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“I need those documents for Teramore thoroughly proofed,” he snapped.
“Okay.”
“Not like last month on the Morings report,” he added snidely.
I had missed something minor – which meant Klaus had missed something minor, too, since he was supposed to proof all the reports, but would he ever admit to a mistake on his part?
See, that was a trick question. Klaus doesn’t make mistakes. According to Klaus, anyway.
The client had joked about the mistake in a phone call.
Klaus does not like to be laughed at. Or about. Or near.
So I had been catching hell for, oh, three weeks or so.
Inwardly I seethed. You make twenty or thirty great saves, and no appreciation. You make one lousy mistake, and you hear about it for weeks.
“Okay,” I said, forcing a smile.
“I don’t have time to continually look over your shoulder,” he continued.
I had to grit my teeth.
I’ll be staying four hours late tonight, when you could have just gotten the work to me earlier instead of dithering on the changes. Meanwhile, you’ll be having drinks at the ‘hottest new restaurant in LA’ with some silicone princess. And not ONCE will you be looking over my shoulder the entire time, asshole.
“Fine.”
“Your continued employment here is dependent on your making a better effort. I hope you understand that,” he said, checking his smartphone.
If nothing else, I have learned self-control in my six months as Klaus’s secretary. Because there are many times when I am ten seconds and one letter opener away from a 20-year prison sentence for murder.
I think I could get off on temporary insanity, though.
If I made a video recording of how he treated me, I think it might even be ruled justifiable homicide.
“Understood,” I said in as annoying and chirpy a voice as I could manage.
“And another thing – ” he started in.
Mercifully, that was when my phone rang.
“Excuse me,” I said, relieved to escape a murder rap once again, and picked it up. “Exerton Consulting, Klaus Zimmerman’s office.”
“Hey, Lily,” a familiar voice said.
Stanley, the front desk concierge/guard. One of my favorite people at Exerton. Huge black guy, looks like he could benchpress a station wagon, but sweet as a teddy bear.
“Hey, Stanley,” I answered warmly.
“Mr. Zimmerman there?”
Stanley had had plenty of joyful run-ins with my boss through the years. He’d taken to using my ‘Herr Klaus’ nickname, too, but obviously he was worried about being overheard.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he’s standing right in front of me.”
At which point Klaus began scowling and waving his hands in a ‘no, no I’m NOT’ kind of way.
“…although he’s on his way out to a very important meeting,” I amended.
With a silicone princess named Natalia or Buffy or Chantal.
Stanley sounded a little strange as he continued to talk. I couldn’t quite peg it, but it was almost as though he were… intimidated.
Which is hard to do with a 300-pound dude who can benchpress station wagons.
“There’s, uh… there’s this gentleman here who wants to speak to him.”
“Oh… tell him I’m sorry, but Mr. Zimmerman can’t. If you put him on, though, I’ll make an appointment for him next week.”
“Uhhh… he says he’s from LMGK.”
Oh CRAP.
LMGK was one of Exerton’s major rivals, a true international behemoth with offices in over two dozen cities across the globe. There had been rumors flying for months that LMGK was going to acquire Exerton, and things I had seen in the upper echelons tended to support those rumors. Like meetings between Klaus and all the other department heads with bigwigs from LMGK.
“Uh… hold on, Stanley.” I pulled the phone from my ear and covered the mouthpiece. “There’s a man in the lobby from LMGK who wants to speak to you.”
Klaus groaned and checked his Rolex watch. His very gaudy, very expensive Rolex watch.
“Oh GOD… of course this happens to me right now… what’s his name?” he snarled.
I uncovered the mouthpiece. “What’s his name, Stan?”
“A Mr. Brooks. Mr. Connor Brooks.”
“Connor Brooks,” I said to Klaus – who put on the snottiest expression imaginable, like one of the queen bitches from the old Lindsay Lohan movie Mean Girls.
“Who?!”
I shrugged.
“Screw it, he’s not messing up my Friday night,” Klaus sneered.
Versus YOU screwing up every single one of mine, I thought angrily.
“I’m out. Take a message, schedule an appointment, whatever, but I’m out.”
