Chapter 5

HIS PERSONAL ASSISTANT 

CECILY

   I watch as the door clicks shut behind the last board member, my pulse accelerating. My eyes shift slowly to him, his already on me. He says nothing, standing with a hand in his pocket, the other resting on the back of the chair he previously occupied at the head of the table.

This is not the time to stare, Mr. Foolish. Say something. 

Or should I?

My nervous system is a disaster right now.

The Northeast Medical Supply. That's why I'm the only one left here with this man, right?

"Mr. Sanchez, if you'll give me a moment to pull up the latest_."

"Sit."

"What?"

"Sit down, Cecily." Cecily, not Ms. Baxer?

I don't sit.

"I said sit," he glares.

My legs move before my brain catches up. I lower myself into the seat, keeping my hands flat on the table so he won't see them shake.

He doesn't sit. At least yet. He walks around the table slowly, trailing his hand on the chairs until he is standing directly behind me. I feel the heat before he leans down, his mouth near my ear.

 "Two hundred and forty dollars."

My stomach drops. He f**kn remembers!

"Wrinkled notes. Guessing that's all you had left," he chuckles.  " You want to tell me what a woman who carries her entire savings in her handbag is doing working  as a senior analyst?"

I grip the edge of the table, unable to control my hands anymore. 

"That's not. I have savings. That was just_."

"A performance f*e?" he finishes for me with a pucker face, walking around slowly, this time, stopping in front of me, leaning against the table so we're face to face.

Lord knows I'm confident asf, but why can't I stand his eyes? F**k!

"Fair but not up to standard," he squints his eyes. "I could do better next time, right?"

His voice is calm, a contrast to him in the hotel room, and that's what terrifies me. He's in control here, and I'm sweating in my pants.

"You touched my chin, Cecily. Like this," he trails the back of his fingers on my chin. I swear that's a caress,  I close my eyes, pink. God forbid a girl is sexually aroused. Snap out of it, Cecily. Focus.

"Told me I could impress you a little bit more with a wink," he winks.

Oh God!

"I don't like being dismissed, baby girl," he whispers. "And I really don't like being graded like a gigolo by someone who can't even afford the room we f**ked in."

My eyes snap open. "I didn't know you were_."

"The CEO? No. You didn't. But it's a pity ignorance is an offence, and that doesn't justify your stupidity."

He straightens up, walks to the head of the table, and sits, opening a folder I hadn't noticed was there all along. 

"The Northeast Medical Supply, let's begin with that?"

Relief floods through me. He's letting go.

"Your team is a disaster," he mocks, not looking up.  "Three missed deadlines in six weeks, incomplete cost analysis. A warehouse data model that looks like it was built by an intern. And you, senior analyst, haven't filed a single correction in eleven days? What's your problem?"

I open my mouth. It closes itself.

"Don't you dare lie. I've read every detail your team has sent in the last two months, including the client's complaint you deleted instead of forwarding to Margret. Waste."

Blood stains my face, a heavy lump in my throat blocking my salivation. 

"You really can't have_. That's private."

"You work for me now." He closes the folder. "And quite frankly, Cecily, I should fire you. Right here, right now. For incompetence, for insubordination, most importantly for the way you spoke to me this morning, the list goes on.  He fiddles with the pen between his fingers. "You're such a disgrace."

How dare he! But fire me, now? Where do I start from?

"Please." The word comes out spontaneously, my lips trembling, my pride flying out the window. "Please, Mr. Sanchez. I need my job. please don't_."

He tilts his head. "Why?"

The question throws me off, guard. "Because_"

"My father owns three companies. I didn't get here by accident. I know what a resume looks like when someone is running from something. Yours has gaps. Two years unaccounted for between your last job and this one. Your inconsistency at work, your failed marriage. You even stopped using your middle name on documents. Yes, I  took time to do my research on you, the lady with so much guts. What's your problem, Cecily?" He whispers like I'm some pathetic creature who needs divine help.  

I can't breathe at this point.

