Chapter 34
Ruth
Ishouldn’t have let Brooke talk me into buying these shoes. They’re gorgeous, and when I’m standing still I love them. But when I’m walking? I hate them with the fire of a thousand suns. Which, coincidentally, is what the soles of my feet feel like they’re being burned by.
And it’s only ten in the morning.
“Did you get that?” Trevor angles a brow at me from where he sits behind his desk, redirecting my attention from the unimaginable pain I’m suffering thanks to three-inch heels and bad decision making skills.
“I did not.” I don’t pretend or make excuses. I’m not a machine—no one is—and he needs to get used to that fact. I doubt it will happen today, though. He had a meeting with his brothers this morning, and now is wound for sound and wants to accomplish a week’s worth of work before lunchtime.
Which is actually pretty normal for him. Trevor works harder than anyone I’ve ever met. He gives a hundred and ten percent to everything he does. Busts his ass to try to make McKinley Security Systems the absolute best and most successful it can possibly be. Which is great. Admirable.
The problem is, he expects everyone else to give a hundred and ten percent as well, and other people have lives outside of this place. Spouses and children and pets and hobbies. Their whole life isn’t work.
Trevor’s is. And that makes me kind of sad.
Trevor stares at me in silence. I lean back in my chair, knowing he’s about to try to be a dick to me. It’s his default. Part of me thinks he’s not purposefully trying to be an ass, he just doesn’t have time to buffer what he says.
Or the inclination. Okay, so maybe he is a purposeful ass after all.
“You’ve been back a week. I thought by now you’d start to be a little less…” He pauses as he considers his words. “Distracted.”
I almost smile, because the way Trevor speaks to me is different from how he speaks to just about everyone else.
There’s not a sharpness in his voice. It’s more of a challenge.
He knows damn well I’m not going to take his shit.
That I will come back at him and put him in his place.
Yet he continues throwing down the gauntlet, which, I have to think, is because he sorta likes it when I’m mean to him.
“And I thought by now you would have gotten all your fussies out, but here we are.” I look pointedly at the sofa in his office. “Maybe you should take a nap.”
Trevor’s eyes narrow at where I sit across from him, partway through writing down all the tasks on his mental to-do list. “I don’t have time for a nap.”
I make a show of looking over the list on my legal pad. “Good point.” I huff out a dramatic breath. “You’re going to be a nightmare by bedtime.” I give him a smile. “Luckily, that’s not my problem.”
I don’t know who tucks Trevor into bed at night, but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s nobody. I wonder if maybe he’s single the same way Tucker was. If so, it makes me question why everyone gave Tucker shit, but nobody mentions it to Trevor.
Probably because they don’t want to listen to him throw a fit.
Trevor leans forward, bracing his forearms on his desk. “You know, most people are nice to their bosses.”
I lean forward too, making my voice as sweet as possible when I say, “If you don’t like it, then you should probably hire someone else.”
It’s a dig. I know it, and he knows it. Trevor can’t hire anyone else. There are very few people in this world capable of tolerating his moods and temper tantrums.
Luckily, I have experience in that department.
Standing up, I look over everything he wants us to accomplish. “This is enough for now. If we put too many more things on here it’s going to become overwhelming.”
There are many things I’ve discovered about Trevor and the way he works.
Yes, he puts in an extraordinary amount of time and effort, but it’s not always done in the most organized fashion.
He has so much on his plate and in his mind, that it jumbles together, leaving him frequently racing from one fire to the next, barely knocking down the flames before moving on.
My first—and biggest—task as his new assistant, is to get him to a place where he’s acting instead of reacting. I think feeling out of control and overwhelmed is a big part of where his grumpiness and volatility comes from.
Or not, and he’s just an asshole. Which is also fine. I don’t care. He pays me well. Doesn’t micromanage me. Listens to what I have to say. And buys me lunch every day.
Working for him is the best job I’ve ever had.
I expect him to snap over me telling him what we're going to do, but he just nods. “Fine.”
I’m not positive, but I’m starting to think Trevor likes me telling him what to do as much as he likes it when I’m mean to him. It takes the weight of that decision off his shoulders.
