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Now, I just felt grubby and unkempt.
“Come into my office. We’ll talk about my daily expectations for you.” He swiveled around without waiting for a response. Scrambling to my feet, I followed, bringing a notepad and pen with me.
I took the same seat I had last week, poised to write down his instructions. I had to get this right not only for myself but for Liam and the bean.
Elliot took his time settling behind his desk then turned on his computer and maneuvered his mouse around, clicking several times. When he began typing, I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from reminding him of my presence.
Obviously, he knew I was there.
If this was a power play, it was silly. We both knew he held every drop of power in this room—this building—this city block. If he chose to make me sit here all day while he ignored me, at least my chair was comfy and the pay was decent.
After two or three minutes, he looked up. “Should I call you Ms. Warner, or will Catherine suffice?”
“Catherine’s fine. And you? Elliot or Mr. Levy?”
He threaded his fingers together on his desk. “Mr. Levy was my father. I prefer Elliot.”
I nodded. “Okay, Elliot.” I wobbled my pen between my fingers. “I’m ready when you are.”
“I want to be clear with you, Catherine. Working for me is not easy. I keep long hours, travel often, and won’t stop to check on your feelings.”
I remained unruffled. Professional Catherine never let her emotions show, even if it felt like I’d swallowed a bag of angry vipers on the inside.
“I have friends who care about my feelings.”
He huffed an almost laugh. “Good for you. I do as well.”
“That’s nice. Should I expect them to stop by the office?”
He paused midmovement and stared at me, his mouth partially open. “That’s interesting. None of my former assistants have ever asked me something like that.” He scratched his forehead. “Weston Aldrich and Luca Rossi. They stop by for lunch occasionally. Don’t be charmed by Luca. That’s a dead end.”
“I’m immune to charm,” I informed him.
“That must be helpful.” He moved his mouse, glancing at his computer screen. “Every morning, you’ll write my schedule down on paper. You’ll find the notebook I prefer you to use in the top drawer of your desk. Black ink, never blue.”
I scribbled down his instructions, self-conscious of my blue pen. What was wrong with blue ink?
“Should I not email your schedule? Davida said—”
“Email too,” he said shortly. “You’ll do better not to take advice from Davida on how I like things run. She knows how Jeffrey likes things, but she’s his assistant, not mine. And for a reason.”
“Does that mean I’m free to ask you questions if I need to?”
His jaw rippled. “We’ll meet like this every morning. If you have questions for me, this will be the time to ask them. My schedule doesn’t allow for deviation.”
No questions. Got it.
“I understand.” I nodded. “Just to be certain, you want me to handwrite your schedule as well as email it to you?”
“Yes. Is that too much for you?”
He asked this with such a cutting edge it was all I could do not to flinch.Just great.I was already getting on his nerves, and it was only day one.
“It isn’t. I don’t have a problem doing that.”
“What a relief,” he intoned. “Are you aware of what we do here at LD?”
“Yes.” I understood his business more than most probably did since my father was in the same line. “You develop properties and flip them or rent them.”
