11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
The office’s first floor was brighter than the day before.
Margaret could observe every color for its true shade rather than it being dark and dull.
The green walls were closer to a teal, and the counter appeared to be a deep mahogany wood.
Her first thought was that it was because it was sunnier outside, and the two large windows’ thick curtains were gone.
That was until she looked upward at the chandeliers, her eyes nearly blinded by the brightness.
The bulbs had been changed. But by whom?
Her father hadn’t made any requests to do so.
It wasn’t a surprise to Margaret that Mr. McKinley was already there, sorting through files behind the counter—the opposite side Margaret had looked through.
The floors were shinier as if they had been mopped the night before—or early this morning.
A fresh fragrance of pine lingered in the air, reminiscent of the cleaner the maids used at Maplebrook when mopping the dining room floor.
“I’m surprised, Mr. McKinley,” Daddy said. “You’re early.”
Mr. McKinley turned away from the file cabinet, standing straight with his shoulders rolled back and his chest out—almost like a soldier. “I like to arrive on time, sometimes earlier.”
Daddy’s eyes skimmed the floor until a small, satisfied smile tugged at his lips. “How long have you been here?”
“Since five,” Mr. McKinley answered with neither emotion nor expression on his face. His lips hardly moved. He stood still, as though he were a colossal statue in Rome.
Five? That would mean he had come to work three hours before them.
Margaret knew Mr. McKinley was passionate about his job, but coming early?
Was this about money? From observing his tailored suits, Mr. McKinley didn’t appear impoverished.
But what did Margaret know? She was a Nicholson.
Just hearing her name, anyone would assume she was rich.
Yet that wasn’t true; she was comfortable.
Her parents had struggled financially before, but those days were in the past.
“Are we not paying you enough? Sir, you don’t have to come in so early. Take a rest,” Daddy insisted.
Mr. McKinley shook his head. “It’s not a problem, Mr. Nicholson. I like being busy.”
“You impress me. Consider yesterday forgiven.”
Mr. McKinley didn’t take one glance at Margaret. Instead of stating his opinion again, he stayed quiet, giving her father a slight nod.
“I need to settle a few things in my office before my first appointment,” Daddy announced. “Mr. McKinley, since you know how this place runs—possibly better than me—would you mind giving Margaret an orientation? Inform her about her responsibilities and how to approach them.”
Mr. McKinley nodded. “Yessir.”
His posture stiffened. Was Margaret such bad company?
She had done nothing to him except go through a few files to help him.
Why was he so bitter? Seeing his distaste made Margaret’s blood boil.
She wanted to demand he get over himself.
She was the boss’s daughter after all, and she could threaten him, saying if he didn’t respect her, her father would fire him.
But that wasn’t right. Margaret didn’t deserve special treatment, and acting in that manner wouldn’t be Christian-like.
Mr. McKinley probably assumed her to be a spoiled, entitled brat, so she must act the opposite. Lord, give me patience.
Margaret’s father kissed her cheek. “If you need anything, let me know. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
The room seemed to be enclosed with tension on both sides as Margaret was left alone with Mr. McKinley.
She hadn’t removed her coat, but the area was becoming colder by the minute.
Could it be a draft or Mr. McKinley’s iciness?
It didn’t matter. She would remain strong and prove to him she was capable of anything.
“Come,” he said sternly with no emotion on his face. Margaret followed him. He stopped at the desk near the doorway. “As you know, this is your desk.”
Obviously. Margaret wanted to act smart with him, but she didn’t want anything else to make him angrier. Instead, she remained quiet.
“When the phone rings, ask the operator who it is and to connect you. We have at least twenty callers per day. You should pick up the phone within the first ring.”
Margaret nodded. Common sense.
Mr. McKinley lifted a large notebook from the desk and opened it halfway.
“Here is the list of the weekly appointments. Never let anyone disturb me or your father without an appointment. I’ll be at the counter most of the day, but I have an office upstairs.
I have at least two meetings per day and possibly have more depending on how busy your father is. ”
Margaret nodded again. She chewed her bottom lip then stopped. She wasn’t nervous, not even uncomfortable. You’re strong, Margaret. Despite the thundering of her heart, she was confident in what she was doing.
