Page 9 of Triplet Babies
He gives me another small smile, which feels oddly like a gift. He doesn’t seem like a man who smiles often. “Especially then. Most people would have panicked or tried to cover up the mistake. You stayed calm and started cleaning up immediately.” He leansback in his chair, studying me. “Tell me about your previous work experience.”
I give him the same summary I gave Mrs. Nykova, emphasizing the administrative tasks and downplaying most of my experience involves physical labor and customer service. He listens without interrupting, occasionally making notes on a legal pad.
“Your references from the landscaping company are excellent,” he says when I finish. “Your supervisor mentioned that you were reliable, detail-oriented, and good with difficult clients.”
“Thank you. I tried to do good work there.”
“Why did you leave New York?”
The question startles me even though I should have expected it. I’ve practiced this answer dozens of times, but sitting across from him in this intimidating office makes my prepared response feel inadequate. “I needed a change of scenery. New York was getting expensive, and I thought Connecticut might offer better opportunities.” It’s not entirely a lie, just not the whole truth.
He nods, but I have the feeling he sees through the evasion. “So, you’ve been in Greenwich for eight months?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you like it here?”
“I do. It’s quieter than the city, but close enough that I don’t feel completely isolated.” I’m relaxing slightly, encouraged by what seems like genuine interest rather than interrogation. “The work at the landscaping companies here is different too. There is more estate management and less commercial properties.”
“More personal.”
“Exactly.” I smile, remembering some of the gardens I’ve worked on. “There’s something satisfying about helping someone create a space they really love, rather than just maintaining generic corporate landscaping.”
It’s difficult to tell how he feels when he says, “And now you’ll be helping me maintain my schedule instead of my gardens.”
“If that’s what you need, yes.”
He slides a folder across the desk toward me. “These are the appointments and commitments for the next two weeks. I need you to review them, identify any conflicts or scheduling issues, and prepare a summary for me by the end of the day.”
I open the folder and scan the first few pages. It’s a mix of business meetings, phone conferences, and what look like social obligations. The handwriting is neat but difficult to read, and some of the entries are in what might be Russian.
“Should I reschedule anything that looks problematic?”
“Not without checking with me first. Some of these appointments are more flexible than others.” He hands me a business card. “This is my cell phone number. Use it only for genuine emergencies or if something urgent comes up that can’t wait.”
I take the card, noting the simple design and expensive paper stock. “What qualifies as an emergency?”
“You’ll know when you see it.”
That’s not particularly helpful, but I nod anyway. “Is there anything else you need me to focus on today?”
“Familiarize yourself with the filing system. Mrs. Nykova will show you where everything is kept. Sarah?” He looks directly at me, and I feel that same electric awareness I experienced yesterday. “I value honesty and efficiency. If you don’t understand something, ask. If you make a mistake, tell me immediately. If you have concerns about anything, bring them to my attention.”
“I understand, sir.”
His lip curves up slightly before he aborts the smile trying to emerge. “Good. Mrs. Nykova will help you get oriented. We’ll meet again at four o’clock to review your progress.”
I stand, recognizing a dismissal when I hear one. “Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Barinov. I won’t disappoint you.”
“I hope not.”
I leave his office with the folder clutched in my hands and my mind racing. This is either the best opportunity I’ve had in years or the beginning of a very complicated situation. Possibly both.
It also presents a dilemma between preference and practicality. I don’t want to be stuck inside all day, but the bump in salary I saw briefly when examining the documents the house manager gave me help convince me I can stand to be in an office for eight hours per day.
Mrs. Nykova spends the next hour showing me the filing systems, explaining the phone system, and walking me through the basics of managing his calendar.
“Mr. Barinov values precision,” she tells me as we review the appointment scheduling software. “If a meeting is scheduled fortwo o’clock, he expects to begin at two o’clock exactly. Not five minutes after or ten minutes before.”
