Page 8 of His Assistant

She points at the screen. “Finance added a hotel review to your schedule. It’s created a disaster for all of next week.”

“Leave it,” I tell her. “It’s still going to be there for you to fix tomorrow.”

“I’m not going to have time to fix it tomorrow,” she tells me in a tight voice.

She doesn’t sound stressed, exactly. More like, she’s inconvenienced. She’s also staring at me like I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, and I should just leave her to her work. That’s probably true enough.

Two days later, Rafe is in my office again discussing a new shipment plan. Sofia comes in without knocking and slides a report casually on my desk before turning around and walking back out. I can’t help but watch her as she goes.

“‘Her looks are irrelevant,’” Rafe parrots to me in a mocking tone.

I look up at him in annoyance. “That hasn’t changed,” I tell him honestly. “What’s your point?”

“My point is, don’t even think about it. You’re noticing her now. In a way you weren’t before. Don’t fuck up a good thing.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” I mutter, fighting the urge to flip him off.

“That’s usually what men say right before they fuck things up.” He chuckles.

3

SOFIA

By the end of my first month at Vieri Holdings, I learn one very important truth. Rich people can only function because of their assistants. It isn’t just me. Every executive on our floor has someone who tells them where to go, prints out all their documents, and keeps a fresh suit hanging in the boss’s closet in case of an unexpected emergency.

I also happen to know that many of the executives have housekeepers and personal chefs. They literally can’t do anything without someone else helping them. It makes me think more fondly of my father who, by some miracle, has handled everything on his own.

Well, mostly on his own. There’s the matter of his insurmountable debt. Still, he’s never paid anyone to clean his apartment or raise his kid.

I’ve also learned that there are a lot of people who come into Dominic’s office unscheduled. They don’t leave their names, and for the most part, they don’t bother stopping in with me. It’s like I don’t even exist to them.

After meeting Dominic’s friend Rafe, I knew not to ask questions. I just pad Dominic’s schedule well enough to absorb all the unexpected meetings, and I keep busy so I don’t bother him.

I’m always watching, though. Men march in with their shoulders back and chests puffed like they own the room. They come out deflated, tails between their legs. Dominic specializes in making important men feel small. Then again, maybe they weren’t all that important to begin with.

There are two men who come in often who aren’t like the others. The first, of course, is Rafe. He’s gotten a little better at saying hello to me, at least and he never stays more than a few minutes at a time. Another assistant told me Rafe has an office in the building, but no one actually knows what he does. His position is very vague and has nothing to do with hospitality.

The other man looks a lot like Dominic, only a little older. It takes me three weeks to find out he’s Dominic’s cousin.

Tomasso Vieri has sharp angles to his face. He’s always frowning when he walks in, and he never spares me a single glance. Sometimes he and Dominic get into shouting matches. The first time it happened, I thought about getting up to check on them, but my instinct told me to stay put.

After that first time, I was glad I had. Dominic and Tomasso’s communication style is shouting, and it happens almost every time Tomasso comes in. I tell myself it’s just because they’re Italian and passionate, and go about my business. My gut tells me that’s the smart way to handle it.

I must be right, because once I’ve crossed over a full month of employment, the assistants in the group chat all congratulate me. Apparently, no one else has lasted this long in years. That doesn’t surprise me. The job requires a high level of stress management.

Like when I walk in one morning and my desk is a disaster of folders dumped off by other departments. Papers that need signatures, agendas for board meetings that need double-checking. There’s a sticky note on one folder that reads CALL LEGAL??, underlined twice. Ever since I was hired, I’ve become the go-to for catching other people’s mistakes.

Another assistant named Nina stops by my desk with a hot coffee, my name written on the cup.

“For me?” I ask in surprise, touched by the gesture.

“I stopped by earlier and saw the mess,” she says sympathetically. “I knew you could use it. How’s everything going?”

“I’m living the dream.” I sigh sarcastically.

She laughs and nods sympathetically. “I heard Arthur Klein keeps harassing you,” she says darkly. “For that alone, you deserve your own personal coffee cart.”

Arthur Klein is the VP of one of our hotels. He thinks he deserves direct access to Dominic, which makes me the reluctant gatekeeper.