Page 8 of Jack Frost, CEO

I grab Maisie by the elbow and escort her out of the office. “Miss Mitchell, I need you to bump our project lead meeting at least an hour. Then I want you to pull any information from the system about whatever Miss Masterson was working on. I believe you have access to those files.”

“I’m a part of that team, sir. I know the status of all the projects,” Stella interjects while raising her hand.

“Very well, Miss Jarvis. I want you to gather all the documentation and then meet with Miss Mitchell to see what permissions you need to take over those tasks. That is all.” I dismiss the girls and return to Martha’s office.

I can hear Lucy even with the door closed. Sometimes being the CEO really, really fucking sucks.

Chapter 7

Maisie

Stella grabs my arm and drags me back to our stations. Once we’re safely behind the closed doors of the lift, she starts to freak out. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my GOD! DO YOU KNOW WHAT JUST HAPPENED?”

My head snaps back and forth with the force of Stella shaking me. “Yeah, mate, I know what just happened. You gave me a concussion!” I pry her fingers off me and step to the side. “If you’re referring to what happened with the redhead—who was being a bitch—then no, I do not know. She’s obviously gotten herself into a bit of a spot. That was totally not cool of her. She was going to attack you!” I straighten my sweater and skirt.

“I forget you’re new. That’s Lucy. She came here a year ago and has already been made senior analyst. That’s unheard of. And it’s only because she had half of the management bamboozled. She claims other people’s work as her own while fucking the other half so they don’t care. To make matters worse, she’s had her sights set on Mr. Foster since the assistant position opened. She bragged that she would be the new assistant when you showed up. I don’t know why she thought she was going to get it.”

Stella huffs and I continue to listen to her rant.

“I mean, you heard Martha. She isn’t even remotely qualified. Besides, she only wants the position because she’s been trying to get Mr. Foster to notice her for the past year.” Stella pulls me closer and whispers, “They call him Jack Frost, 'cause he’s cold as ice in business. You haven’t had a chance to see it yet. But the man can be RUTHLESS. Also, for some reason, Mr. Foster hates Christmas. Oh, he does the usual holiday stuff for the staff, but he never attends, never decorates, and never-EVER-EVER,” she stresses, “wish him merry Christmas. We had an intern mess up one year, and he made her cry. She asked to be transferred to a different floor and everything. It was a mess.”

“Okay, so I get that business part. Mr. Foster is pretty intense, but how can someone hate Christmas? The sand, the beaches… it’s twenty-five degrees and hardly ever rains! We spend all day playing beach cricket and surfing, and—” My words die off when I notice Stella staring at me. “What?”

“How are you playing on a beach in twenty-five degree weather! Isn’t it freezing?”

“Oh, no. Twenty-five Celsius. For you Yanks, that’s like—” I do quick math in my head. “Seventy-seven. It’s really quite warm over Christmas at home. It’s one of the reasons I want to be back by the holidays. I do not handle the cold well. I miss my warm and sunny beaches.”

“You haven’t returned home since you moved here for school?” It was an innocent question, but it still landed like a kick in the guts.

Stella didn’t know and I would never tell her that I didn’t have the money to return home, even if I had been invited. Busy traveling the world with my stepmother, Father couldn’t bother to send me money to live on, much less to travel back to Sydney for the holidays. The only person who would have wanted to see me would have been Nan, but she isn’t doing well at all, which is why I have to be back this Christmas. No matter what. She needs me. Father dropped her in that care home and forgot about her.

“Well, there wasn’t much point in going home. Besides, international travel around the holiday is notorious for issues, and I couldn’t risk missing classes. I don’t see how you Yanks can stand living here. Snow is a NO for me. If I never see snow again, I’ll be happy.”

Stella laughs, like I was hoping she would, as the doors open on our floor. “Let’s talk to your manager about what Mr. Foster wants you to gather. I’ll be at my station when you’re ready.”

Once I return to my desk, I update the project managers about the meeting being moved. I push Mr. Foster’s remaining calls for the rest of the afternoon and then collect all the project files I can find in the system with Lucy’s name on them. There are quite a few, and each project is managed by the same man, Kevin Smith. I make note of this before leaving the files on Mr. Foster’s desk.

Stella shows up with her own notes, and I set about typing them out and arranging them in order. I’m not sure what Jack plans to do with all these projects, but I do hope that he gives a few of them to Stella. She seems to know her stuff, even though she’s one of the junior analysts, along with Jeremy, Martin, and Paul.

I pop into Jack’s office once everything is neat, ready, and annotated. He still has not made it back from HR—which is worrisome in of itself. When he returns, I want him to have everything he requested.

I notice the clock and nip over to the machine on the sideboard. Based on what I’ve read, Jack usually has an Americano about now. I’ve never made one. But it can’t be that difficult, can it?

The machine gleams in the sunlight, and I swear it’s as tall as I am with all these different buttons and levers. I swallow roughly.

I can do this. I can make a stupid coffee. How hard can it be?

Chapter 8

Jack

Iroll my neck, trying to remove the kinks, and finally return to my office. Lucy had quite a bit to say about my hiring and, consequently, my firing decisions. Unfortunately for her, I don’t give a fuck. The girl was delusional if she thought she’d ever be my assistant, especially after Martha had already told her she was not qualified.

Besides, I have Maisie, and she’s turning out to be a fantastic assistant. Gio was right when he said she was a hard worker. She may have only started today, but she already made a difference in the way my office is run—for the better.

I’m mentally reviewing my calendar, so I don’t notice that Maisie isn’t at her desk. Until I open my office door and find her in what appears to be a life-or-death match with my espresso machine. Coffee beans litter the ground while bits and bobs of metal and plastic are strewn across the countertop.

Maisie glares and points at the machine, her glorious curls sticking out at various angles. “You think it’s funny, don’t you?” Her Australian accent is thick. The machine is quite understandably silent, which only seems to frustrate her more. “Listen, mate, if you don’t start cooperating, I will give you a good kick.”

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