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He nods, eyes on the papers he’s flipping through. “Right.”
“Steven and Bonnie were invaluable. They helped me pack up my old apartment, and Steven drove all my stuff to the storage unit. I couldn’t have done it without them.”
Victor makes a humming noise. “Good.”
“Yes. How was the rest of your workday?”
Blue eyes land on me. “It was a disaster. I had to spend over two hours on the assistant candidates HR prepared.”
“Oh,” I say. That explains the hair.
“I have a shortlist of three who might be passable.” He slides a document over the marble counter. “Call them tomorrow for me. You’ll be able to tell which one is best.”
I look down at the three unassuming names and phone numbers on the piece of paper. You might leave St. Clair’s employ, but you’re never really out, it seems. I flip through the resumes of three people who have no idea what they’re in for.
“I wired the money to your bank account, as per the contract. It should be there tomorrow.”
“Uh, yeah. Thank you.”
Victor shuts the briefcase with a loud snap and turns to the stove. “Lobster ravioli?”
“Yes. Ready in five,” Bonnie says.
This is my time.
I clear my throat and Victor turns back to me. I have no idea what he thinks of me sitting here, in his kitchen, in his house. Perhaps he expects me to live in my room and stay out of the communal areas.
“Yes?” he prompts.
“I’d like us to schedule a meeting about my start-up. I want to present what I have and get your input.”
His mouth tightens. “You should have everything in order before we meet. Treat it like I’m a true potential investor.”
“I know. I have most of it in order.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he says. “When would you have had time to work on it? While you were my assistant? I doubt it.”
It takes effort not to grit my teeth, not to back down. “So you were aware of all the late nights and weekends I worked. I wasn’t sure.”
“I paid you to be available.”
“On Christmas? On my birthday?”
His eyes narrow. “Yes.”
“Well, I did have time. Not much. But I carved it out, and I’m ready to present it to you. Next week?”
“I’d ask you to check with my assistant, but I don’t currently have one.”
“No,” I say. “You married your last one.”
Victor slides his briefcase off the counter, eyes locked on mine. They burn again. Like they did in his office when he first made me the offer. Like they did in the restaurant when he took in my outfit.
“Call the shortlisted candidates tomorrow,” he says.
“If you schedule a meeting for us next week,” I say.
“Fine.”
