Chapter Three

Alexander Kent did not believe in bad mornings.

He believed in poor planning, incompetent employees, unnecessary delays, and that people failing to do the one thing they had been employed to do was what as a result of bad mornings.

Unfortunately, this particular Monday morning—-the first without Blair, was going to be hell for him.

Alexander sat in the back of his black Mercedes-Benz, reading through a series of emails on his phone. He was wearing a navy blue suit, a white shirt perfectly pressed with his silver wristwatch rested against his wrist with the type of precision he demanded from everyone around him.

He had a board meeting at eight. A conference call with the investors at ten-thirty. Contracts waiting for his approval and a financial report to review. This was just his morning.

Alexander did not enjoy wasting time.

Which was why when the car jerked forward, slowed down and completely stopped in the middle of the road, he assumed it was intentional.

His attention left his phone.

“Why have we stopped?”

His driver's palm was sweaty against the steering wheel as he looked through the rearview mirror.

“Sorry sir, I think something is wrong with the car” 

Alexander looked at him for a moment and lowered his phone.

“What do you mean something is wrong with the car?”

His driver swallowed, “ the engine, sir, it stopped and now the car won’t start.”

“Make it start” Alexander let out in a cold tone.

“Sir?” 

Alexander’s expression hardened.

“Did I speak another language you did not understand? I said, MAKE IT START!”

“Ye..yes sir”

The driver unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out of the car hurriedly. 

Alexander watched him through the tinted window as he ran to the front, lifted the car bonnet and leaned over to examine the engine before restarting the car.

Nothing happened.

He tried a few more times.

Still nothing.

Alexander’s fist clenched.

He looked at his phone.

He was running late.

Outside, the driver finally closed the bonnet and approached the rear door. He opened it, looking as though he were about to deliver tragic news.

Alexander opened the car door and stepped out. He adjusted his jacket, looked at the vehicle, and then looked at the road ahead of them.

Cars passed on either side. A horn blared somewhere behind them. The streets of New York were starting to get busy, the morning traffic was beginning to thicken, and the entire situation was becoming exactly what he hated most.

Unpredictable.

He called Maurice.

“Good morning, sir,” he answered almost immediately.

“Why is my driver standing outside the car with the bonnet open?”

There was a brief silence on the other end.

“I'm sorry, sir?” Maurice sounded confused.

“My car has stopped in the middle of the road. My driver is completely clueless as to what is going on. Would you care to explain why?”

“I'll contact the mechanic immediately, sir…..”

Alexander's voice cut through the attempted explanation.

“Well, he is fired.”

Alexander ended the call frustrated.

The driver’s  face fell.

“Sir, please—”

“I don't have time for this.”

“Please, sir. I've worked for you for almost two years. I've always tried to do my best. The car was working when we left, and I honestly don't know what happened.” He kept begging.

“Your best has left me stranded on the side of the road this morning.”

“Sir, I understand you're upset, but—”

Alexander opened the rear door, retrieved his briefcase reaching out his hand to stop a taxi.

He was late. His morning had been ruined. Someone had to take responsibility, and he had neither the patience nor the inclination to investigate the matter further.

He had decided that the entire human resources department was incompetent.

It was going to be a very long day.

If Alexander had been the sort of man who believed in signs, he might have considered the broken-down car a warning.

But Alexander Kent did not believe in signs.

He believed in facts, figures, performance reports, and measurable results.

And the fact was that his life had become considerably more irritating since Blair resigned.

He had not said this aloud.

He had not even allowed himself to consider it for more than a few seconds at a time.

But it was true.

Blair knew when he wanted his coffee. She knew which documents belonged in his briefcase and the ones he preferred to review first. She knew how to arrange his meetings, how much time he needed between appointments, and which clients required a little extra attention.

She knew when he expected an answer and when he wanted silence .

Most importantly, she knew how to get things done without making him feel as though he had to explain himself.

He had taken all of that for granted and now, everything seems to bring a new inconvenience.

His coffee was either too hot or too cold. His shirts were arranged incorrectly. His calendar contained unapproved meetings, while approved appointments were nowhere to be found.

And the interviews.

God, the interviews.

 For the past two weeks, he had been conducting them.

