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“Strike one, Julia,” he said, eyes going back to the laptop.
I could feel myself grumbling but I kept it inside, taking the cup from his hand and stomping off. I felt like his eyes were on me as I walked, and when I turned to look, they were darting back down to his laptop. My cheeks burned at the idea of him watching my ass as I walked away from him and I chided myself for it.
The work was challenging in the best possible way,I thought to myself as I made my way to the elevator for what had to be the fourth time today. Every seemingly minuscule task had been handled, so far, with ease. If his only complaint at this point being that I asked him what coffee he would like, and that being considered strike one, I felt good about my chances going forward.
My biggest problem at this point was how devastatingly handsome he was.
His eyes, when they floated to mine, would arrest me on the spot. I would forget what I was doing, or if I was actively talking, the words would just disappear. Thankfully, I hadn’t madetoobig of an idiot of myself yet, but if I didn’t get my act together, I would. It was getting bad.
The elevator took me down to the lobby and I scooted out of the doors before the receptionist could give me the side-eye again. I had tried making small talk with her the first time I came down, then the second time she laughed and acted like she was taking pity on me. By the third time I had come down, she looked annoyed. I was getting the impression she expected me to have quit by now. It made me wonder how many people had left this job already.
This time, she was busy speaking with someone else, her back turned to me, so I made my way through the doors without having to bother with her. I might have to see her and talk on my way back, but I at least spared myself a disappointed or pitiful stare this time around.
It was nearly four as I hit the sidewalk and started heading for the corner shop. The phone in my hand vibrated and I looked down at it. It was a brand-new cell phone, one that had been bought specifically for me to do the job, and I was still at a bit of a loss as to what in all it did. My own phone was a couple years behind and a different operating system, so it had a learning curve that, much like everything else about this job, was going to need to be taken at breakneck speed.
I swiped a few things until I finally got to what I was trying to get to, a Slack thread for myself, Hunter, and several of the executives and their assistants. A message had come in on a private channel from Hunter. I opened it as I walked into the coffee shop and laughed so loudly that I caught the attention of the poor barista I had been bugging all day.
Hunter: Changed my mind. Iced. Caramel something. I don’t care what. No milk.
Shrugging, I got in line smiling at the barely-not-legal barista who was glancing down at me over the shoulders of the customers in front of me. She shook her head and kept ringing them up, eventually getting to me.
“I feel like I should know your name by now,” I said as I got to the counter.
“Sara,” she said. “I know yours. I’ve been writing it on cups all day.”
“Fair,” I said. “I’m back with another order for Hunter.”
“Nothing for you?”
“Honestly, yes. Two large iced caramel espresso coffees,” I said. “No milk for either.”
“Coming up,” she said as I tapped the company credit card onto the payment machine. Hunter had handed it to me on the first trip and told me to keep it in my desk for situations like this.
I wondered if he always handed his assistants a credit card on their first day. It seemed wildly dangerous to just hand out cards like that, but at the same time, he was a billionaire and had a multi-billion-dollar company. They could afford to take a risk with a couple grand on a card, most likely. Still, just having access to a card like that was kind of humbling. Lord knew no one in any of the newspapers I interned for would ever have given me a card to walk out of the building with.
As I waited for the drinks, I glanced down at the phone again. Hunter had sent a picture of his watch.
Taking a long timehis message read.
I shook my head. I’d been gone barely ten minutes.
Long lineI typed back.
Then get to the front.Use any means necessary. I need you here.
Again, that chill went up my spine and I had to shake it off.
“Julia?”
I turned to see Sara, holding out two identical cups, only different by the name written on the sides.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Are you new on this job?” she asked.
I stopped, nearly having walked away from her.
“Yes?” I said. “Is this a common thing?”
