired as hell?”
“I’m already planning to give them a bonus,” I said. “I think that’s enough.”
“Whatever. See you back there soon.”
“Wait a second, Ciara,” I said. “I need to ask you something.”
“Yeah?”
“Is my public image that terrible?”
“Terrible would be the understatement of the century,” she said. “I think it’s more ‘atrocious’ or ‘abominable.’”
“Forget I asked.”
“Like you care, though.” She smiled. “You don’t need people to like you.”
“No, but I would like to be better at interviews,” I said, holding back my true thoughts. “Miss Stone has suggested that I model my public persona after Steve Jobs moving forward.”
“That could definitely work.” She nodded. “He was a tyrant but a likable one to the public, so—again, brilliant job, Miss Stone. Go for it—gotta go, though.”
She walked away, and I opened the “How to look at the interview” guide from Andrea on my phone.
Picking up where I left off, a new message flashed across my screen.
Therapist (Don’t Answer)
Your housekeeper let me know you finally slept in your bed a few weeks ago. Progress!
Ready to resume your sessions with me?
I was tempted to tell him that I had yet to spend a single second on my mattress, but I ignored him.
I spent the next two hours looking at Andrea’s notes, not wanting to admit that her strategy was exactly what I needed. Exactly what I should’ve had years ago.
As the cafe began to fill with customers who were getting off work, I moved outside to my town car.
“Take me back to headquarters, Francis,” I said.
“Yes, sir.”
He pulled onto the road and suddenly jerked to a stop.
Bang! Banggg! Bang!
I looked to my left and saw Aaron banging on the window. His eyes were bloodshot red, and he was sweating.
“Want me to unlock the door for him, sir?” Francis asked.
“Only if there hasn’t been a recent zombie invasion that I don’t know about.”
The doors clicked and Aaron moved inside. Up close, he looked even more deranged.
“If you’re going to do midday workouts,” I said, “you don’t have to do them while wearing a suit.”
“Miss Stone found the money—well, kind of—via theory,” he rambled, “and I believe she’s right, but it creates an even bigger issue for us.”
