Epilogue—Bobby
“Sir.”
Pushing the button on the intercom, I speak to my secretary. “What is it?”
“Your assistant called in sick,” Alfonso replies.
“Again? What’s the excuse this time?” I feel my anger rise above the surface and take a second to grab the stress ball on the desk to squeeze it instead of punching a hole in something. Again.
“Childcare, I think. Something about a sick kid or dog. Didn’t catch the details.”
Typical of Alfonso. Unless I ask about it, he really doesn’t give two shits what anyone else says or does.
I appreciate his priority to me, but some days I could use a bit more information.
Was it family or an animal? Some might treat animals as family, but they are not.
A dog isn’t the same as a child. But that still doesn’t help me in my current situation of being down an assistant.
“Fire them. I’m not running a charity. If they can’t make the hours, they don’t get paid. This seems to be a repetitive thing around the office of late, and I’m tired of it. Make it known that I expect this job to come first. Family comes second.”
“On it.” I can already hear the click-clacking of him typing up the email for human resources to send out before the line clicks off.
He knows never to let my rants go out to the company without making sure the legal department covers my ass, to prevent unnecessary lawsuits from sensitive employees who care more about their feelings than the job.
“Why is it so hard to find decent employees these days?” I mumble out loud, but per usual, no one answers. My office is like my home, vacant of other people. If I need something, I go to them. Not the other way around. I prefer my space to be kept private in every sense of the word.
It also makes it easier to clean with only me being there to make a mess. Not that I do. Nothing is out of place, and the system works well for always finding what I need when I need it.
“Sir.”
“What is it now, Alfonso?” I don’t keep the growl out of my tone. He’s known me long enough to accept me for my bad moods. Well, his paycheck grants me an exception. That and he knows if I get rid of him, all his “eye candy,” as he says, goes away.
I really don’t care what keeps him here, just as long as he does it and doesn’t disturb my work.
“The part-time applicants are here.”
Shit. I forgot that was today. Might explain why my assistant is “sick.” One of their jobs is to do the final vetting on all employees.
I used to do it, but the business took off, so now I pay other people to do it for me.
My assistant is meant to be of the same mind, picking people who would be a good fit for the company.
The legit side of it.
The other side, the one connected to the famiglia, is under my control.
At least now it is. After what happened with Dante, I implemented a few new rules.
One being that I’m to be involved in every new hire from this point on.
I handpick those for the famiglia, but my assistant does the other side.
Of course I’ll still get the final say in that as well, but they do the interviews, and I do the last screening.
“Fine. Set them up in interview room 4.”
I stand and put on my jacket, taking a few extra moments to make sure I look presentable before leaving my office.
My secretary’s fast on my heels as we make our way to the elevator and go to the third floor.
There are people in the hallway when we exit the elevator, but they all know to get out of my way.
I note four people outside the interview room, sitting in the small gathering space we have for applicants to wait. Two men and two women. I briefly catch eyes with each one before I enter the room and sit.
“Oh, hell no,” I hear one man say, followed by the telltale signs of plastic shoes running in the opposite direction.
“And then there were three,” I say to Alfonso, who only smirks as he waits at the still-open door.
“Are you ready to begin?” I have no notes or résumés before me. Nothing for me to be swayed by. Résumé questions are rehearsed. I prefer seeing a man or woman sweat under my full attention while we just talk so I can figure them out.
Alfonso will take some notes, mostly for human resources, but the rest will be my gut feeling. It’s never led me wrong before, and I doubt it will this time.
“Let’s begin.”
Alfonso nods and leaves to retrieve our first victim—I mean candidate.
When we’re looking to hire someone, we try to keep the details vague, mostly to avoid some undercover news reporter trying to get an angle.
Despite that, once people find out who they’ll be working for, even if it’s indirectly like this part-time financial analyst job is, they still run.
Case in point, the fourth applicant who’s probably peeing himself right now.
When the door opens, I rise on pretense and hold out my hand to the woman who walks in.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Bobby Leone. And you are?”
“Willow. Willow Frazzer.”