I had a feeling I wouldn’t be doing much relaxing once I started working for Elliot.
Davida was a British woman in her fifties with a stunning silver bob and thick, dark-framed glasses. Her no-nonsense approach helped me slip into my own professional mode. I’d filled out paperwork over the weekend, so the only thing I had to do when I arrived was to get my picture taken by security for my badge before I was shown to my desk.
My desk sat outside Elliot’s door. It was so pristine I was afraid to touch it.
Davida ran through the basics of the computer system Levy Development used and showed me where to find my email address and calendar.
“Jeffrey and Elliot use the same calendar system. When I get back to my desk, I’ll email you Jeffrey’s so you can see an example of how it’s done right.”
Davida had informed me she had been working at LD for five years as Jeffery Meyers’s executive assistant, though she was familiar with Elliot’s needs since she’d helped out when he’d been between assistants.
“Is he often between assistants?” I asked.
Her shoulders tightened, and she hesitated to respond, which made my shoulders tighten. “Elliot is extremely exacting. He doesn’t tolerate anything half-assed. As long as you do things the way he wants, you don’t have to worry about your longevity.”
I smoothed my hair away from my face. “Well, I wasn’t worried about him firing me. I asked because I was curious about the turnover rate. Do people often leave—”
She held up her hand. “All you need to concern yourself with is the job you do. What other people have or haven’t done doesn’t affect you.”
She moved on without waiting for me to comment, making the switch to explaining Elliot’s schedule when something shifted in the air.
A hush fell over the already quiet space.
I raised my head from the computer, finding the cause coming toward us. Davida straightened as Elliot approached, his long strides eating up the space.
My new boss moved with efficient grace. His height and lean build had something to do with it, and the sharp cut of his tailored, charcoal-gray suit only added to his sharklike aura. He homed in on me behind my desk, and I was overcome with the sudden need to wipe my fingerprints from the gleaming surface.
“Good morning, Elliot,” Davida said with more cheer than she had shown me.
“Davida.” He nodded once. “Thank you for greeting Ms. Warner. I’ll handle the rest of her training.”
Davida smoothed her hands down the sides of her pencil skirt. “Of course. If there’s anything else I can do to help, I’ll—”
“I’ll let you know,” he stated.
At his clear dismissal, Davida gave my shoulder a perfunctory pat and made a swift exit to the opposite side of the executive floor.
Elliot waited until she was gone to shift his attention back to me. His assessing gaze raked over me, and I had to stop myself from tugging on the cuffs of my shirt to ensure my tattoos were fully covered. I knew they were, but the way he examined me ramped up my insecurities.
My button-down was black today. I’d ironed it at five this morning when I couldn’t sleep. Then I’d smoothed out the kinks in my rabidly unruly hair and painted my nails professional pink. I’d felt good about my appearance. Until Elliot Levy had stared me down.
Now, I just felt grubby and unkempt.
“Come into my office. We’ll talk about my daily expectations for you.” He swiveled around without waiting for a response. Scrambling to my feet, I followed, bringing a notepad and pen with me.
I took the same seat I had last week, poised to write down his instructions. I had to get this right not only for myself but for Liam and the bean.
Elliot took his time settling behind his desk then turned on his computer and maneuvered his mouse around, clicking several times. When he began typing, I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from reminding him of my presence.
Obviously, he knew I was there.
If this was a power play, it was silly. We both knew he held every drop of power in this room—this building—this city block. If he chose to make me sit here all day while he ignored me, at least my chair was comfy and the pay was decent.
After two or three minutes, he looked up. “Should I call you Ms. Warner, or will Catherine suffice?”
“Catherine’s fine. And you? Elliot or Mr. Levy?”
He threaded his fingers together on his desk. “Mr. Levy was my father. I prefer Elliot.”
I nodded. “Okay, Elliot.” I wobbled my pen between my fingers. “I’m ready when you are.”