There is no escape.
“Canon Owns Your Ass.”
He blinks. Finally.
I hasten to add, “I feel it is important to point out that I did not name the file, sir.”
Without looking away, he writes on a paper and walks around his desk to hand it to me. “My number. Call me so I have your cell.” He pauses for a moment, his face unreadable. This is unsettling. I thought I knew him better than this. His gaze falls to my shoes. I can’t understand why as they are completely nondescript. “Check the calendar and itinerary. Leave word in human resources about the trip departure date and phone extension change. IT will need to reroute your calls. I take lunch when and only when it does not impede my job. You will follow suit. You take lunch when I do, for as long as I do.” I know I look surprised, and it doesn’t get past him. “This does not mean, however, that you and I have lunch together.
“Emma, I’m aware that this is all short notice. You’ll need to make arrangements for the upcoming trip. I will handle the bulk of my own this time. Get yourself ready and familiarize yourself with the material. An ill-prepared assistant will be a distraction and an embarrassment to me.”
A flick of his wrist dismisses me. Immediately before I open the door, I hear his voice behind me.
“I will not let you be either.”
12:00 p.m.
*
Files
: Downloaded.
*
Calendar
: Set.
*
Desk
: Conspicuously free of my personal belongings.
*
Bert
: Sufficiently guilt-tripped for getting spotted slipping a bet to Rebecca.
*
Shoes
: Pooled with the blood of my innocent toes.
“I’M OFF, MADELINE. See you later, right?”
She pats my back reassuringly. “Of course! I’ll be by with everything you asked to borrow. Call if you think of anything else.”
I do my best to smile at her but can’t help feeling like I’m off to meet the noose.
One last item of business before I head out remains incomplete. I have procrastinated over calling him. Now I can call him and check in before I leave without facing him again. This is pointless craziness because I will be neck-deep in Alaric Canon for the next seven days. Just one less encounter.
I program the digits into my phone then shred the paper so no one can stumble across his private number.
He answers on the second ring. “Canon.”
“Hello, Mr. Canon. This is Ms. Baker. You said to call.”
“Yes.”
Cue awkward pause.
“Let us hope you endeavor to perform future tasks more promptly.”
Oh…he wanted my number right away? Even when I was still in the office? Okay. Noted. Do everything right away whether it makes sense to me or not.
“If there is nothing else, Mr. Canon…”
The line goes silent. Barely a click. He’s probably already reading an assortment of potential PA applications.
Day of Employment:
368
4:00 a.m.
IT IS FOUR O’CLOCK on the dime.
Or, more appropriately, the penny.
Because, while I had fervently wished to avoid it, it has happened.
The nightmares are back. My private monster sits at the foot of my bed. Addressing me.
Lecturing me. Giving me a speech.
Getting his two cents in.
7:30 a.m.
*
Early
: Happens so frequently now that it feels like on time.
*
Outfit
: Bland mixture of tans.
I’M NOT EVEN CERTAIN it’s buttoned straight at this point. I am thoroughly and utterly exhausted.
Perhaps Canon will take my first day as his assistant to break the shrink-wrap on his sick days.
One can dream.
On a good, fully rested day, I would have my work cut out for me just trying to stay upright and form coherent sentences around him.
He appears as if from thin air. I never heard a door open or the elevator ding.
Reports in one hand. Phone in the other.
His leaves his office door ajar. Unspoken expectation that I enter.
Once inside, I await instruction. My feet begin to shuffle from one side to the other, and I continue to inspect the wall. He still moves around behind me.
I tell myself to stare at the wall. Stare at the wall. The wall does not have piercing eyes, or an unholy, defined jawline, or six creases—four long and two short—that form in its bottom lip when it gets dry. The wall is plain. The wall is your friend.
“I will be out most of the day tying up loose ends before my trip.” He never looks up as he speaks. “Should it prove too difficult to manage a few calls, you have my number.” With that, he brushes past me.
Then a moment of clarity. Sanity sets in.
Focus on his personality.
Oh, yeah. Pass me the Irish Spring. It’s like a cold shower.
5:01 p.m.
*
Out
: Clocked. Patience.
*
Should Be Out
: Me—the door.
I SURVEY THE BATTLEFIELD, er, office as it empties. I have survived.
That wasn’t so bad.
I have outlasted predictions. Beaten the odds. Madeline’s number book has never seen such an upset.
Piece of cake.
Doubtless, tomorrow will be an even greater challenge. Canon and I might actually be inside the same building.
7:10 p.m.
*
Dinner
: Comfort food.
*
Clara
: Treading softly.
“SO, HOW GOES THE DREAM JOB?”
Unfortunately, it’s more like Clara is treading softly in steel-toe work boots, shattering eggshells everywhere.
I do not favor her with a reply.
“That good, huh?”
“He was out of the office all day.”
Clara plates up our salmon in Veri Veri Teriyaki sauce. “That sounds ideal. So why the frowny face?”
“If you think I’m acting sullen because he wasn’t around, you are wrong. I just feel a bit disjointed from the change and, well…no one would come near me today.”
She looks at me and rolls her hand as if asking me to elaborate.
“I was my own private leper colony today. No one came by except Rebecca. A couple of distant waves from Madeline.”
It’s not a big deal, really. It just felt weird. I might need a day or two to adjust to life on death row.
Day of Employment:
369
7:10 a.m.
*
Me
: Low-rent Nancy Drew.
I ARRIVE A BIT EARLIER TODAY. Want to solve the Mystery of the Magically Appearing Boss.
Can’t catch a break or a clue. He is already here in full business mode. Fluorescent bulbs shine from his office out across the darkened cubicles. He may never actually leave.
Maybe his office en suite is a pod chamber in disguise.
8:00 a.m.
UPON MY RETURN TO MY DESK, I find a written to-do list.
Canon is milling about in his office.
I dive in.
Item number one: Hand collate a twenty-page handout a previous assistant failed to copy correctly.