Page 3 of The Billionaire Alpha's Assistant

Chapter Two

Alex

My heels clackloudly on the pristine white tile as I walk through the doors of MatchAI. The building is modern, sleek, and very cold, and I instantly regret not wearing pants. It’s definitely too chilly for the skirt I have on, but it’s the nicest piece I own.

A chic older woman in a charcoal-gray suit is waiting in the lobby when I walk in, and she pulls a constipated-looking smile as she comes over to greet me. “Ms. Langley?”

“Call me Alex,” I say, self-consciously tugging on my skirt.

“Ms. Langley. How wonderful to meet you. I’m Vivian.” Vivian takes my hand in her cool bony one and pumps it twice very hard. “I manage all staff who work directly with the executives, but I’ve been filling in as Mr. Cabrera Garcia’s personal assistant.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, extracting my hand and taking the shiny new employee badge she offers me.

“Ralph, this is Alexandra Langley, Mr. Cabrera Garcia’s new assistant,” she tells the guy working security.

“It’s just Alex,” I say, addressing the security guy with an awkward wince. I hate correcting people about my name, but I hate being called “Alexandra” more.

“Mr. Cabrera Garcia gets in at eight sharp, so we don’t have much time,” says Vivian, striding toward the huge glass staircase to reach the bank of elevators at the top.

Feeling nervous, I glance at my phone to check the time. I’d thought seven forty-five was crazy-early to arrive for my first day on the job, but apparently I was wrong.

I hurry up the steps after Vivian, silently berating my choice of footwear. I bought these heels at Goodwill ages ago, and the left heel is a little wobbly. I’d forgotten about it until I was walking across the parking lot, and it’s going to bug me all day.

Vivian reaches the bank of elevators and slides into the first one that opens. She presses the button for the top floor, looking even more nervous than I feel. “You’ll need to have his green juice and mushroom coffee waiting for him when he arrives,” she says. “The green juice should be ice cold, and the mushroom coffee should be very hot.”

“I’m sorry . . . mushroom coffee?”

“It’s prepared with chaga powder,” Vivian adds, giving me a snide look. “It’s full of antioxidants and adaptogens. It’s what Mr. Cabrera Garcia prefers.”

“O-kay . . .”

The elevator dings, and Vivian breezes out. A huge empty desk fills the space between the elevator and the office door behind it, where a glass placard on the wall is etched with the name Rafael Cabrera Garcia.

“The thermostat in his office should be set at precisely sixty-five degrees with twenty-eight percent humidity. Mr. Cabrera Garcia runs hot. When he arrives in the morning, he likes to see a digest of all the emails that came in from the time he left the night before,” Vivian continues. “Mr. Cabrera Garcia doesn’t read email. It’s up to you to ensure he’s kept up to speed.”

I nod.

“His entire day is divided into fifteen-minute increments. At eight fifteen, he has a meeting with the VP of product development to get an update on each project. At eight thirty, he speaks with the head of user experience to go over any issues . . .”

I fumble in my purse to find a pen and some paper, frantic to write everything down. Something tells me Vivian is a woman who doesn’t like to repeat herself.

She rolls her eyes and hands me a piece of paper. “Here’s his schedule. At ten thirty, you’ll need to order his lunch. He usually eats alone in his office. On Mondays, he likes the boneless ribeye from The Capital. Tuesday, it’s Chilean sea bass from Eddie V’s. He also likes prime rib from Shanahan’s. They don’t open for lunch, but the chef will prepare his usual on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Fridays, Mr. Cabrera Garcia has sushi catered in for the staff.”

I take a deep breath and locate my notebook, but I only manage to jot down the days of the week before I forget everything else Vivian just said.

“Your application said you aren’t married,” Vivian quips.

I look up at her, thrown by this abrupt change in topic.

“That’s right.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

A little inappropriate, Vivian.“No.”

Even if legally shackling myself to another human being for the rest of my days did sound appealing, it’s not as if I have time to date. My entire life is spent in the newsroom, and I prefer it that way.

“Good,” says Vivian, staring down her nose at me as if trying to determine whether I’m telling the truth. “You should be at your desk from an hour before Mr. Cabrera Garcia arrives until he leaves in the evening, usually around nine o’clock.”

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