This is all my fault. The price I get for lurking around with Bruno. He never wanted me to keep working. A distraction he was.  What if I had listened when he told me to quit? 

"I'll ask again." He folds his hands on the table, ignoring the single tear rolling down my left chin. "Why do you need this job, Cecily? And don't lie to me. I'll know."

There's an awkward silence. I think of working out, telling him to go to hell. About starting job hunting. But I have pressing issues. I need a place of my own, and my salary for this month could easily cover that.  I should play along.

"Because I don't have anywhere else to go," I whisper, lowering my gaze to the marble tile floor.

He watches me for a long moment. Then a fake smile.

"Good. I like honesty." He stands. I watch his back as he walks to the floor-to-ceiling window, hands behind, looking out at the city.  

"I won't fire you."

I feel dizzy with relief. "You won't?" I rise to my feet. "Thank you. I swear I'll fix this."

"I'll keep you,"  he says, with a smirk.

Keep me?  That sounds cliche, and the look on his face...

"I'm sorry, what?"

He turns around with a stern look.

"You paid me for my performance. That's fine. Now you work for me. Not just here, everywhere."

"I...I don't understand."

"Of course you don't." He walks back, stopping in front of me. "Here's how this works.  You keep your analyst title, and your salary stays the same. But your real job, the one that actually matters, is mine. My personal assistant day and night."

What?

"That's not possible. I have a team. I have responsibilities..."

"I set the standards here, remember?" Starting from now, you're assigned directly to me."

He pulls out a new phone from his jacket and sets it in front of me. "This stays on you at all times. When I call, you answer. When I'm home_"

"I'm not going to your home." 

"It's not an option."

"What?"

He laughs hard at the expression on my face. "Don't think too hard about it, darling, you ain't even my type." He scans me from top to bottom, his eyes saying otherwise.  "You'll have a room to yourself, be there when I arrive, leave whenever I dismiss you.

This is insane. Who does he think he is? indirectly turning me to his property?

"You can't make me your slave, that's illegal. I'll go to HR. I'll call a lawyer."

"And say what?" He stiffens. "That your boss offered you a promotion with better hours and a live-in arrangement to reduce your commute? That's generous, Cecily."

"Generosity?" I spit. You want me to be your property? I have a life."

"No." He closes the space between us, too close. I step back till I can't anymore, my back hitting the edge of the table. He leans forward even more, His minty breath fanning my lips. "I want you to understand what happens when you treat a man like he's beneath you. You humiliated me; now you work for me. Everyone of my needs you tend to. Now, whenever you look at me," he trails my neck with his finger tips, you remember what you said, "fair but not up to standard," you'll know exactly who's in charge. Bet you already know.

I can't stand the pain in my back anymore, but there's no escaping from his enclave.

"We might have a next time," he says softly.  "Maybe you'll impress me a little bit more." I bite my lower lip in discomfort. He notices, takes two steps back. He picks up the phone and holds it out.

"My time is precious to me, but since it's a good day today, I'll spare a little. You have three choices," his tone increases.

"Take the phone.  Walk out that door and start applying for jobs with a termination on your record and a boss who will tell anyone exactly why you were let go. Or run to HR and explain why the new CEO wants you gone before lunch."

I'm in a mess for real. Why make it worse and suffer?

My hand shakes as I reach for the phone.

"That's my girl," he says. "Now, first lesson, when I give you something, you say thank you ." 

I look at the phone in my hand. At him and at the door, sinking in shame. The word 'Thank you' sticks in my throat like a crossbone. 

"I'm waiting." 

"...Thank you, Mr. Sanchez."

"Eliott," he corrects with a sheepish smile. "You're not off the clock anymore. We're past formalities." 

He walks to the chair and sits. Opening the folder again, as nothing had happened. And I? Shocked to a freeze on the spot.

"I have calls until seven. Go tidy your stuff. When we leave, you come with me to my apartment. Gosh, I hate repetition. Make sure you're a fast learner." He looks up at me in a flash, then continues with the documents.

"Shut the door on your way out."