Chapter 3
chapter three
Kai
I don't know about the new girl they've given me as an assistant, but I owe Jun one, and by extension, his wife, so I don't have much room to argue. All I can do is hope for the best and expect the worst as she lets me drag her along down the corridor and out the front lobby to the waiting car.
I didn't even give her time to properly read her employment contract. Too bad. I sincerely hope there wasn't something in that document that she needed to see before she made her decision.
"So, you're desperate, huh? Fall into some financial strain?"
I know I sound rude, that my voice carries a level of cynicism that isn't professional, but she takes it in stride. I'll give her this: she's got moxy, and she's not letting my attitude fluster her.
"I've been between jobs for awhile," she says with a frown as she slides in next to me in the backseat. "It takes a lot of money to live these days, let alone live comfortably, and unfortunately, my nest egg wasn't enough for more than a week or two of our usual standard of living."
Our? I look at her hand, but there's no ring, which means either she's not married, or she's not broadcasting it. I'm not sure which, and I frankly don't care. As long as she does her job.
I hand her the tablet that my last assistant left behind, swiping my finger across the screen as the car pulls away from the curb.
"This is yours now. It contains everything you'll need to keep my life in check.
The calendar links to my phone, and you can link yours as well, if you'd like.
The passwords are all the same, and the email is simple—you'll find it all on the main screen.
Feel free to change the pin code to lock the device to something you'll remember, and—"
I stare at her, really stare at her for a second, but she seems to be taking it all in stride. EIther she's tuning me out, or she's actually committed to this. Only one way to find out.
I give her everything at once.
"You'll find the contact information to my agent, my assigned lawyer, and all my professional connections on that thing.
In the file folders, you'll find all you need to know about things like endorsements, appearances, interviews, and the lot.
The procedures for those can't really be learned on the fly, so you'll need to read the memo the last girl left in the notepad app.
Allegedly, it's from the first assistant, who wrote it when she decided she wasn't going to work out.
The guy after her may or may not have added things. I didn't bother to read it."
I take a breath as she nods and keep going. See if she can keep up. If she can't handle the first day, there's no point in wasting either of our time.
"My dietary needs are listed out in a memo in the personal information section, there's a company card scanned into the portable virtual wallet on there, and I'll have Arista procure you a new physical one, since I lost the last one at lunch.
Oh, and there's a list of requirements you'll need to meet in your contract—you can call Arista and have her send that over via email, if you have time—"
"Right," she mutters, her eyes scanning things on the device as I ramble on like a prick.
"Pop quiz time."
That gets her attention. "What?"
"Where would you find my dietary needs?"
She flicks her fingers across the screen and turns the tablet around, showing me the list I sent Jun's wife when I accepted the job. "Right here. And might I just say, it's a shame you're allergic to shellfish. I hear they're big in most Asian countries. That must really limit your—"
"It's not a real allergy. I just hate them."
She scowls. "You listed it as an allergy. Do you know how serious it is to lie about allergens? How much work goes into making sure someone's not accidentally cross-contaminated?"
I watch as she removes it from the list, and then starts a new list on the next page, titled Dislikes/Intolerances, and adds it there. She thinks for a moment, and then adds laziness to the list, too. Incompetence joins it in short order.
I crack a smile despite myself, then quickly school it into a frown as we approach the curb and the car comes to a stop. "You'll do."
I leave the car before she can ask what I mean, and just when I think she's starting to flag, I turn around and find her on my heels, quick to make sure she doesn't lose me in the busy atmosphere of the local media company.
They own the local newspaper, three magazines, and two hundred billboards across the city.
And today, they're interviewing me for their featured New Artist section of the local entertainment magazine.
I'd be honored, if their last candidate hadn't backed out at the last moment, leaving them no choice but to take whoever they could find on short notice.
And then there's the fact that nobody reads printed media these days. What's the point?
"Mr. Kobayashi, so glad to see you, right this way—"
We're led into a nearby interview room that reminds me of the police department's TV interviews where they drag in a suspect, stick him in a shitty chair, and grill him until he breaks.
"This is the best you could come up with?" I'm used to comfortable couches, a relaxed atmosphere, and a reception that's less cold. This feels like a slap in the face.
"I do apologize, Mr. Kobayashi, some of our other conference rooms and lounges are undergoing repairs from the recent storm—"
"It's fine," my new assistant says with a flourish of her hand and a wickedly disarming smile.
"We appreciate it. Would you be so kind as to track down some water for Mr. Kobayashi?
He likes to stay hydrated." She consults her notes, and then beams up at the man who led us here. "Sparkling, please, room temperature."
He sputters a response and is out the door in seconds. And in a few more, I'm whirling on her.
"What the hell was that?" It's an insult for my assistant to override me when I'm in the middle of ripping them a new one over the lackluster treatment. Just wait until my agent hears about this. It's an insult to the whole company, really—
"I sent him off on a distracting mission. I figure while he's gone, I can document the insulting and sub-par situation and CC Arista, so she knows to put her people on it."
She's learning fast. "I thought you'd never done this before."
She shrugs and glances down at her tablet again, typing away with one hand as she holds it up to take pictures, I assume. "I'm a quick learner. And I worked for celebs like you before. I picked a little up here and there."
I cock my head to the side and settle into the lest uncomfortable-looking chair in the room. "Anyone I know?"
All at once, her whole demeanor shifts, and I get the feeling she'd rather I not ask any more questions about her previous employer. "Not likely. You aren't from around here, are you?"
I shrug. "I'm not even from this continent. So no."
