Chapter Four - Rachel
CHAPTER FOUR
Rachel
“I sent Lindsey the details for next month's New York trip so she can book the flight and hotel. Mrs. Caster has requested the Jones’s account by the end of the day, and your joint call with Franklin Corp. had to be rescheduled for next Thursday at noon, but I already sent that to Lindsey, too,” I tell David and place a stack of papers on his desk.
“These will need to be reviewed before that call.”
I look up from my tablet to meet his hazel eyes, creased with smile lines, staring me down knowingly. “Since when are you my assistant?”
“It’s all Mrs. Caster’s work, too. Besides, Lindsey’s done a lot of covering for me these last two weeks. I owe her any help I can give.”
David—Mr. Patel, as I’m supposed to call him in the office—became a fast friend when I first started at Stanley CPA, Incorporated.
I’d originally interviewed for a role as a staff auditor, but because of a mix-up in HR, they offered me a position as Mrs. Caster’s personal assistant.
When I arrived at the office to talk about the offer, I was ready to decline.
After all, I didn’t get my degree just so I could get coffee and book appointments.
But when I met with Mrs. Caster and David—both senior auditors—I reconsidered. There is secretarial work, but they were mostly looking for someone to share their workload with. They could offer me a position that had the flexibility I desired as a new mother and still allowed me to do what I love.
The only downside to my job is that my title is still that of an assistant. David and I have talked about transitioning me into a staff auditor role, but the timing never seemed right.
And after everything that happened two weeks ago, it’s not my biggest priority.
It had been tricky to explain that I didn’t show up for work because of a personal emergency that then turned into a car accident that required time off. I only took a few vacation days and have worked the rest remotely.
David doesn’t mind one bit as long as I get my work done, which I have. Mrs. Caster, on the other hand, cares.
She cares a lot.
And since I’m technically her assistant, she’s the one I need to keep happy.
David ignores the stack of papers on his desk and sets down his still-steaming coffee. “How are you doing? How’s Lyla?”
As a single, young, and brand-new mom, I’d had a difficult time adjusting to working full-time.
More than once, David caught me looking through pictures of Lyla and struggling to focus when I hadn’t heard updates from the daycare.
On a particularly difficult day during my second week at the firm, he took me out to lunch to help distract me and has acted as a sort of mentor ever since.
With anyone else in the office, I would assure them all is well and I’m fine, but I know that with David, I don’t have to lie.
With a look over my shoulder that ensures Mrs. Caster is still occupied, I lower myself into the seat across from David’s desk. “She’s all right. I have an appointment with a child therapist today to see if that helps. Thanks for checking in.”
He nods, then eyes me. “And you?”
“What about me?”
“You were in that car crash, too. How are you doing with everything?”
Aside from the constant fear of someone taking and harming my child? Or said child’s inability to leave my side without having a meltdown?
I wave him—and the too-real thoughts—off. “Oh, I’m fine.”
He eyes me like he can read the lies all over my face, but we’re interrupted by a shrill voice.
“Miss Lance! Miss—oh! There you are!” Mrs. Caster’s heels click against the floor as she makes her way into David’s office. She’s roughly David’s age—late forties—with a pinned-up, overly hair-sprayed bun, and bright lips that always match the color of her blazer.
Today, it’s neon pink.
I shoot to my feet at her entrance.
“I need the Marshall Industries audit completed by the end of the day.”
“Already done,” I tell her. “Sent it directly to Mrs. Marshall with a full summary an hour ago. She’s very pleased with our dedication to the tight deadline.”
“Excellent, as always,” she says with a nod of approval.
Mrs. Caster isn’t a bad boss, not by a long shot, though her shrill voice and overbearing nature have given her a bad reputation.
I’m sure the idea of working with someone so uptight would be a nightmare to most people, but not me.
Mrs. Caster needed a PA willing to go above and beyond to complete their work and do so to perfection.
I needed a job to be the vice that distracts my overly active mind.
It’s a win-win.
In the last few years, my need for these vices has lessened—since motherhood is a never-ending job in itself—but it’s never fully gone away. Between being a mother and Mrs. Caster’s personal assistant, I’ve done a good job controlling the cruel thoughts.
