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Lana
“You know I can’t give you a month’s leave, Aaron.” I study the letter again with a frown. “All vacation days have been put off with this temporary CEO’s arrival.”
Aaron, one of the IT guys, sighs. “But it’s my sister’s wedding.”
He doesn’t seem too disappointed, though. I narrow my eyes when he says in a more cheerful tone, “Can I have that in writing?”
“I guess,” I say slowly.
“An official stamp would also be nice.” He shuffles his feet, looking everywhere but at me.
Rolling my eyes, I sarcastically say, “Would you like me to call your sister as well?”
He brightens up immediately, his brown lighting up. “Could you?”
“What? No!” I frown, wincing at the same time. “I’m not going to call your sister. That’s a family issue.” I draw out the last two words, watching him deflate.
Aaron sighs again. Looking like a kicked puppy, he gives me a mournful look. “She’ll kill me.”
I relent. “I’ll send you an official stamped email.”
When he leaves the office, almost skipping, I lean back against my leather chair, wondering why I’m so soft with them.
Because I tried to create an open atmosphere when I started working here. Now, where employees usually shun HR, mine seek me out every time there’s a problem. There’s little resentment when I give them unhelpful answers because they can see me working tirelessly to provide a healthy atmosphere.
My presence is appreciated.
And like every other person on the planet, that makes me happy.
It’s been two weeks since Oliver Thornton, London socialite, took over the company at the behest of Caleb. His job is to fix this company, throw out the trash, and rebrand it in his image before Caleb takes it back. It’s a surprising move for the tycoon to not handle his own business, but who am I to question him?
However, I was told that the Crisis CEO would be working alongside me, but I have yet to meet him. In the meantime, I’ve been hearing about him nitpicking through the staff, one by one. Nobody has been fired yet, but as I stare at the image of the man with slicked-back sandy hair and deep blue eyes, I wonder why he hasn’t summoned me.
I don’t know much about him except he’s British and he was married for four years before his wife died under mysterious circumstances, her death hushed up. There was a lot of speculation about whether he killed her or arranged for her death. He hadn’t been at the funeral, either, so people whispered quiet rumors. They haven’t yet been dispelled.
I close the search history.
I don’t believe in rumors.
If Oliver Thornton doesn’t contact me within the next few days, I guess Human Resources will have to make an appearance to let him know he’s being watched.
* * *
My office is on the fourth floor.
As I step out of the elevator, my black heels clicking on the marble floor, I hold my coffee and walk past the still-empty cubicles, people not yet returned from their lunch hour.
My carefully pressed white blouse is covered by a sharp maroon blazer paired with a pencil skirt that is elegant and stylish. I choose to dress professionally because of my position. A pair of dark-rimmed glasses covers my sea-green eyes, which people often like to say reminds them of the ocean. My dark hair, wavy and curly at the ends, lies smoothly at my back, put in place with hairspray.
I don’t need the glasses, but I wear them to give me a harsher appearance.
I’ve been told many a times that I have a baby face. The term offends me. Since I had to go through college without being taken seriously, this is my disguise of sorts. The glasses are ugly, thick, and black-rimmed—on purpose.
It has been extremely effective.
Or at least I like to think so.
I open the door to my office. My assistant, Hanna, spots me from over a distance, then rushes in my directions. I pause, waiting for her to catch up.
