PIERCE
The morning unfolds justlike every other day, a comforting routine I’ve perfected over years of working in the corporate world. Arrive early, leave late, and get the job done better than someone else would.
My car glides into its designated spot as the dashboard clock approaches seven.
I spent years working for my father’s company, yet as the Van Stern Enterprises building rises before me, its glass facade reflecting the morning light, it somehow feels more like home than my old office at Dellcourt Holdings ever did.
The security guard nods as I pass through the lobby. “Good morning, Mr. Dellcourt,” Frank says with his usual crisp greeting.
“How’s Sarah doing with her college applications, Frank?” I ask, pausing briefly at his desk. His weathered face brightens at the question.
“She got into her first-choice last night, sir. Full scholarship.”
“Yale’s lucky to have her. Give her my congratulations.”
“Will do, Mr. Dellcourt. Have a good day, sir.”
I continue toward the elevators, already running through my scheduled meetings in my head.
Fiona looks up from her desk as I approach, her hair perfectly coiffed as always. She’s been my personal assistant since I started here, and with her long career of working for previous CFOs, she’s been a lifesaver. The thought of her retiring next week to help her daughter with newborn triplets has given me heartburn more than a few times.
“Good morning, Mr. Dellcourt. Your coffee is on your desk with your schedule for today and the notes you asked for yesterday.”
“Thank you, Fiona. I’m going to miss having you anticipate my every need.”
She adjusts her glasses with a knowing smile. “Well, someone has to keep you caffeinated and organized. I’ll be thoroughly training your new assistant on your coffee preferences. Though I can’t promise he’ll have my touch with the espresso machine.”
The thought of change makes my jaw clench, but I manage a polite nod before continuing to my office. My new assistant started three days ago, but I haven’t met him yet. He’s been rotating through different departments at my request, learning the intricacies of each division to better serve in his role.
My office is exactly as I left it, each pen perpendicular to the desk edge, the two monitors angled toward each other, not a paper out of place. Part of me wants to knock everything onto the floor and bring some chaos into my life, but a more sensible part knows that doing what I want often has far-reaching consequences.
The door opens without a knock, and I don’t need to look up to know it’s Lior. “Your new assistant starts with you tomorrow,” he says, amusement coloring his tone. He leansagainst my doorframe, his presence disrupting the order of my morning.
“I’m aware.” My jaw tightens as I keep my eyes on the screen as it slowly comes to life. Change is an unwelcome guest in my usually ordered world, especially when it comes with Noah’s fingerprints all over it.
I swear he lives to remind me that he’s the one Lior really fell for. Not in the same arrogant way I would have done if the roles were reversed, but in a nice, kind way, such as personally recruiting for my personal assistant. The guy doesn’t even work at VSE. He has his own, very successful PR agency that he runs with his younger twin brothers Lex and Adam.
“Noah personally recommended him,” Lior continues, as if reading my thoughts. “Says he’s got potential, just needs the right opportunity.” There’s something pointed in his tone that makes my shoulders stiffen.
I look up, finally meeting his gaze. “Was there something else?”
“Everyone deserves a second chance, Pierce.” His voice softens slightly. “You should know that better than most.”
“The Q3 projections are on your desk,” I say, deliberately shifting my attention to my computer screen. “I’ve highlighted the areas that need immediate review.”
But Lior doesn’t take the hint. He stays in his relaxed position against my doorframe, that knowing look still in his eyes. “Meatball’s a great guy, Pierce. Just…keep an open mind.”
“What kind of name is Meatball?”
Lior’s lips twitch. “It’s a nickname. You might want to ask him how he prefers to be addressed when he starts.”
“I certainly won’t be calling him Meatball.”
“As you wish.” Lior smirks and nods before heading toward his office.
I turn back to my desk, my eyes catching once again on the résumé Noah personally sent to my inbox. Unable to resist, I pick it up for what must be the tenth time in as many days, as if hoping its contents might have somehow reorganized themselves into something more professional in my absence.
The résumé looks like it was formatted by a drunk octopus with access to every font available since 1995. Comic Sans mingles with Times New Roman in an unholy alliance, while the email address—[email protected]—stares back at me like a personal affront to business standards, leaving me wondering how literal it is.
