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“Of course.” My body goes cold.
I hand it to him and he fusses and stews over it, his breath shooting out in a rapid gust.
“I don’t know how you found your way to these files,” he says. “But these are not on the tab I told you to sort. I thought I made that very clear.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know how I ended up there but . . .”
“There isn’t a reason to open any of the documents anyway, Elianna.”
The way he says my name, with such distaste, has me reeling, and now I’m flooded with emotions. “Look, I couldn’t tell from the title where it would go. PFS? What does that even mean? It wasn’t like any of the others. I had to open it to know where to put it.”
“It wasn’t like any of the others because it wasn’t on the same tab as I told you to do.”
I stand. “I apologize. I don’t understand what the big deal was, but I respect that you’re upset about it.” I swallow hard.
He shakes his head. “PFS means ‘Personal For Sebastian.’ Not that you would know that,” he adds quietly.
“I’ll try to stay on the right tab from now on.”
“No, I don’t need you to sort anymore.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m going to have you transcribe some meetings from last week that I voice recorded.” He starts to pace, his gray button-down shirt and black suit pants caging him in. “Just create a new doc and type up everything that’s said. I’ll send you the files and there should be some headphones you can plug into the laptop in one of your desk drawers.”
“Sounds good.” My body is shaking a little, but not because it’s cold. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to go downstairs to the eatery to do this. Please text me if you need me to come back up.”
“Fine,” he says, except I don’t see his face because I’m already gathering up my things and locating the headphones.
I need a breather from this guy. I can’t get fresh air fast enough.
Chapter 10
Sebastian
The crush of my guilt is almost too much for me to bear. I have to stand and take a purposeful walk around the hallway of the top floor of the resort. Usually that calms me, but this time, I just feel worse.
I return to my office and open a can of sparkling water, peach flavored. I chug half of it. Beverages are my thing—non-alcoholic ones since I like keeping my faculties about me at all times—but the refreshment does little to quench the annoyance I have with myself.
I grab my phone and try to text Elianna an apology but quickly abandon the idea. I probably shouldn’t try to convey in text that I’m sorry I got upset with her. It’s literally her second day on the job. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.
Still, I’m embarrassed about what she read. It’s the most vulnerable and most important thing in my life, to achieve this goal I’ve had for so long. And I’m on the cusp.
But it’s private. Yes, I applied at the beginning of the year, but that’s not exactly general knowledge. A part of me will be embarrassed if I fall short.
I usually don’t care what people think, which I believe is one of the reasons the company has been so successful. I’ve kept my head in the sand and built this world and not worried about the naysayers or anyone else.
But knowing Elianna knows about this feels uncomfortable. It shouldn’t. She’s my assistant now, and I need to trust her.
Can I trust her? I know almost nothing about her except her brother’s a great man and a good friend to me. And yes, I should have gotten to know her before I blasted her with all the work things. I meant to, after I saw Oliver doing it. But then my mind got wrapped up in the task at hand and my brain was so tired from having to hold all the things Britta used to carry for me.
There was no excuse to act like that, though. And almost two hours later, when she finally returns to the office, she has a careful mask over her face. I clam up, all my brilliant ideas about apologizing sitting there on the tip of my tongue.
I’m like my father in this way, and that thought sours my mood even further. He couldn’t apologize for anything, and I also struggle to apologize. I hate that about myself, and I want to change. I really do.
But until I change that, it’s just one more reason to not have a relationship, or get married, or have kids, because I know I’ll end up hurting them emotionally.
As I’m stewing in my mind, I realize part of the problem might be that I’m hungry. I haven’t reached out to Drake yet.
“Elianna? I’m texting Drake about dinner. What sounds good to you?”
“Oh. Nothing really.” She doesn’t look at me. “Our lunch was so big that I’m not that hungry. Thanks, though.”