“You always bite your lip like that?”
Margaret popped her head up, making direct eye contact with Mr. McKinley. Her movement happened so fast that she forgot to remind herself not to appear startled by anything. She folded her arms over her chest. “No.”
“You’re doing it again.”
Margaret removed her teeth from her bottom lip. Seriously, Margaret. That will leave a mark.
“Are you nervous?”
“Of course not!”
“You look like you are.”
Margaret’s fists tightened by her sides. Goodness, this man! He was making her more frustrated by the minute. “I’m not. My lips were peeling.”
Mr. McKinley observed closer, his eyes squinting. “It doesn’t appear that way. Just red from where you bit it. Are you afraid of me or the job?”
“Neither,” Margaret spat out quickly, her hands on her hips.
As soon as he mentioned her being afraid, a wave of spunk came over her.
For a second, she thought she had heard her mother’s voice.
Her mother had a tough backbone and a stingy bite when someone insulted her.
It regularly showed when Grandmother Martin was alive.
Grandmother Martin always knew how to push Mama’s buttons.
Mr. McKinley nodded. “All right. Don’t bite too hard. I don’t want your lip bleeding all over this floor. I just cleaned it this morning.”
Margaret wanted to groan aloud. Her ears burned hot and her temples throbbed. Never in her life had she been so frustrated!
A large case sat upon the desk, and Mr. McKinley opened it, revealing a shiny typewriter. Margaret’s heart skipped, and her lips curled into a smile. Seeing this remarkable technology gave her hope that all would turn out the way it was supposed to.
“Since you don’t have much experience, it will take time, but with practice, you will do fine. I’ll help when you are struggling, but if you cannot learn within the next two weeks, I’ll have to talk your father into letting you go. All secretaries are required to master this skill.”
Well, good thing I have. Finally, something she could rub in his face. Margaret might not have any work experience, but she was qualified in this area.
“May I?” she asked, her heart leaping, ready to blow him away.
Mr. McKinley pulled out the chair for Margaret to sit. A gentleman? How surprising. He stood so close behind her that his breath brushed across the back of her naked neck. Oh, how she longed to have her hair down again instead of this ridiculous updo.
“Don’t peck the keys with your fingers. It will slow you down.”
Margaret placed her fingers on the middle row, ready to perform. She tapped at the keys like she was Marjorie playing the piano. She only wished for a mirror in front of her to catch a glimpse of Mr. McKinley’s face. She giggled quietly.
I am more capable than you think, she wrote.
At the end of her sentence, Mr. McKinley removed the piece of paper and read her progress. She wanted to laugh, but she held back her laughter, pressing her lips together instead of biting.
Mr. McKinley slapped the paper on her desk with a thud and walked away. “Get to work. We have an appointment in half an hour.”
Margaret sighed, staring down at her desk. This was going to be a long, exciting day. She had done what she set out to do—prove Mr. McKinley wrong.
Roger kept his eye fixed on Miss Nicholson the entire day—not because she was pleasing to the eye or because her pink, glossy lips gracefully mouthed each word she typed, or because her eyelashes were frustratingly long and dark as they fluttered with each blink.
It was because he was desperate. Hopelessly, maddeningly, stupidly desperate to find a reason to make her leave.
He watched her like a hawk, looking for an excuse to make her day miserable.
Roger had been almost confident she wouldn’t have the typing skills a secretary needed, and she proved him wrong, making him fume with frustration.
Instead of blowing off steam as he had the day before, he walked away.
This woman could take a position, but she wouldn’t cause Roger to lose his.
She hadn’t done anything too terrible that would cause him to report her, which frustrated him more than the idea of her ruining his precious system.
Miss Nicholson had immediately started work and hadn’t strayed from her duties, even during lunch hour.
She had answered the phone within the first ring, organized files, and escorted clients to Mr. Nicholson’s office for their appointments.
Miss Nicholson had a certain glow and friendly smile when clients appeared.
She didn’t gripe and complain like the secretaries hired in the past. The most recent one, Mr. Gregson, had worn a sour expression and rushed clients.
The man made no effort to escort them to their meeting area or inquire about their day.
That was one thing positively different about Miss Nicholson.