CHAPTER 5 INTIMATE SECRETARY
INTIMATE SECRETARY
Liv
Monday funday. Liv loved her boss, but wondered how she had landed in the middle of a modern-day “Mad Men.” First thing, she sent Phoenix a text reminder of his meeting to present the agency’s creative capabilities to a potential client.
Not that he needed the reminder. It was more the satisfaction of doing something for a man whose hyper-independence meant he asked for little.
Liv was shocked to realize she’d been at the agency for twelve months.
A year ago, job prospects for recent graduates were as scarce as affordable apartments in Midtown.
Liv’s plan of working in advertising didn’t land her a desirable copywriting position.
Instead, she could only find administrative roles.
Her sense of candor during interviews didn’t win many offers. Except at counterAgency, where her stubbornness amused rather than intimidated Phoenix. She fell in love with the spirit of the unique place—and maybe a little with the guy who orchestrated that spirit.
She had stepped into his airy office, noting the broad expanse of glass opening up over Midtown. The air was scented with fresh orchids.
“Phoenix Walker. Nice to meet you,” he’d said, standing to shake her hand. His grip was self-assured without crushing her fingers.
She’d settled into the indicated seat across from the clean sweep of his desk.
He made her feel at ease, then got right down to it.
“Tell me about your career aspirations.”
“Honestly?” she asked, studying his blue eyes. His suit probably cost more than she would make a week. Outside his glass wall, she could see that the nearby conference room was abuzz with a creative team brainstorming and drawing on a whiteboard.
“I love to write,” she said. “I’d like to be a copywriter.”
He scanned her résumé, already marked up with circles and underlines.
“Editor of the school paper, published editorials, finalist in poetry competitions, a degree in English with honors. Your writing skills are coming through. So why apply to be an executive assistant?”
She sat straighter, her palms suddenly damp. She needed to explain the pivot.
“Please don’t hold my achievements against me. I’m super-organized, I have great follow-through,” she declared. “I’m tough when I need to be . . . and professional. I’m coachable, too. I want to be part of a team.”
He angled back into his desk chair with a bemused grin. “Hold your bachelor’s against you?”
She knew the game was up. This guy was an advertising wunderkind, just as all the trade rags said. He could see right through her plan to land a spot to pay the bills until she could find a real job.
“Mr. Walker, I know I seem overqualified to be an admin, but can’t overqualifying for a job be a good thing?”
“If you’ll stay awhile,” he’d replied.
“Capability and motivation are different things,” he’d stated, making the pronouncement sound like a fresh insight. Her fingers twitched with the desire to take notes. She reminded herself she was no longer in school. He proceeded with his inquisition.
“How would you feel if . . . if I asked you to send a reel to a client?”
“No problem,” she assured him. Easy one.
“Asked you to schedule appointments?”
“Of course.”
“Personal ones?”
“Okay.”
“Make travel arrangements?”
“I know the duties of an assistant. I can take care of correspondence, calendars, protect your time, make excuses to stave off unwanted calls, serve as your proxy for internal staff and even handle difficult clients.”
Is him grinning a good sign?
“I repeat, how are you going to feel about doing all that? When you were the star of your high school paper? When you just earned your degree in the musings of James Joyce? When you want to be a copywriter?”
Crap, tough psychological questions.
Other interviewers would dance around her skills and reject her without giving her a chance to respond. He clearly had seen her potential, but needed to verify his instincts.
She straightened the jacket of her pants suit, borrowed from her mom for the interview. “Copywriting can wait. I’m going to feel like I’m learning about the industry from the ground up. And I’m going to push you for opportunities to be part of the creative process. That’s still my strength.”
He nodded, as much in control of this interview as he probably was over everything in his life.
“If you fulfill the job’s priorities, there are always opportunities. New business presentations that need all hands on deck. Networking events.”
Her heart quickened. I need to go shopping.
“I still want to know,” he questioned. “Do you feel like you’re selling out?”
“Do you?” she shot back before she could think.
That bemused grin.
“We sell out every day, but hopefully with our analytics and not our souls. Now, what questions do you have for me?”
