“Now, if that’s all—” I begin again.
“One more item.” Davis reaches into his portfolio and extracts a slim folder. “The temp agency sent over a candidate for the assistant position.”
I lean back in my chair, irritation flaring hot in my chest. “I’ve told you I don’t need another assistant.”
“You’ve gone through fourteen in the past twelve months.”
“Because they were incompetent.”
“Because you’re impossible.” Davis meets my gaze without flinching.
“The last one cried when I asked her to redo a presentation she’d already fucked up twice.”
“You told her a child with crayons could have done better work.”
“It was constructive feedback.”
Davis’s eyebrow rises above the rim of his glasses. “The one before that quit after three days.”
“He tried to prop open the secure access door with a potted plant.”
“And the one before that?”
“She talked too much.”
“To who? You’re the only person here besides Franklin.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that you need an assistant. You need someone who can manage the day-to-day while you focus on the product launch. Someone who can handle the details you consider beneath your attention.”
“I can handle my own affairs.”
“You missed the investor call with Thorne Industries last week because you were coding and turned off your alerts.”
Shit. He has me there.
“Fine.” I hold out my hand for the folder, more to end this conversation than out of any real interest. “What’s so special about this one?”
Davis hands over the slim file.
“She’s qualified. Administrative experience, basic design background. Good references from her previous position.”
I flip it open, glancing over the sparse resume without really seeing it.
Nola Vance. Twenty-six. Administrative assistant at a marketing firm that folded six months ago. Freelance work since then. Education from a community college I’ve never heard of. Nothing remarkable. Nothing that explains why Davis is pushing this particular candidate.
“What’s the catch?” I ask, looking back up at him.
“No catch.” But Davis adjusts his glasses again, telling me there’s more to the story. “The agency says she’s reliable, adaptable. Takes direction well.”
“So did the last fourteen, according to their files.” I close the folder and toss it onto the growing pile at the edge of my desk, right next to the gala invitation I won’t accept and the reports I’ll review later when I’m alone. “Why should I waste my time interviewing another disappointment?”
Davis stands a little straighter.
“Because you need an assistant, and I’m tired of conducting interviews for candidates you reject without meeting. At least dothis one yourself so you can see firsthand what you’re passing up.”
The challenge in his voice makes me pause. Davis doesn’t usually push this hard.
