He had been offered a desk job in public relations. In that environment he had thrived, displaying a talent for organizational skills. When Gabriel had been appointed director of the new Illusion Town Guild, he had realized immediately that he was going to need someone like Aiden—an administrative assistant who could run the office.
He knew he had selected the right person for the job when he had approached Aiden’s boss to request permission to recruit the young man. The head of the public relations department had said, Shore is all yours. Drives everyone in my department straight up a wall. He’s always trying to tell people how they can streamline their process and improve the image of the Guild.
Gabriel had been pleased with himself when Aiden had accepted the offer of the new post. It was rapidly becoming apparent, however, that his new assistant was drunk with power.
“What’s the problem with rented furniture?” Gabriel asked.
“It has no style,” Aiden said. “This is not just any business office, Mr. Jones. This is a Guild director’s office. It should send a clear message to everyone who enters the space.”
“We’re not the phone company, Aiden. We don’t deliver messages.”
“I’m talking about the sort of message that enhances our image, sir. The Guilds are changing. This office needs to reflect that. It should also suit the community. The CEO suite should have style and a certain ambience.”
Gabriel studied the interior of his office. He realized he hadn’t taken a close look at it until now. It was a big space on the top floor of a sparkling new six-story building. He had put Aiden in charge of acquiring the building and arranging for the special security upgrades. There was a mag-rez steel garage for the vehicles, state-of-the-art power to handle the latest computers and phones, and direct access to the Underworld via the basement.
As far as he could see, that was all that was needed to fulfill the mission of the Illusion Town Guild.
“What sort of style and ambience did you have in mind?” Gabriel asked. “If you’re talking about making this room look like a casino or a club, forget it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aiden said.
Gabriel raised his brows, but Aiden did not appear to notice.
“Mr. Jones, you and I both know the Guilds have a serious image problem,” he continued. “The public has forgotten that not only do we have an origin story that is heroic and noble; we perform an invaluable service to the community and the entire Federation of City-States.”
“You’re going to fix our image by calling in a decorator to furnish my office?” Gabriel asked.
“It’s a start, sir.”
“I don’t have time for this kind of stuff. Do whatever you want with the place. You’re in charge.”
“Don’t worry, sir, I’ll take care of everything.” Aiden pulled out his phone. “Now, then, I have a few messages for you.”
“More messages?” Gabriel held up his own phone. “I’ve already got a few hundred.”
Aiden frowned. “You should not waste your time dealing with business correspondence. I’ll take over that account and make sure you only see what you need to see. I’ll be able to handle ninety-five percent of your email and messages. You’ll still have your private account for personal correspondence.”
“Uh—” Gabriel looked down at the endless string of emails that had accumulated on his phone in recent days. The thought of not having to go through them and figure out how to respond gave him a genuine thrill of relief.
“Okay,” he said.
Aiden glanced down at his notes. “As I was saying, I’ve got three items to run by you. Dillon Westover of Westover Outfitters would like to invite you to lunch to discuss what he can do for the Guild. He’s open any day this week.”
“I’m not. Tell him we’ll be in touch if we need his services.”
“Yes, sir.” Aiden made a note. “Next up, Mr. and Mrs. Roxby of Roxby Weather Wizards have, and I quote, ‘an exciting opportunity to discuss with you.’”
“We’ll be in touch if we need their services.”
“Right.” Aiden made another note. “Ms. Cassandra Keele, president and CEO of Keele Investigations, would like to invite you to join her for a private business dinner to discuss what her firm can do for the Guild.”
“Tell her we’ll be in touch if we—”
“Need her services. Got it.” Aiden cleared his throat. “Lastly, Mr. Smith, the owner of the Amber Palace, would like to host you at a small gathering of the Illusion Club.”