Her standard queries about the company had suddenly seemed trite.
“What made you do it?” She waved her hand to indicate the people and rooms beyond the clear glass. “What drove you to create this?”
For a moment, she didn’t care about the details of the job. She was transported. She wanted to know more about this agency superstar.
He seemed amused. He studied her, measuring the earnestness of her question. Who’s interviewing whom?
“I had a type of company in mind that I wanted to work for. Couldn’t find anything like it. A place that made me feel like the work was fun and worth doing. A place that stood up to clients and stood for something.”
All doubts had vanished. She wanted the job more than anything. Forget about grad school or creative writing.
He stood and offered her an even firmer handshake like they were making a deal.
“Nice meeting you, Liv. See you soon.”
“See you” is better than goodbye, right?
“See you soon,” she repeated like it was a refrain from her favorite song
Now, a year since the offer had been made and accepted with enthusiasm, she’d learned his style and knew how much sass she could sling back. Her initial awe had morphed into respect, even when he could be moody or overreact to one of her mistakes.
She’d even grown accustomed to his streak of perfectionism. So what if he held her to high standards? They were nothing compared to the standards he held for himself. Even after a year, she loved working for Phoenix. Everything else could wait.
His phone line sounded.
“counterAgency. Mr. Walker’s line.”
“Liv?” the voice on the other end was washed out. Liv sat up and pressed the receiver closer.
“Yes. Who’s calling?”
“It’s Veronica Walker, Phoenix’s mother.” Liv glanced at the time. Nine-thirty on a Monday wasn’t impossibly late for Phoenix to arrive, but her scalp prickled with premonition.
“Is everything all right?”
“No. Phoenix’s been in a bad accident. I’m at the hospital with him.” Liv could hear a muffled sob.
“Oh my God. Is he okay?” Her heart pounded in her ears making it hard to hear Veronica’s words.
“I don’t know. We don’t know. He’s still unconscious.”
“What happened? What can I do?” Liv looked around the office frantically, as if Phoenix would appear.
“I don’t know when he’s coming back to work, if he’s coming back to work. I have to go.” She hung up.
Liv stared at the phone and stood. She glared at the empty desk where Phoenix normally sat. She couldn’t go to the person she usually relied on for advice. Her heart lurched at the thought. What did Veronica mean, if he’s coming back?
Dex. She needed Dex. Stumbling on legs wooden with fear, Liv found Dex in his office, bent back in his chair, tossing a Nerf ball in the air.
“Liv!” he greeted her, sitting up. “How was your weekend—” The question aborted as he turned and saw her face. “What’s wrong?”
She shut his door behind her. “Phoenix,” she uttered, eager to share the burden of this awful truth. “Phoenix has been hurt in an accident. He’s in the hospital. His mom called.”
Dex’s bearded jaw dropped. He was staring at her. He took a step towards her, as if he could glean more information by being closer.
“In the hospital? Is he okay? Where is he?”
“I don’t know. The only other thing she said was she didn’t know when or if he’d be back.” Her voice lost its power.
A few minutes of pacing and Dex pieced together the start of a plan. He’d call Phoenix’s brother. He warned Liv. “This is not a matter of gossip, you understand?”
“Of course not. And don’t worry, I’ll take care of his meetings.”
By afternoon, Dex ushered Liv into a conference room, his normally jovial eyes red.
“It’s bad,” he said straightaway. “He was hit by a train. He lost a lot of blood. I don’t know if—” He stopped, then tried again. “He might not make it.”
She fidgeted with her glasses to hide her trembling hands.
“What can we do?” she asked.
“For now, I think he’d want us to keep it business as usual.”
That sounded like Phoenix. She nodded.
“I’m going to get the agency together and tell them what happened.
I’m going to ask everyone to keep this from becoming a media circus.
We’re an ad agency, we know how to generate PR and how to avoid it.
He’s never on social media anyway, so no one needs to know.
He wouldn’t want our clients losing faith in us. ”
“Okay.”
Despite having avoided church for many years, Liv squeezed her eyes shut and brought her hands together in prayer.