Page 3 of Saved By the CEO

Mr. Bennett sits at his desk, back straight, eyebrows furrowed. He doesn’t look up from the screen as I enter.

“I need you to put together a PowerPoint presentation and an agenda for my two o’clock meeting. I’ll email you the details.”

I nod. “Anything else?”

His eyes finally meet mine. I say finally because it truly is a privilege to look into them. Mr. Bennett is rigid, cynical, and mind-numbingly boring, but man, does he have pretty eyes. Slightly slanted and deep green. They’re one of the reasons his inbox looks the way it does today. That, and his gym routine.

“Yes.” He picks up a stack of papers from his desk. “Did you rewrite the Laker memo?”

My stomach drops.

Ah.

So this is how I die.

“I edited it,” I say carefully.

“I asked you to format it.”

“Yes.”

“And you rewrote it.”

Technically, yes. But “technically” is a very dangerous word to use around Andrew Bennett. It’s the kind of word that gets people escorted out by security while clutching a sad little cardboard box of desk supplies.

“There were some sections that needed clarification,” I say.

His expression doesn’t change. “Clarification?”

“Some of the phrasing made it sound like we were trying to hide the parts people are going to be upset about.”

He leans back in his chair.

I should stop talking.

I do not stop talking.

“For example, ‘temporary adjustments to local access patterns’ sounds like something a politician says five minutes before they’re indicted. We’re closing two streets, rerouting a bus line, and putting up a forty-story building in the middle of an otherwise quiet neighborhood.” I swallow. “It’s better to acknowledge the inconvenience and then focus on what we’re doing to minimize it.”

Silence.

Great. I am lecturing my boss about public trust five minutes after reading an email from a woman who wanted him to call her “his naughty little piglet.” This day is going incredibly well.

Mr. Bennett looks down at the papers again. “The board liked it.”

The words take a moment to register. “They did?”

“Yes.”

I wait for more.

There is no more.

“That’s… good?” I ask.

“It’s not bad.”

From Andrew Bennett, that’s basically a standing ovation. I press my lips together to stop myself from smiling, because smiling over the words “not bad” is embarrassing and I do still have some dignity left.