Page 7 of Hooked on Dallas
“Laura!” De La Cruz yells from his office.
“The Acme account files—where are they?” he barks. “I told you I needed them first thing this morning!”
“My apologies, sir,” I say, swallowing hard against the lump forming in my throat. “I haven’t received them yet, but I’ll get right on that.”
He let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Honestly, do I have to do everything around here myself?” His glare is icy enough to freeze flames. “Don’t just stand there like a mindless drone. Get to work!”
I duck my head to hide the hot flush creeping up my neck and make a beeline for my desk. Some days, his criticism stings more than others, but I am determined not to let him get the better of me. I have dealt with worse than De La Cruz before.
Even if it kills me.
I sit down to calm my frayed nerves. The last thing I need is to lose my composure in front of him—that will only give him more ammunition.
Instead, I focus on the task at hand, sifting through emails and phone messages to track down the missing Acme files. My hands shake slightly as I type residual tremors from his biting tone, but I push onward. There is work to be done, and I won’t let his foul mood slow me down.
When I find no trace of the files in my inbox, I ring up the courier service we use for inter-office deliveries. Of course, the files have been delayed, caught up somewhere in the mid-morning traffic. I relay the information to Mr. De La Cruz, bracing myself for another outburst.
He throws his hands up with a wordless shout, sending papers flying. “Unbelievable! Do I pay those imbeciles to twiddle their thumbs all day?”
I bite down on my lip, hard enough to taste copper. “I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. Shall I have the files couriered over as soon as they arrive?”
“As if I have any other choice,” he grumbles, righting the papers that have drifted to the floor. He sinks into the chair behind his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose again. The fight seems to drain out of him all at once, leaving behind bone-deep weariness.
Despite his foul temper, I can’t help but have sympathy. The stress of his position must be enormous, dealing with high-profile cases day in and day out. No wonder he is so irritable all the time.
I clear my throat gently. “Would you like me to bring you a coffee or reschedule your morning appointments, sir?”
He waves me off without looking up. “Just...get back to work. And get those files here as fast as humanly possible.” His voice is rough with exhaustion.
“Of course, sir. Right away.” I stand and gather my notes, hesitating for a moment. The urge to say more tingles on the tip of my tongue This is not the time or place to overstep my bounds.
With one last glance at his hunch form, I slip out the door and set to work. The files will come when they come, but in the meantime, there are still tasks to complete and chaos to wrangle into order. If nothing else, this job keeps me on my toes.
As I sort through paperwork and field calls, my thoughts keep drifting back to Mr. De La Cruz. It is becoming clear whyhe goes through assistants — that fiery temper and abrasive manner will wear anyone down.
But I am not just anyone. After ten years with Mr. Curran, a little rough treatment will not scare me off. Mr. De La Cruz can bark and snap all he likes; I’ve faced far worse.
Besides, there are glimpses of something more beneath this gruff exterior. The exhaustion in his voice, the way he deflated all at once...those aren’t the reactions of a heartless man.
Mr. De La Cruz might not know it yet, but he is stuck with me. I’ll crack that tough shell of his if it kills me and show him that not all assistants are cut from the same cloth.
The phone trills again, dragging me from my thoughts. “Mr. De La Cruz’s office, this is Laura speaking.”
“It’s Sandra from Records. I have those files Mr. De La Cruz wanted, but they’re quite substantial. Shall I bring them up or would he prefer to review them downstairs?”
“I’ll check and get back to you.” I stand, straightening my skirt, and stride over to Mr. De La Cruz’s office. It is time for round two. After all, I have a point to prove.
I knock on the doorframe. “Mr. De La Cruz, Sandra from Records, is on the line. She has the files you requested, but says they’re quite substantial. Would you prefer to review them downstairs, or shall she bring them up?”
Mr. De La Cruz glares at me over the top of his glasses. Irritation etches into the lines of his face. “Well, what do you think?” he snaps. “Haven’t I taught you anything yet?”
I bite back a retort, clenching my jaw. Deep breaths. Patience. “I apologize, sir. Given the size of the files, reviewing them downstairs in Records may be more efficient.”
“At last, a flicker of common sense.” Mr. De La Cruz waves a hand at me. “Tell her to bring them up. If I’m to be saddled with an incompetent assistant, the least she can do is save me a trip downstairs.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, but I keep my expression neutral. “I will inform Ms. Williams to bring the files up.”
With a curt nod, Mr. De La Cruz dismisses me. I duck out of the room, closing the door behind me.