There’s also one thing I do I’m positive he loves. I’m not sure he’ll feel the same if he ever figures out what I’m actually doing, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Setting our list on my desk, I quickly brew up a cup of his favorite coffee and pull out his morning snack box.
While working with him before my ill-fated move to Maryland, I learned Trevor frequently doesn’t eat the whole time he’s here.
I took a wild guess that at least a portion of his sour temperament was actually due to hangriness, and after feeding him regularly a few days in a row, discovered my hunch was very accurate.
Now, every night, I assemble three separate snacks for Trevor to eat throughout the day and bring them into work with me.
He was confused the first time I offered him one, but I pretended to be confused back, telling him this was something we did regularly in the hospitality business, but that I would stop if he wanted me to.
Like so much else I’ve tweaked since officially taking this job, Trevor waved it off and said it was fine if I continued doing it.
So that’s how I handle pretty much everything now. When I do something and he questions it, I simply tell him it’s how we handled it in my previous career, and he goes with it.
Carrying in the small, rectangular, glass container and his steaming coffee, I set both items down in front of him while he makes a phone call.
The first few times I tried to explain what I was feeding him, but quickly learned he doesn’t even notice what he eats.
Just inhales whatever I put on his desk and keeps working.
So now I’m two people’s snack bitch. At least this one pays me.
After clearing away the remnants of his snack, and serving up another cup of coffee, I go to work scanning all the documents we received today into their proper digital files.
It’s tedious work—probably why Trevor hadn’t been doing it himself when he was assistantless—but after spending three full days last week getting everything caught up, it now takes less than an hour each morning, and I’m done with them until the next day.
For the rest of the morning, I work my way through the list we compiled. Returning phone calls Trevor can’t be trusted to handle. Composing follow-up emails and reaching out to department heads about their upcoming quarterly reviews.
There’s so much to be done that the time flies by, and before I know it, my favorite security guard, Ray, is delivering the lunch order I placed using Trevor’s credit card. He drops it off with a wink and a grin, promising to show me new pictures of his grand dog before I go home.
I’m about to unpack everything so I can give Trevor his and take mine to Tucker’s office so we can spend lunch together, when Trevor is suddenly on the move, storming out of his office like a bat out of hell.
“Bring that.” He barks the demand at me, closing his eyes for a second as he blows out a breath. “Don’t give me shit right now. Just please bring our lunch and follow me.”
I’m kind of impressed. I didn’t even have a chance to react, but he already knew what was coming and course corrected.
He’s getting to be such a big boy.
I nearly drop back down on my ass the second I’m upright.
Spending the last couple hours at my desk made it easy to forget about my shoes.
Biting down against the discomfort, I pick up our bag from Greenhouse Café and do my best to walk like a human as Trevor practically runs through our wing of the building.
He’s moving fast, and I’m all starting to get a little concerned. “Where are we going?”
“I just got a call from Titus. We need to have a lunch meeting.” Trevor bites the words out, sounding less than pleased.
Not that he ever sounds pleased.
“Fine, but why do I have to go?” I was really hoping to spend some time with Tucker. And if I can’t do that, I’d rather sit at my desk and doom scroll social media than take notes on whatever it is they’re discussing. “Can you record it and I’ll transcribe it later?”
“No.” It’s a simple answer.
One that might result in his club-plus-avocado sandwich being crammed up his crap hole.
I’m hobbling along, wondering if the slippery feel in my pumps is sweat or blood as I try to keep up. Unfortunately, whatever it is, it only makes it more difficult to walk in these things.
I stumble, nearly going down in the center of the large—and busy—lobby.
“Oop.” A strong hand grips my arm, managing to keep me from face planting.
I’ve barely regained my balance when Tucker grabs the bag of food from my hands, shoving it against the center of Trevor’s chest. “Why the fuck aren’t you carrying this, dick?” His eyes come to me, brows pinched in concern as he looks me over. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” There’s resignation in my voice. “It’s just these damn shoes. I don’t know how Brooke functions in them.”
I wanted so much to be glamorous like she is. Since we don’t have to wear a uniform here, I was excited about building my own professional wardrobe. And since I love Brooke’s so much, I was thrilled when she offered to help me.
The thrill is gone.