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So, every contract that passes through me, I study it, acquaint myself with the knowledge, and maintain folders. I arrange the filing cabinet three times.
Caleb is often busy, and I rarely see him.
A week later, everything changes.
He’s on a phone call with one of the shareholders and I enter his office to tell him about his appointments for tomorrow. He waves his hand at me, gesturing me to wait, and I stand patiently.
He soon seems to forget about me, however, his tone is getting more and more annoyed as the man on the other end keeps talking. Finally, when the phone cuts, he puts it down, standing up.
“Mr.—?”
He picks up his cell phone and with inhuman strength throws it against the wall, to my shock, smashing it to a thousand pieces.
The look on his face is calm but there’s simmering anger under his skin.
I look at him and then at the broken phone, and then back at him. “Right,” I say, calmly. “I’ll get a phone, same model, delivered in an hour.”
He gives me a look, before sitting down. “Download all my data from the cloud onto it.”
“Yes, sir.” I make a small note on my pad.
I start telling him about his appointments for the day and with the way he’s staring at me, I feel like he’s not paying attention. “Mr. Starr!” I say, exasperated. “You aren’t listening.”
He leans back into his seat, his dark hair glinting in the sun, his amber eyes holding a wealth of amusement. “Call me Caleb. ‘Mr. Starr’ is starting to get on my nerves.”
I glare at him. “If I call you that, will you listen to me and actually pay attention?”
“You can try.”
I list his appointments again and when I’m done, he says, “All right. Tell Jace from finance to compile a report on the Bertrand Project and—”
“It’s already on your desk.” I point to an inconspicuous looking file to his right.
Caleb looks surprised. “When did he—?”
“I wrote the report before filing the documents yesterday,” I say carefully, hoping I didn’t cross a line.
Caleb silently reads the detailed report, his eyes jumping over paragraphs, and then he looks at me, a considering look in his eyes. “How long did this take you?”
“Thirty minutes or so,” I reply, not seeing where he’s going with this.
He studies the reports again. “Impressive. Write up one for Sears Co—”
“That’s also done,” I interrupt him. “I haven’t exactly been sitting at my desk, doodling. Just because you’re not giving me work to do, doesn’t mean I’m not going to earn my salary.”
I don’t know where this outburst comes from, but Caleb’s eyes widen, marginally, and then he watches me in a way that has me very self-conscious, and he has a satisfied look on his face, as he murmurs, “Clever girl.”
His words strike something inside of me, a memory that has long been buried.
“I took out the stuffing from the bear and filled it with bread for you!” I smile gleefully.
“Clever girl,” the response is both stunned and pleased.
The memory shakes me, and I swallow, looking away from Caleb for a few mo
ments.
He looks nothing like Harry.