At least, I was before the factory night.
Now, there’s only one vice that keeps the darkness at bay.
“Did you already tell her?” Mrs. Caster asks David, who straightens in his chair.
“I was waiting for you.”
I look between them. “Tell me what?”
David gestures to the chairs across from his desk, and I sit as Mrs. Caster does the same.
I shoot a quick glance at the clock. It’s a quarter to four, and if I’m going to be home in time for Ryder’s arrival, Lyla and I have to leave for the appointment now, but since it’s my first day back in the office, I don’t rush my bosses.
“Mr. Campbell will be announcing his retirement at the end of this week,” David says.
The information, though new to me, isn’t shocking.
Mr. Campbell is the audit manager of our branch, and he’s almost a decade past the normal retirement age.
Since he has a dozen grandkids from his five children, everyone assumed he’d leave years ago.
We’ve realized—mostly from the lack of personal pictures on his desk—that he isn’t much of a family man.
“Oh, really?”
He nods, gesturing to the woman beside me. “Mrs. Caster will be moving into the position at the end of next month.”
“That’s incredible!” I say with a genuine smile. “Congratulations! You’ve earned this.”
And she has. Mrs. Caster is by far one of the hardest-working people in this entire office. A promotion is long overdue.
“Thank you, Miss Lance,” she says.
“Mrs. Caster was asked to give her recommendation for who should take over her role, and she’s named you as her primary candidate.”
If possible, my eyes widen even more.
“What?” I ask, but they only nod. “I’m an assistant. I don’t have the qualifications for this.”
Mrs. Caster gives me a knowing look. “You know this role better than anyone. You’ve been doing it, plus PA work, for years. Besides, your work ethic and reputation speak for themselves.”
“I—I don’t know what to say,” I practically breathe the words.
“Well, don’t say anything yet,” David says with a raised hand.
“You have both of us vouching for you, but Mr. Campbell will be making the final decision. He’s on the fence about having a PA moving into this position, but we talked him into giving you a chance.
Over the next few weeks, he’ll be watching to make sure you’ll be a good fit when he leaves, and she takes his position.
Consider this your official invitation to the management dinner at the corporate retreat next month.
He’s agreed to give his answer by then.”
“The management dinner?” I repeat, sure I didn’t hear him correctly.
The management dinner is a thing of legend around the office.
During this dinner, the rest of the firm’s employees typically enjoy a night of heavy drinking since all of their superiors are occupied.
Everyone jokes about how they’re having way more fun, but no one would pass up the opportunity to have a seat at that table.
“And if he decides against me?”
“Then you’ll remain my PA, and the position will go to another candidate,” she tells me.
“We could still talk about moving you into a staff auditor role if you’re interested,” David notes.
This is my chance to get the kind of job I was after in the first place. If I don’t make this work, who knows when I’ll get another chance?
“I really appreciate this opportunity. Thank you for sticking your neck out for me,” I tell them, meaning it more than they know.
“Of course,” David says.
“There is one more thing.” Mrs. Caster sends a pointed look over her shoulder, and I know what she’ll say before she does. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that this is not a workplace suitable for children?”
I turn to see my three-year-old daughter standing on the edge of my cubicle, clutching her doll to her chest as she stares at Mrs. Caster and me with wide, curious eyes.
“It’s only been two weeks since the accident, and Lyla’s still having panic attacks at the mention of being separated from me,” I explain. “I understand this isn’t the most professional option, but I haven’t let it affect my work.”
“Unfortunately, it isn’t your work that’s being affected by this arrangement.”
I follow her eyes to where several co-workers stare at my daughter in confusion, some even leaning toward each other to whisper.
I’m about to remind Mrs. Caster that other people’s lack of control over their focus isn’t my problem, but she doesn’t give me a chance.
“I know you’re only doing what’s best for your daughter, and I think that’s what every mother should do. However, I feel the need to be frank with you—this won’t look good when Mr. Campbell starts watching your work.”
I nod. “I’ll figure something out,” I tell her, though I have absolutely no idea how I plan to do that.
“I’m very optimistic about Lyla’s mental state. She seems to have a healthy understanding of what happened, which is a sign that you and her father explained everything well.”