8: Unanswered Questions

Andrew couldn’t help the slight smile that pulled the corners of his lips as he exited the elevator the following morning. Though he'd told her nine o'clock and was early himself, Evelyn was already at her desk, her dark head tipped down as she focused on her work. It gave him an inexplicably hefty dose of pleasure to see it.

Which made absolutely no sense at all. 

From top to bottom, the Trust was full of busily working people, nearly every day of the week. And he knew it wasn't simply relief not to find the horrible Mrs. Stiles and her dim-witted secretarial selection waiting imperiously instead as he had yesterday— the vile woman wouldn't dare attempt to remove Evelyn without his express approval a second time. He'd ensure it.

What pleased him so about Evelyn was that she was grateful. Not that anyone else here wasn't grateful for their employment in this economy, but in her case, she was grateful specifically to him. Foolish as it seemed, Andrew rather liked that he'd both been her champion, and been recognized for it.

Making his way slowly towards the nineth floor office, Andrew admired her. The dark ripples of her hair were parted to one side and pulled into a loose clip at the nape of her neck, framing her oval face and leaving the shining curls in a gently looping cluster draped over one shoulder. She wore a pale pink button up blouse, and he wondered curiously if the spun silk color would make her eyes appear blue or gray, then wondered with amusement why he'd wonder such a thing— it scarcely mattered.

Yet it did. It surprised him again how such a lovely woman left such a short impression.

That’s not right, he corrected himself, noticing the slenderness of her fingers, the bones delicate as a small bird's. Lovely was an entirely inadequate adjective and Evelyn Moore didn’t leave a short impression at all. She left one too powerful for the feeble human memory to store. What lingered instead was her delightful spirit and the impression of such great beauty it couldn't be appreciated with only one viewing. 

Mentally, he patted himself on the back. His decision to keep her as his secretary meant he'd have significantly more than one view. He intended to make the most of all of them, and from every enjoyable angle. 

“Good morning, Mr. James.”

Smiling pleasantly as he neared, Evelyn glanced up and Andrew was struck again. She didn't look at him with pity, or fear or loathing as so many did. He knew he'd intimidated her— at first. He'd taken great pains to correct that and staring down at her in this instant, was beyond pleased with his reward. 

Incredible as it seemed, the beautiful Evelyn was happy— genuinely happy— to see him. Him. She was curious about him and attentive to his needs. Entirely inappropriate to encourage an attachment— he was married now after all— but he felt flushed nevertheless.

“I’ve made fresh coffee. Would you like some?”

“Good morning, Miss Moore.” Andrew paused beside her, deliberately giving himself a generous dose of her gorgeous eyes. Gray. Her pink blouse turned her eyes a shade of mist over water on a winter's day. “If there’s sugar, yes, coffee would be nice. Give me a moment to settle in, then I’ll need your assistance.”

“Of course.”

She rose and the simple movement stirred the air around her. Andrew inhaled deeply the faintest fragrance of Ivory soap, lavender and mint. It was finer than the most expensive perfumes in the world.

“I’ll get your coffee. How much sugar would you like?”

“One cube, please.”

Andrew's keen eyes trailed her retreating figure for a few seconds as she hurried away, then he entered the nineth floor office with no small amount of reluctance. It was loathesome now, despite that the cleaning staff had taken great pains to leave it in spotless good order. Hanging his hat and coat on the rack behind the door, Andrew made his way around the executive desk and took a seat.

He'd simply have to make do for a few days. In the meantime, he had questions for which he hoped the delightful Miss Moore could supply answers. 

Rising at the quiet rap at the office door a few seconds later, Andrew made his way around the desk. 

"Mr. James? Your coffee," Evelyn called from the opposite side of it, then startled, her misty gray eyes wide when he opened the door for her, gesturing to a chair across the desk.

"Thank you, sir." Balancing a notepad and pencil deftly in one hand and his coffee in an unfamiliar glass mug in the other, she eased past him, setting the steaming mug of bittersweet fluid down on the desk without a drop spilled. 

Andrew continued to study her as he took the seat behind the desk. "Where did this mug come from?" Reaching towards it, he studied the clear pink mug, simple of design, but sturdy. 

"I— it's mine, sir. I brought it from home for you. I didn't know if you already had something here to use."

"Hmmm." Lifting the cup to his lips, Andrew took a sip, then sighed with a contented half smile. For office coffee was remarkably good. "Thank you, Miss Moore. What do you know about Mrs. Stiles?”

Surprised by the question, Evelyn shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I won’t be needing notes then, sir?”

“I rather doubt it. I'll provide direction in your duties as I assign them. Mostly, I have questions for you.”

With a weak nod, Evelyn closed the notepad, tucking the pencil into its spiral binding. The intimidated expression she'd worn in his family estate's conservatory had returned. “I don’t know much about Mrs. Stiles, sir. She keeps mostly to herself,” she began tentatively. “With responsibility over many secretaries in the building, she’s seldom in one location long.”

“That I could gather myself. What else do you know about her?”

“Only that she’s a widow. She took the position with the Trust not terribly long after her husband died as I understand. A bit over a year ago. I assume, like the rest of us, for financial reasons.”

