“It doesn’t matter who you report to,” she said. “My point is, you’re senior management.”
“That’s right, I am. Don’t forget it.”
Like he’d ever let her. “And I don’t want people saying I got a job because of my father.”
Nor did she want to be compared to her father or worry that people were talking about her behind her back as they did him.
There was no way her father was liked at his job. He didn’t seem to keep staff long enough, yet he managed his job for years.
Guess he knew the right asses to kiss, but she’d never voice that.
She’d seen sides of her father that weren’t horrible. Her mother was a wonderful person and Lynda Jones had to see something in Norris for them to even get married.
“People are always going to talk in life,” her father said. “Grow thicker skin.”
She thought her skin was pretty damn tough. It had to be as his daughter.
“That isn’t the point.”
“What is?”
“Ethan is the one who is going to decide. He might want someone more experienced. Someone who doesn’t have a tie to another employee. Someone he can connect with more. Personalities play a role in those positions.”
And not someone who he’d seen naked.
If there was a way to mess up a good thing, she found it. Just by not being honest with who she was when he sat next to her at the bar.
“He needs an assistant, not a best friend. You’re thinking too highly of yourself. You go in, you do your job, complete what he asks or gives you, learn to have it done before he asks and then leave for the day.”
“Please,” she said. “At the end of the day you are still asking your assistants to do things.”
“No,” her father corrected. “I rarely require them to do much once they leave for the day. That is their time. If I email after they are gone, they can take care of it in the morning. I’ve never asked them to stop what they were doing at home to answer me.”
That was news to her. “So when your assistant leaves at five, they are free of work until they come in at eight?”
He shook his head. “No. They come in at seven and some days they leave at seven. It’s when I’m ready to let them leave. They are compensated well for their time.”
“That’s no different,” she said.
“You’re wrong.”
Of course she was because she’d never be right in her father’s eyes.
“How is that? Make me see the difference.”
“Your last job, what were your hours?”
“Eight to four thirty with a thirty-minute lunch.”
“What time did you show up for work?”
“Around seven thirty,” she said.
“And did you work through your lunch? How many days did you work through your lunch and leave on time?”
She let out a breath. “Everyone ate at their desk and worked. Most times I was out before five.”
“Good for you. How much work did you do at home after hours or on the weekend? Did anyone ever text or call you when you left the building or had a day off?”
