Page 12 of Assistant to the Billionaire CEO

Time for a coffee. I’d planned to spend the day baking and the evening readingPoirot Investigatesby detective novel queen, Agatha Christie. My favorite author in the world! Then I would re-read the short story “The Four Suspects,” featuring Miss Jane Marple, Christie’s most famous detective character. My late mother had introduced me to Miss Marple when I was a teen, and to this day, I felt closer to Mom and truly comforted when I picked up one of her books. The way the loveable old English spinster did everything in her power to solve those difficult cases was simply brilliant! She was astute and witty, and most of all, madly courageous in her spirit as an amateur detective helping to bring rightfulness to the world. How I admired her unwavering boldness. It was the opposite of me—I wasn’t the bold and unwavering kind. I was the “quick to have a heart attack at any sticky situation” kind.

Oh, how I enjoyed the days I had to myself, the days when I wasn’t working or worrying about finding work after my internship was over. The last applications I’d sent out hadn’t yielded any results, and quite frankly, I was growing anxious. Very anxious. Maybe I should try to make éclairs before jumping back into job hunting. Baking relaxed me, and I loved the smell of fresh baking. Except for the last time. The last time I’d attempted the recipe, I’d nearly set my kitchen on fire. I wasn’t the clumsy type, and usually all my baking attempts yielded success (and later ended up on my hips). So, not sure what went wrong there, but I was intent on making it work this time.

Full of enthusiasm, I set the pot on the stove, added the milk, water, sugar, and butter, and let the mixture heat up. Today would end on a fantastic note, I could feel it.

I was in the process of pouring the flour (all at once, just as the recipe noted) into the pot, when my cell phone rang. It vibrated in my pocket before I heard my Miss Marpletheme song ringtone. The song was reaching its climax by the time I got it out. Oh,damn. With the choux pastry for the éclairs, the key was to stir the mass constantly once the flour was added. If I stopped now, I’d have to start all over again. But what if it was a call from a company I had applied to? Fumbling, flour all over my hands, I tried to swipe right to answer the call, but I was too late.

“Missed call: Brotherheart emoji,” my phone’s screen flashed.

“Darn. Too late,” I mumbled to myself, wiping my floury hands into a kitchen towel and pulling the pot off the stove before I really lay my kitchen in ashes this time. I dialed Damon’s number and waited.

“Stella?” His raspy voice crackled through my phone’s speaker.

“Oh! Hey, Batman. You sound awful. Are you okay? Are you sick or something?”

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me,” he said. “I was out with the guys last night. It was a rough night. Probably should’ve gone home earlier.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “But I’m glad you’re okay. How are Miles and Oliver?”

“They’re fine. Ace joined us too.”

Ace. I cringed hearing the name, but didn’t say anything about his presence. “To discuss the merger?” I asked instead. My brother couldn’t shut up about it, and I was in the picture.

“Mostly just to have a few drinks. Listen, Ace was feeling a bit down because he…well, he had to fire his assistant. He’s lost without her.”

Figures.

“Why did he fire her if he can’t get anything done without her?” I asked, maybe a tad too emotional, fiddling with a teaspoon I’d found on one of the kitchen’s countertops.

There was a pause. I could hear Damon’s news channel blaring in the background.

“I’d rather spare you the details,” he finally replied.

“Oh. Is it something juicy?”

“Possibly.”

“Tell me! Tell me!” I practically begged into the phone. “I’m dying to know.” Damon knew how curious I was.

“That’s not why I’m calling.”

“No?” Of course he hadn’t called me to tell me about Ace. I twirled the teaspoon around like a baton before dropping it on the floor. It landed with a loud clang.

“What was that?” Damon asked.

“Nothing.” I scrambled to pick the spoon back up again.

“Anyway, let me get to the point. Ace needs a new assistant. I told him that your internship is almost over and that you’re looking for a job, and he suggested that you should apply.”

Oh.

“Hesuggested it?”

“Yeah.”

“When?Immediately?” I asked.

I didn’t have too many good memories of Ace, to say the least, and honestly, I’d doubted he’d remembered me—andthatday. And by “doubted,” I meant I hoped he had long forgotten it.

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