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As Maren settles into one of the chairs in front of my desk, I drop into the leather chair I spend a good portion of my day in.
My office may not be the biggest in this city, but it has two things I need. I have a clear view of the Empire State Building from my window and a desk that once belonged to my grandfather. You can’t beat that.
“You have questions,” I say to Maren as she holds tight to the envelope containing the contract I had sent over to her apartment this morning.
She looks up. “I do, but I’m curious about something. It’s about the swearing and the fund. What is that?”
“That’s a long story.”
It’s not as long as it is fucked up. I’d rather not talk about it, but if she’s going to take on the role of my executive assistant, she needs to know.
“I have a niece. She’s eight.” I glance at one of the framed pictures sitting on the windowsill. It’s a recent image of my brother and his daughter. “I’m trying to set a good example for her, so I look to the people around me. They hold me accountable if I swear.”
Maren nods. “So the fund is essentially a swear jar? Isn’t a hundred dollars for each person who witnesses you swearing steep?”
“I donate the money once a month to a cancer charity in Boston.”
That sets her back into the chair. Her shoulders slump. She doesn’t know what to say, so I fill in the blanks the same way I always do when anyone asks about the fund.
“My brother’s wife died two years ago.” I swallow hard. “I promised Stevie, my niece, that I’d do something to honor her mom’s memory. It was Stevie’s idea that I donate a hundred each time I swear.”
“I’m sorry,” Maren says quietly.
“I make a sizable donation every month regardless of how much I curse, but I am trying to curtail it to set a good example for Stevie.” I take a breath. “My brother perfected the art of not swearing in her presence. I’ll never live up to that ideal, but I’m doing what I can.”
A soft smile settles on her lips. “I understand.”
I don’t. How does a thirty-two-year-old woman who has her entire life ahead of her die from breast cancer just days short of her daughter’s sixth birthday?
Life fucking sucks.
“I expect you to call me out when I swear.” I half-laugh. “My brother told me it takes fifteen days to break a habit.”
“It’s actually twenty-one days, and that’s a myth.”
“Fuck,” I snap. “You’re serious?”
“That’s a hundred to the fund.” Maren tips a finger in the air.
I smile. “If I told you that was a test, would you believe me?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m all about attention to detail, so I’ll hold you accountable for the cursing.”
“Damn right, you will.”
“Damn is technically a swear, so that’s two hundred.”
I laugh. “You’re good. You’re maybe too good for this job.”
The smile falls from her lips. “We should talk about that. I’m not sure I’m the right fit for this job, Keats.”
“Why the he…heck not?” I question.
“You’ve had a lot of assistants in the past year alone,” she points out. “I’m wary about that. I’m not perfect, so if you expect that, I’m not the person for this job.”
Folding my hands together on the desk, I lean forward. “I don’t expect you to be perfect, Maren. I expect you to be honest, loyal, and do the job to the best of your ability.”
Her gaze drops to her lap.
I push on because I want this woman to work for me. That unexplainable pull I feel for her is there again, and it’s stronger than it was yesterday.
“I fired Jamie because she lost Dud, but there’s more to that story.” I exhale sharply. “She was on her tenth or eleventh warning before she volunteered to take over caring for Dudley.”
That draws Maren’s chin up, so she’s looking at me. “That’s a lot of warnings.”
“Jamie pushed the boundaries from day one.” I exhale, still frustrated with my former assistant. “She’d waltz into the office an hour late. She’d forget to give me messages. She’s called in sick three times this month.”
“She wasn’t sick?”
“I’d say no based on the fact that she used that time to go on shopping sprees.” I laugh under my breath. “She’d post non-stop on Instagram, tagging her fellow employees to show them what she was buying.”
“Wow.” Maren smiles. “That’s bold.”
“That’s one word for it.” I squint. “After I called her out on that and told her that her time here was done, she promised to clean up her act. She offered to take Dudley home to care for him. I thought we had turned a corner.”
“Then she lost him,” Maren says.
“And she took a forty-five minute break after showing up for work thirty minutes late yesterday.” Chuckling, I shake my head. “She gave me hell when I fired her, but it was time for her to go.”
