Page 3 of Work: Strictly Professional

“Yes, and that’s only for the first six months. If you stay for a year, you’ll have the potential to earn a seventy-five percent bonus for the second half of the year. You play your cards right, and you’ll earn more than half your salary in bonuses.” She looks exceedingly proud. “Here at MacAvoy Group, we recognize talent and take staff retention seriously.”

I’m unaffected by the sales pitch, but I’ll admit I’m wowed by the numbers. The base salary is ten thousand dollars more than Iearned working for Sasha, and the bonus there was only twenty-five percent.

Simply put, it’s an astonishing offer.

Too good to be true, some would say.

“I don’t suppose this has anything to do with that?” I ask, tipping my head toward Derek’s office.

Clarissa’s smile slips, but she quickly recovers. “Mr. MacAvoy isn’t… He’s not what one could call an easy man. He isn’t. I admit that. He has high expectations and exacting standards. But, but, someone like you, with your experience, shouldn’t have any problem keeping him happy.”

I sit back in the sumptuous white cloud I find myself on. The chair rocks back a few degrees and my head nestles into the puffy, pillowy neck support. If the situation leading to my current accommodation wasn’t total madness, I’d be here for all this in a big way.

“Honey,” I say, “you must think I was born yesterday.”

Clarissa’s smile slips for real, and this time, it doesn’t recover. Her shoulders droop and she leans an elbow on the desk, cradling her head in her hand. Her eyes are red and watery when she looks up at me.

“I don’t. I don’t think that. That’s not what this is. This is, God, I don’t even know what you’d call it. Desperate, probably. At my wit’s end, maybe. This is the sixth time this year we’ve recruited for this role. Thesixthtime. I…I’m just…” She scratches the top of her head, leaving her formerly silky brown hair a little disheveled. She presses her lips together and slowly parts them. She speaks softly, with no clue that the words leaving her mouth are my Achilles heel. My greatest weakness. My kryptonite. “I can’t…I just can’t anymore, Wyn. Please.I need you. I really, really need you, okay? I need someone to help me with this.”

It’s not just the words. It’s the sincerity behind them. They waft through the air and ruffle my feathers. They tickle me, waking a distant part of me that’s been sleeping since Sasha left. A part I like. A part that makes me feel alive and successful. A part that’s been dying slowly without a crazy daily to-do list.

Against my better judgment, I hear myself say, “Fine, I’ll do it. But only until you find someone else.”

Clarissa’s entire spine goes limp, and she collapses onto the desk for a few seconds before dragging herself into an upright position. She leans over and punches at the handset to the far right of the desk and says, “Sata…Mr. MacAvoy is one on speed dial. I’m two. Call me if you need anything. And I meananything, Wyn. Your only job is to keep him happy. For everything else, call down, and I’ll have someone do it.”

Hmm, sounds kind of nice.

Sounds kind of lovely, actually. It’ll be cushy as hell. Almost like having my own PA.

I flick through a few pages of the files Clarissa left on my desk and soon gather thatnot an easy mandoesn’t quite cover it. The files—there are three of them—are thick and stuffed with pages littered with Post-it notes that are annotated with things like:

Has gone off the steak salad from Pablo’s

Loves the avo salad from Joey’s (yogurt dressing, extra caramelized red onions)

Use the crème letterhead paper, not the white, hates the white

Drinks iced coffee only (three shots of espresso,two percent,almond milk, oat milk)

Don’t use crème letterhead paper unless you’re in the mood to be fired

Dry cleaning Tues and Thurs—deliver tooffice,Malibu home, downtown apartment (leave on coat hooks at entrance)

Hates iced coffee, no matter the milk

Do not order letterhead paper (white or crème) without talking to Rebecca in Procurement, ext 342. She’s up to speed on the matter

Food containing red, white, or green onion will be thrown in trash

It’s a lot.

The more I read, the more certain I feel that my initial assessment of him was correct.

Derek MacAvoy is not manageable.

When I’ve read enough to feel absolutely positive that I’ll get no clear answers in any of the files, I shove them into my bottom drawer and scan his schedule again, this time for clues as to where he might be. My phone rings. It’s first-floor reception, letting me know they’re sending up the attendees for the stakeholder’s meeting. Evidently, the meeting’s being held in the boardroom on this floor.

I grab the phone and hastily dial two. Clarissa answers quickly and a little breathlessly.

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