Applicants walked into his office with carefully prepared resumés, nervous smiles, and impressive qualifications, only to leave looking as though they had survived an interrogation.

Some cried.

Others argued.

One woman had accused him of having a personality disorder.

Another had informed him that she would not be returning after lunch because she had never worked for anyone who spoke to people the way he did.

He had asked security to escort her out.

And now, after weeks of this nonsense, he still had no permanent replacement for Blair.

He was beginning to suspect that the problem was not the applicants.

He simply refused to entertain that possibility for very long.

He walked into his office, placed his briefcase on the desk, and took off his jacket. The room was spotless, just as he liked it. His desk was polished, the chairs were aligned, and the large windows offered a clear view of the city.

Everything was in its proper place.

Everything except his morning.

He loosened his tie slightly and sat down.

A moment later, Maurice entered.

Maurice had been the head of Human Resources for nearly six years. He was experienced, professional, and generally capable of handling difficult employees.

Alexander had managed to make him question all three qualities.

“Good morning, Mr. Kent.”

Alexander did not look up from the document in front of him.

“Sit.”

Maurice sat.

Alexander continued reading. He underlined a sentence, made a note in the margin, and signed the last page before finally setting the document aside.

Then he looked at Maurice.

"How many?"

Maurice blinked blankly.

“Sir?”

“How many candidates have you interviewed for Blair's position?”

Maurice hesitated.

“Oh… Twenty-three, sir.”

Alexander leaned back in his chair.

“Hmmm….Twenty-three?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you have yet to find one suitable person.”

“We have had several promising candidates, sir. Some of them have withdrawn from the process, while others—”

“Others what?”

Maurice took a breath.

“Others felt the position was too intense for them.”

Alexander stared at him.

“The position.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Intense?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that what they told you?”

“More or less, sir.”

Alexander gave a short laugh devoid of humour.

“Interesting to think twenty-three people have walked into this building, looked at a job description, met me, and decided that a position in a company of this size was somehow above their expectations.”

“That isn't exactly what happened.”

“Then, Maurice, would you be kind enough to explain what happened?”

Maurice adjusted himself  in his chair.

“Some candidates were uncomfortable with the interview process.”

“The interview process?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which part? The part where I ask questions, or the part where they are expected to answer them?”

“Mr. Kent—”

“And before you tell me that I should be more accommodating, let me remind you that I am not interviewing people to become my friends. I am looking for a competent professional who can do a job.”

“Of course, sir.”

Alexander stood and walked to the window.

Alexander turned from the window.

“Send me the next candidate profile.”

Maurice looked at his notes.

“And Maurice? Make sure this one doesn’t cry”

Maurice stared at him and left his office. 

Alexander leaned back in his brown leather chair and rubbed his forehead. This was becoming ridiculous. He needed an assistant. His gaze shifted to the empty chair opposite his desk.

Blair had occupied that chair countless times.

She would sit there with her notebook open, listening while he listed out instructions at a pace that would have confused most people. She would ask questions when necessary, correct him when he made mistakes, and occasionally look at him with an expression that suggested she was mentally numbering her days till she could escape.

She was the one person who could tell him that he was being unreasonable without immediately regretting it. That  memory irritated him.

He looked away.

Blair had made her decision to resign, and he had accepted it. He didn't beg her to stay or reconsider. He just accepted her resignation because he refused to be held hostage by an employee who believed she could walk away and expect him to care.He could not understand, the office seemed to function differently without her.

He picked up his phone and opened his messages.

Her name was still there. Blair. No photograph. No unnecessary details. Just the name and the last few messages exchanged during the final days of her employment. He stared at it for a moment. Then he locked the screen and placed the phone facedown. 

He was Alexander Kent and he had no intention of contacting her. Absolutely none.

Alexander does not chase employees who resigned. He replaces them. And that was exactly what he intended to do.

He reviewed a contract, approved a payment, and responded to several emails. He made three phone calls and instructed his assistant to reschedule a meeting he had forgotten about.

But every few minutes, his attention drifted toward the empty chair.

He hated that chair.

He hated the way it reminded him of Blair.

He hated the fact that he had begun measuring every new candidate against a woman who had already decided she no longer wanted to work for him.

And Alexander Kent's longest Monday continued.