Page 6 of Grace
Which is good because based on Ms. Castain, I’m not sure if I’m going to last another week. Even when I do something that another colleague, Melissa, on our team says looks perfect, there’s always something wrong.
I have a feeling I’ll be fired and looking for a new job soon. I’m almost tempted to send out my resume. I can’t handle another loss right now. I just need some stability.
After a few deep breaths, I open the sliding glass window to the terrace and any other window I can find to let some fresh air in, hoping it will give me some clarity.
With a heavy coffee run in mind, I went with slacks and flats this Monday morning. But it seems I was wrong as I don’t hear Ms. Castain’s voice at all, and she’s hard to miss.
I barely have time to sit down and sign in before a shadow towers over me. I hesitate to look up as a masculine, woodsy scent drifts my way and goosebumps raise over my arms.
“Grace,” a low, warm voice says. “I’d like you to come into my office, please.”
I gulp. “Yes, sir,” I whisper.
When the shadow moves, I get up and see Mr. Brooks waiting at his office door, his intense, blue eyes on me.
I’m going to get fired. That’s what this is. I’m sure of it. He’s going to fire me because of everything he’s overheard. I can’t imagine what Ms. Castain has said to him about me already.
The door shuts behind me, and my heartbeat picks up. My gaze skims over the light gray walls that are filled with certificates, pictures of him and what I can only guess business associates. A floor-to ceiling bookshelf takes up the wall on my right and the mahogany desk is in the center of the room. Windows fill the space behind it, and the view of the city takes my breath.
His big frame stalks around me, and he points to one of the smaller chairs in front of his desk as he moves around itand takes his seat, the leather groaning beneath his form as I cautiously slide into my chair.
Lacing my fingers, I squirm uncomfortably, wondering if Sebastian got his temper from his dad.
Am I going to lose my streak ofnotcrying in public?
Mr. Brooks puts his hands on his desk, glances at his computer with evident annoyance, then his gaze focuses on me. “Stacy has called out sick today.”
“Oh,” I breathe, and a slight bit of tension fades in my shoulders.
“Which means I need an assistant,” he says, eyes focusing on me.
“Well, I don’t know if—”
“She clearly doesn’t see your value, based on how she speaks to you, despite turning in exactly what you send to her,” he says in a calm, kind tone.
I blink, unsure what to make of his words. I take a breath and play with my fingers in my lap. “She wouldn’t lie about how long it’s taking me to catch on.”
He huffs. “The reports she has you do are the reportsIgaveherto do. If you’re already doing that, organizing emails and so on, then there’s no reason you can’t step up today and be my assistant directly,” he continues.
My throat tightens as my nerves crawl under my skin, but I manage to finally look at him. His eyes soften and he clears his throat. “I also understand you have a background in I.T., so I’d like you to take a look at my computer. It keeps giving me a black screen, and when I try to do anything online with my email up, I’m told I’m out of memory. Can you take care of that while I go to a meeting?”
I nod stiffly, and he tilts his head slightly. “Words,” he adds.
“Yes, sir,” I say softly.
A slight move on the corner of his lips almost makes it seem like he’s fighting a smile. “Do whatever you think is best. I trust you to do it without needing anyone else, and if you see anything sensitive, I trust you not to share it,” he says.
I shake my head. “I won’t share anything,” I say, still surprised he’s giving me this opportunity.
He stands, taps the top of one of his two computer screens, and nods to me. “When you finish that, take a break if I’m not back. I’ll want you at other meetings today, so ensure you get both of your fifteen-minute breaks whenever you’re able.”
I almost ask if I need his permission or if I need to wait until they’re scheduled, like Ms. Castain—Stacy—hasn’t failed to remind me, but instead, he walks out with a tablet in his hand, leaving me to do my work. I slide around the desk to his computer and crack my knuckles.
My heart stammers and my hands are a bit sweaty. My gaze glides over the screen, and a smile tugs on my lips. “I’ll prove my worth. I’ll keep my job,” I whisper to myself.
I’m not entirely sure I believe what he said about Stacy. She never picks at other people’s work like mine. She doesn’t raise her voice at other people or chastise them. It means that I’m the problem, I’m the one doing something wrong.
As I clean up his computer, moving some files to a separate hard-drive I see that he has plugged in and take a note of it, I also run a check for any updates, out of date programs, duplicate programs, and so on.
