Meetings = millions + NB CAN’T MISS!!!!!!!!!!! + NB EVER!!!!! (or broke for the rest of my life )
She circled that three times and then raised her head and looked at him expectantly.
“I need you to deal with any scheduling clashes, for meetings and travel. You’ll need to also take notes at meetings and then type them up afterward. A copy needs to be emailed to me and all the people who were in the meeting. I hate ‘misunderstandings,’” he gestured air quotes, “which often happen when money is on the line, so be precise.” She was writing frantically now and he continued, giving her no break. “Booking travel when need be, and arranging transport to and from the airport when flying. Booking hotels and transport for any important guests or board members coming to meetings here if traveling from out of town. Seeing to their needs and making sure they are comfortable and well treated. You will be the buffer between me and the other staff. All queries and requests for meetings and phone calls go through you—I do not want any of them knocking on my door. That is very important. No one is to disturb me during the day. I need you to bring me lunch—a brown bread chicken sandwich, no mayonnaise—from the cafeteria downstairs and a strong cup of coffee—no milk, no sugar—at exactly 1:10 p.m. Then you may take lunch from 1:10 to 1:57. But be back at your desk at 1:57 exactly to start work at 2. Then I need you to collect my suits from the laundry once a week; they are situated only a block away, you can walk, since you don’t have a car. And I expect you to leave when I leave, in case anything comes up. Working hours can be long.”
He watched her scribble. Her tongue had wandered out of her mouth and it was flicking about as she concentrated. He hoped she didn’t do that in meetings. Her hand moved fast and she nodded as she went, repeating the odd word here and there—he also hoped she didn’t do that in meetings. She finally finished and looked up at him.
“You can charge for overtime, obviously,” he quickly added.
“On that note, money, uh . . . well . . . I was . . .”
“Stop stuttering.” He hated it when she stuttered.
“Sorry!” She sat up straight. “Money. I was wondering what my salary is and when I would be paid? The advert said ten to fifteen thousand, negotiable. Depending on experience.”
He sat back in his chair and observed her. She looked very uncomfortable talking about money. “How much do you think you’re worth?” he asked.
“Sorry, what?” she asked.
“Simple question. How much do you deserve to be paid? The higher end, or the lower end? I mean, you don’t have that much experience, do you? But perhaps you think you can bring something extra to this job, another skill you have that I’m not aware of? Perhaps if I ever do business in a Spanish-speaking company, for example, you might be able to translate?” At that her face went white. She was no more fluent in Spanish than she was ever going to win a “best dressed” contest. It was clear that she had lied about that one.
“Uh . . . um, uh . . .” Her hands flew up to her mouth. “Sorry, didn’t meant to stutter.” Her brow wrinkled and the corners of her mouth twitched. And that was when, for the first time, he noticed her lips. They were full and stained a pastel-pink color which made them look like cotton candy . . . He quickly pulled his eyes away from them.
“So,” he pressed, “what are you worth?”
“I don’t know,” she finally said.
“Everyone should know what they’re worth, Miss Granger.”
She wriggled in her seat, looking anxious and uncomfortable.
“What do you think I’m worth?” she finally asked, looking him directly in the eye.
His body stiffened and something shot through him, but he quickly composed himself.
“I have no idea. I hardly know you. I have no idea whether you can even do this job. I mean, in the ten minutes that you’ve worked for me you’ve already damaged a telephone beyond repair, so . . .” He tapered off when he saw the look on her face.
She looked deflated.
“You have until the end of the day to tell me what you’re worth, Miss Granger. Dismissed,” he said quickly and then looked back down at his desk, wondering why he now felt guilty for saying that to her.
She stood up and started walking away.
“Miss Granger?” he called after her, and she turned. “I have a meeting with Mr. Grey today in an hour. I believe you just spoke to him on the phone. The man irritates the hell out of me and I really have better things to do than listen to him drone on and on. Ten minutes into the meeting please walk into my office and tell me I have something important to attend to, so I can end the meeting. Otherwise I’ll be trapped with him for two hours longer than I should, like last time.”
She looked confused. “Uh . . . sure. What should I say?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m sure you’ll work it out.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I guess I could say you had an—”
He cut her off. “Miss Granger, I don’t care what you say or do. Just make sure you end my meeting.”
“Why can’t you just tell him the meeting is over?” she asked.
He looked at her and sighed. “Because he needs to feel he is special and that I have time for him, even though I don’t. It’s all part of these manipulations and corporate games we play with each other every day.” He didn’t want to add that Mr. Grey had been a friend of his father’s and, other than Ryan, held the most shares in the company. As a result, his opinion held a lot of weight; in fact, he’d been the primary reason for a business decision Ryan had made recently that he was really starting to regret. But he’d felt strong-armed into making it. It had been very clear in the last meeting that Mr. Grey had been working and influencing the other shareholders and board members behind his back—except for Mr. Rautenbach, who remained unswayed still.
“Sounds terrible,” she said, snapping him out of his thoughts. She turned and walked away.
