Page 10 of His Temptation
He raises an eyebrow. “I trust you’ll figure it out.”
I inhale sharply as I walk out of his office. If I didn’t need this job, I’d tell him exactly where he could stick his vague request with no time to get it done.
By the time I am back from the nearest bakery with croissants, bagels, and pastries, Mr. Jeffreys and his employees are being led to the conference room by our knockout blonde receptionist.
I follow them into the conference room and make quick work to pull the trays out from the cabinet by the windows and arrange the food. After I do that, I get the coffee brewing in the fancy equipment sitting in the corner of the room.
Thankfully, I already placed individual waters at the seats in the room and had the projector going. Either way, I catch the distinct look of annoyance on Mr. Monroe’s face as I work to get the coffee cups out.
It’s not my fault he’s a pompous asshole who thinks of nothing but himself. Just because he had this grand idea thirty minutes before a meeting doesn’t mean I was physically able to pull it off before the clients got here.
I try not to let the feeling of failure hit me too hard, but the sudden urge to cry hits me. This isn’t how I expected this job to be. I figured it would be challenging in a different way, like not understanding the lingo or feeling inadequate without a college degree.
This is completely different. It’s like someone is purposely trying to make you fail. Like they are taking pleasure in watching yourun around in a state of panic as you do everything in your power to please them.
I swallow the lump forming in my throat as I turn around with a forced smile on my face. One thing is for certain: I will never let a man like Mr. Monroe see me cry.
After the meeting is over, I hang back to clean everything up. They devoured the food I’d picked out, so I’ll take that as a win, despite his disapproving glares.
I head back to my desk to type up the meeting notes, just like the manual states. Some of the things discussed went completely over my head. I know nothing about the steel that goes into these aircrafts. I did my best to keep up with them, but I know there’s no way I got everything.
By the end of the day, I’ve almost cried several times as I push through typing up these notes. I’m completely out of my element. I hit Send on my email to Mr. Monroe and take a long, deep breath.
I can’t wait to go home. He has a dinner tonight at six, so he has to head out at a reasonable hour. I haven’t been paid yet, but I know my first paycheck will make all of this worth it.
On my lunch break, I even managed to get Benny an appointment with a speech pathologist. The ability to do that makes Mr. Monroe’s harsh words meaningless.
As I read through more of the binder about this position, I feel a dark, looming presence above me. He has that unmistakable frown on his face. I still can’t tell whether it’s his only look or if I’m failing that badly at my job.
“Miss Ricci, care to explain why I can barely follow your poor excuse for meeting notes?”
I glance down at the paper in his hands. I bite my lip as my pulse hammers in my ears. “I tried to adhere to the instructions in the manual.”
He exhales sharply. “If you followed them correctly, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“I’m just trying to learn the terminology used in those meetings. I don’t know much about the lingo in this industry. I’ll get better, I promise.”
He looks unimpressed by my response. “I’m not paying you to get better. I’m paying you to get it right the first time. If you aren’t up for the challenge, you know where the door is.”
My jaw hits the floor as he walks into the office like he didn’t just threaten my position in his company so casually. The feeling of not belonging here, not being smart enough, rises up into my chest again.
I don’t understand. I’ve basically taught myself how to do this entire job without any of his guidance. I get that there’s an expectation to be able to do the job, but this can’t be something any assistant knows the second week.
It’s going to take time for me to integrate myself into this industry. It won’t happen overnight.
Tears threaten to spill, and a burst of anger appears.
I’ve been through more than most people have by twenty-one. I’ve raised a kid when I was still one and managed to keep us off the streets, all while still taking classes. I’m not an idiot, and I won’t let him insinuate that I can’t do this job.
I rise from my chair and march into his office with a renewed sense of confidence. He’s on the phone as I walk in, and his jaw tightens as he watches me take a seat without asking for permission for his time.
“Let me call you back,” he barks into his phone, then sits up straight. “Miss Ricci, I’m not sure what kind of circus you worked at before, but barging into my office while I’m on the phone is completely out of line.”
“I’m not an idiot,” I interrupt.
He squints at me like he might not have heard me right. I can’t help but notice the lines that form at the corners of his eyes when he does it. It’s a nice feature on him.
“Excuse me? When did I call you an idiot?”