“Why would she fire you?” Andrew could see the conversation worried her significantly and hastily added, "You're not in any trouble, Miss Moore. I'm simply trying to make sense of her behavior yesterday."

Across from him, she searched his eyes. “I couldn’t say. I’m a good typist. Responsible. Punctual. If I may, your brother never mentioned any complaint. Mrs. Stiles was present at my last review and there was no reprimand.” Evelyn offered. "I've never been disciplined for failure in my duties."

Andrew sighed. He didn’t think Evelyn was being deliberately obtuse with her cagey answers— at least he didn't believe she was. “Why do you think she fired you?” He could see the direct question forced her to consider her answer more carefully, increasing her discomfort.

“I suppose because my financer was—gone, sir.” Evelyn suggested gently. “There are a limited number of positions in the secretary pool and usually all of those are filled. Once Mr. James no longer needed me, I became superfluous.”

“When was your last review?” Andrew knew the answer already— he'd found her personnel file here in Russell's office and reviewed it in its entirety. 

“Last May, sir.”

"You're due, then, in less than two months. I shall handle your evaluation myself."

"Yes sir. Thank you."

Considering, Andrew paused. He could remember nothing significant going on in Russell’s personal life one year ago when the enigmatic Mrs. Stiles had been hired and couldn’t connect anything from his brother’s account notes to much of anything from his professional life either. “How long have you been here, Miss Moore?”

“Nearly four years. Mr. James hired me himself. I trained under his previous secretary before she retired.”

Andrew’s brows drew together though he already knew. “That’s highly irregular,” he commented, curious about her reaction.

“I suppose it is, though at the time I didn’t know. What I’ve learned since is that Mr. James always had his current secretary train his or her replacement.”

Rising, Andrew lifted his coffee and took a sip. He turned, staring out the window. “I wonder why. How did you make your introduction to Mr. James?”

“I didn’t, sir. My aunt facilitated my introduction. I don’t know how she knew Mr. James. Perhaps since the Trust owns my apartment building.”

“I would like to know.” He faced her. “Perhaps you would ask your aunt.” Andrew stared, astounded as her silvery-gray eyes filled with distress. “Miss Moore, is there something amiss?”

“No, sir. It’s— that I can’t ask. My aunt is dead.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. It’s clear you were close. By chance, would anyone else in your family know?”

Refusing to meet his eyes, Evelyn focused on her hands in her lap. “I don’t have any family, Mr. James. My parents died of Spanish flu shortly after I was born. My aunt raised me. Aside from my best friend, she was all that I had.”

One of the few fortunate ones, Andrew thought. Many orphans of the Spanish flu died of starvation in the aftermath of losing their caregivers. Those who survived were dumped into orphanages, only to die of ill care and shortages there. Regardless, there was no further point to this line of questioning— Evelyn didn't know how Mrs. Stiles and his brother were connected. Andrew would have to find out some other way.

“You are aware my office is located on the thirty-eighth floor." When she nodded confirmation, he continued, "For the time being, I’ll be managing my brother’s accounts from here, but will need to consolidate them with the rest of my work there. Please arrange for the records to be moved and the office cleared. You’ll need to move your belongings to the office of my assistant as well.”

Evelyn’s head snapped up. “Assistant, sir?”

He flashed her a devastating smile. Was there no end to her marvelous reactions? Andrew glanced at his watch. “Yes, Miss Moore. Congratulations on your advancement.” Setting his coffee on the desk, he strode around it to open the door. “I have another meeting. I’ll return after. Please see what you can arrange to relocate the account records immediately."

**

“Ah, Andrew. Please, have a seat.” Mr. Melton half-rose from behind his enormous desk, gesturing at the chair across from him. “Can I get you something?”

Andrew gave a brief shake of his head, waiting as the secretary closed the office door. “Sir, you’re aware that I thoroughly reviewed all of my brother’s documentation."

"Yes, Andrew. You'd mentioned. I certain you were thorough."

"I try. My review included his communiques with his secretary, Miss Moore, and her performance reviews. His evaluation ratings actually merit higher wage increases than she’s been given over the four years of employment as his secretary.”

Mr. Melton gave an unconcerned 'humph'. “I see. Has the girl complained?”

“No, sir. By all indications, she’s an exemplary employee, but certainly Russell was responsible for making the increase recommendations. My concern is that last year, my brother allotted a wage increase, and the manager of the secretary pool, Mrs. Stiles, withheld it.”

Mr. Melton frowned. “Troubling. You’re seeking a disciplinary action for Mrs. Stiles then?”

“No, sir. I’m proposing a different solution.” Andrew paused to let his words sink in. “I am more in need of an assistant than a secretary. I would like Miss Moore reassigned to that position, reporting directly to me.”

“An assistant!? But she’s a woman!”

Andrew quirked a brow, a smile curling half of his mouth. “Yes,” he drawled. “A bright and beautiful one at that.” When Mr. Melton’s face lit with comprehension, Andrew continued, “Since she’s already underpaid— I suggest we give her the difference for the change in responsibilities. I believe that will put her at the baseline pay for an executive assistant. We shall see how she performs.”

“Very well, Andrew,” Mr. Melton nodded, bending his head to return to the papers on his desk. “If you wouldn’t mind, please handle the details of your new assistant.”

Andrew rose, making for the door. “With pleasure, sir.”