Her gaze is cold, focused on the screen. "Then I doubt it."
"What if I want to reach out for a reference?"
Her eyes widen, and the cool demeanor she'd possessed a moment ago shifts to pure panic. "I have other professional references you're more than welcome to reach out to—"
We're interrupted by the intern from earlier, who has returned with not one, but three bottles of sparkling water in his hands, and an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry, sir, but if you'll follow me, there's a better room available now, and we'd like to make you comfortable there for the interview."
My brows rise as he leads the way down the hall, the two of us on his heels. I look over her shoulder, because she's leading me, and spot her shooting off another email to Arista on the go, thanking her for stepping in.
She works faster than I had even hoped for. I couldn't have asked for better results if I'd screened veteran assistants for years before accepting one.
I'll have to remember to send Arista a gift basket or something. She's earned it. This might've been an accidental, spur-of-the-moment hire, but she's already far exceeding the level of competence that the others before her exhibited. Which is to say, she's amazing, and they sucked.
We're in the next room for less than thirty seconds before my interviewer comes in and introduces herself, and we start the questions.
The whole time, she sits a recorder on the table in front of us, and though she tries to make it subtle, every shift of her legs is an intended distraction, made to derail me for a moment.
Too bad I'm used to underhanded tactics like this.
"So, you're new to this country, I hear. Can you tell us why you left your old one to come here, where you're virtually unknown, when your alleged success there is so prominent?"
It's a trip-up question, and I see it coming a mile away. Lucky for me, I've prepared for just such questions with aplomb.
"I decided to try a new market and enjoy an adventure of sorts while visiting family and old friends." It's close enough to the truth, which is that my brother had been demanding I come in to see him, and Jun needed someone to work for him. They don't need the finer details of the whole process.
"Hmm," she muses, chewing on her pen cap while she stares down at her paper and frowns. "So does that mean you're not tied down? Won't your family miss you? Or do you plan to go back and visit while you're working for kNight Entertainment?"
Either she's fishing for information they couldn't find online, or she's nosy for her own benefit.
I'm not interested in feeding into it no matter the motive.
"My personal life and my professional life are completely separate, and my family is used to my hectic work schedule and dedication to my craft.
They respect my decision to come here, so far from home, and we're in touch.
I've only been here a few months, so it's hardly as dramatic as you make it sound. "
She knows she's been caught out, and her question hasn't truly been answered. I watch in real time as she deflates, tugging her skirt down with a huff of irritation. Likely she thought she'd get in with a low level celeb with that fishing attempt and then try her luck later.
I don't mix business with pleasure, though. I know better than to shit where I eat. I like girls, that's no secret. But I don't date, or play, with the ones I'm tied to in a work aspect. That's a surefire way to make things totally awkward really fast.
"So, do you have any more questions for me?"
She asks the usual ones—what's life like here, how am I adjusting, what do I have planned for the future; we talk about my upcoming appearances, and I give her the details my agent and the company have cleared me to divulge, without giving away too much.
When the interview is over, we shake hands, and she moves in for a hug.
Before I have to deflect it awkwardly, though, Denali steps in and slings her tablet between us, smiling too sweetly for her own good.
"Thank you so much for your time, Miss Robertson. We're on a tight schedule, so if you don't mind, we'll take our leave now. It's been a pleasure."
She inserts herself between me and the woman, and I see a bite in her come out as the girl tries to snub her outstretched hand. Denali tugs hers back with a shrug and turns on a dime, not even pretending that she's in the least bit shocked at the other woman's actions.
And then I'm ushered out to the waiting car, where she turns on me with a scowl.
"You're a womanizer," she says plainly, no emotional inflection in her voice at all.
"I like women," I admit, though it feels a little more shameful to tell my new assistant this than it is when I admit it freely. "That's not the same."
"Your last assistant left notes," she points out, and sure enough, when she turns the tablet around to face me, there's a whole email filled with notes in the drafts folder of the assistant email account. It's got details about things I do, habits I have, things she did and didn't like about me.
The list of things she didn't like is longer than the things she did.
"She must not have liked me," I point out, grinning smugly. "Did they all leave notes?"
I'm only partially curious. I couldn't care less. Clearly, they didn't work out for a reason. People who lose their jobs or leave their jobs naturally harbor some discontent—
"Not all, but enough of them did. I'm surprised you never found the files." She ticks off things on the list as she reads them out loud. "Harsh taskmaster. Inpatient. Self-important. Shameless flirt. Ego the size of a planet—"
"I do not have an ego that big." I'm affronted at the comparison, really. It's insulting. "It's not small, but it's not as big as a planet."
She eyes me like she's seeing me for the first time all day. "Men like you are trouble."
Spoken like she knows from experience. "Men like me?"
The car starts to move, and as I argue with my new assistant, the driver puts the divider up so he can ignore us in peace.
"You know, men who—well, you're—" She looks around like the word can just be plucked out of thin air, and sighs. "Assholes."
I lean in, caging my little assistant in with both arms, eyes narrowed.
I don't like what she's insinuating. "Are you rethinking your employment with me, Denali?
" It's only been a day. Maybe I've been a bit much, but I need to know she can handle this.
I need to be unfiltered, not watered down, because it's important that she knows what she's facing.
"I never said I was quitting," she points out, leaning back like I don't scare her in the least. "You're not the first asshole I've worked for. And I doubt you'll be the last."
Well, then.
"You know what, Denali?" I lean in close enough to pick up the scent of her shampoo: lilac. "I think we're going to get along just fine."