Page 13 of Cherish my Heart
“Temporary people don’t usually argue this much,” he replies dryly.
I walk in and drop my notepad on the other chair before sitting down. “You should consider it a value-add. Most CEOs pay extra for people who actually talk back.”
He levels a long, slow stare at me. Not hostile. Not amused. Just… assessing.
It’s a little terrifying. Also, oddly flattering.
I flip my notepad open. “I was going through your schedule. It’s hell.”
He continues typing. “Is that your professional opinion?”
“No, that’s my human opinion. Do you even eat lunch like a normal person?”
“Efficiency doesn’t need calories.”
I stare at him, flabbergasted. Is he for real? “Neither does a robot,” I mutter under my breath.
He glances at me sideways. “Careful. I might replace you with one. They don’t talk back.”
“Yeah, but they also don’t save your ass in meetings or keep your chaos color-coded.” There's a pause; his fingers stop typing momentarily, and I see his mouth twitch, but it's gone in a second.
“…Touché,” he says, almost like it pains him.
I grin, victorious for exactly two seconds before he speaks again.
“There are ten department reports in my inbox. Summarize each one. Highlight budget changes, missed targets, and upcoming risks. Deliver a clean doc by 3 PM.”
I blink. “Wait. You want me to summarize ten reports?”
“Yes.”
“Before 3 PM?”
He looks at the wall clock. “It’s 1:06. So technically, you have one hour and fifty-four minutes.”
My jaw drops.
“Are you insane?”
“Possibly. I have heard that a lot.”
“You want me to speed-read ten reports, understand them, filter them, summarize them, and cross-reference data—in under two hours?”
“That’s correct.”
“This is not an assistant job. This is a miracle job.”
He closes his laptop and looks at me, finally. Still Calm. Steady. Challenging.
“You said you wanted to learn how the top functions. This is how. You process faster than everyone else. You think before people finish speaking. You read between lines that no one else sees. That’s what leaders do.”
My mouth opens. Closes. I hate how he makes that sound like a dare.
He leans back in his chair. “If it’s too much, I can reassign it.”
I narrow my eyes.
“No,” I say, grabbing my notepad. “Watch me do it.”
