Another pause. “I’ll be right there.”
I hang up and lean back in my chair. My pulse is doing something it hasn’t done in years. Racing like I’m about to walk into a firefight instead of a meeting with an employee.
Get it together. She’s just a woman. One I happened to sleep with before I knew she worked for me. These things happen in the corporate world. Adults handle them with discretion and professionalism.
I straighten the files on my desk and adjust the angle of my laptop. Check my reflection in the darkened monitor screen to make sure my tie is straight.
Ridiculous. I’m acting like a teenager before a first date.
A knock on my door pulls me back to reality. I clear my throat.
“Come in.”
She enters with her shoulders squared and her chin up, every inch the consummate professional. The blazer fits her well. So do the cream-colored blouse and the subtle pinstripes. She looks perfectly put-together, nothing like the woman who drank too much at a dive bar and made me laugh until my face hurt.
“Mr. Karpov. You wanted to see me?”
“Close the door, please.”
She does, then stands in front of my desk with her hands clasped in front of her, waiting.
I gesture to the chair across from me. “Have a seat, Ms. Berry.”
“Kirsten is fine.”
“Kirsten, then.” I like the way her name feels in my mouth. Like I’m claiming something. “I’m conducting one-on-one meetings with key personnel. Getting a sense of the team I’ve inherited.”
“I’m hardly key personnel.” She sits and crosses her ankles beneath the chair. “I’ve only been here eight months.”
“Your performance reviews suggest you’re quite valuable. It seems you have a knack for catching errors others miss. Your supervisor speaks highly of you.”
“That’s kind of him.”
“Is he wrong?”
She holds my gaze without flinching. “No. I’m very good at my job.”
No false modesty. No simpering or self-deprecation. I appreciate that more than she knows.
“Tell me about your work,” I prompt as I rest back in my chair. “What does a typical day look like for you?”
She walks me through her responsibilities. Data analysis. Quality control. Report generation. She explains the systems she uses and the processes she follows, keeping her voice measured throughout. But I catch her fingers tightening around the arm of her chair when I lean forward. The way she swallows before answering certain questions.
She’s nervous, though she’s trying her damndest not to show it.
“And the team dynamics?” I press. “How do you find working with your colleagues?”
“Fine. Everyone’s professional.” She pauses before choosing her next words with care. “There’s been some anxiety since the merger announcement. People are worried about their positions.”
“Including you?”
“I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind.”
“Honesty. I appreciate that.” I make a note in the folder, more for show than anything. “Where were you before this? What brought you to Vasiliev?”
“I worked for a smaller firm. Milar & Associates. The work was good, but the growth opportunities were limited. When this position opened up, it seemed like the right move.”
“Are you finding them? The better opportunities?”
