Chapter 2 Whitney
Whitney
I casually look myself up and down for the umpteenth time in the body-length mirror hanging on my closet doors. Tilting my head to the side, I do a little spin, ensuring everything about my appearance is perfect.
Today is the day that my coworkers and I meet our new boss: Theodore Hurst. To be perfectly honest, I’m a little scared.
I am afraid because I will be spending practically every minute with him.
I’m going to be his assistant. And according to my job description, I will practically live and breathe anything he requires from me.
If he doesn’t like me, there’s the potential that he can make my job miserable.
Or, he could dislike me so much that he’d fire me, and where would that leave me?
Terrible thoughts of endless to-do lists and impossible tasks float through my mind as I imagine the worst-case scenario. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to hate coming to work every day, and I have no intention of finding out.
It takes me longer than I’d like to admit to find the best outfit to wear to work.
My clothing choice was never a problem when I worked with Mr. Peterson.
He could have cared less if I showed up to work wearing sweats.
But this guy? I have no idea what his expectations are.
All I know is that I want to make a good first impression on him.
As I scrutinize my reflection in the mirror, I finally decide that this will have to do.
I decided on my favorite cream blouse to wear today.
Then, I picked out a pair of maroon dress pants, and my tan, waist-length peacoat.
I chose to wear a pair of my favorite heels.
I’m not exactly short, per se, but even a little bit of a heel gives me more confidence than anything.
Once I’m dressed and ready to go, I step out of my bedroom and into my kitchen to eat a protein bar before leaving.
As I’m shoving my face full of the chocolate-peanut butter oat bar, I do a once-over around my space.
My house is about two miles from Chicago’s Navy Pier, in a condominium complex with reserved parking.
It isn’t a huge condo—two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a study—but it suits me.
The empty room is for whenever Leila decides to spend the night, which isn’t very often, but it is there, just in case.
Glancing at the clock on my oven, I collect my phone, planner, purse, and keys and then hit the road for work.
I don’t have time to stop for coffee, deciding that I can just get it at work. On a typical day with Mr. Peterson, I would stop at Uncommon Grounds or some other coffee shop for the both of us.
Once in the car, I pull up my favorite classical music playlist, letting the lilting notes calm my nerves. I got up early this morning, hoping to miss the heavy traffic, because nothing ruins my day more than having to sit in a traffic jam in the middle of downtown Chicago.
The shrill ringtone of my cell phone brings me out of my dazed state of mind. I would have jumped a mile into the air if it were not for my seatbelt, which does its job and holds me firmly in my place.
Considering that I am currently being held at a red light, I rummage around in my oversized purse, looking for my phone.
I grumble to myself, wishing I had the kind of money to get a car with Bluetooth features.
Finally, when my fingers graze over the vibrating device, I yank it out of the bag and place it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey, there,” the singsong voice that could pull me out of any dark space rings into my ear. My best friend is the epitome of sunshine and energy.
“Hello, Leila,” I respond. “Nice to talk to you this early in the morning,” I speculate while looking at my dashboard clock. It reads a quarter past six. Now that it’s officially fall, the days are beginning earlier, so the sun is just barely rising through the sky.
“Yeah, well. The damn principal chose not to let us know that our school was out of power until just a few minutes ago. I guess something knocked it out over the weekend and they haven’t been able to get it back up,” she muttered, loud enough so I could hear.
“Would’ve been nice to know earlier. I could’ve slept in! ”
“Maybe he didn’t know it wouldn’t be back on yet?”
“Whatever, I’m still annoyed to be awake. It’s fine though, I have things I can work on from home today. Anyway, are you free today for lunch? Cause I am in dire need of some Whitney time.”
Furrowing my eyebrows, I try to picture my schedule for the day. I wish I could just grab my planner and see what my day looks like, but driving while talking on the phone while searching through your daily events doesn’t exactly scream safe.
“This is kind of short notice, and today’s kind of rough. The new boss is starting today, so I’m not sure, I’ll have to double check my schedule. But I’m driving right now, so I can’t look. I’ll call you back when I get to the office,” I tell her.
Leila groans on the other end. “Please, Whitney? I’ll be going stir-crazy by the time lunch rolls around. I’m not used to being cooped up in the house for that long. Not to mention, I’m already frazzled knowing these parent-teacher conferences are right around the corner.”
I can’t help but laugh. Leila has been amping herself up for these conferences for the last few weeks.
She still has a few weeks to go before she has to meet with parents, but she is just as organized as I am sometimes.
She is already thinking ahead about what she will say about each of her students—the good ones and the bad.
This is always her least favorite time of the school year.
“Where do you want to meet?” I ask.
She grumbles, “JTs? I’m dying for a chicken Caesar wrap.”
Sighing, I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there.” She says goodbye and then disconnects the line.
I pull into the parking garage of our building and show the guard my badge. Then, I carefully park in my designated spot. It has my name painted on it and everything.
Reserved for Whitney Palmer.
I get out of my car, grab all my junk, and start my trek across the lobby to the elevators.
I work on the eleventh floor, right next to the CEO’s office.
Our building used to be a hotel before they completely renovated it.
The building had undeniable classic charm when the company bought it—way before I had joined the team—but it was dated and not at all safe for normal business usage.
After doing a complete gut-job, the building was now sleek and modern on the inside, but still maintained the historic architecture that it used to have.
I walk into the elevator and click the button for the eleventh floor, where the CEO’s office and my desk space reside. Nexus maintains the top three floors of this building, and rents out all the others to other companies.
“Good morning, Charlotte,” I greet our secretary, who also is stationed on the eleventh floor. She greets me with a cheeky grin.
“Well, hi there, Whitney, you’re here awfully early,” Charlotte speculates. I give her a noncommittal shrug.
“Today’s a big day. I have to have everything ready for Mr. Hurst when he arrives. Have you heard when he’s expected to be here?”
Charlotte flips through her big book of notes that she has sitting front and center on her desk. She is diligent in writing down every little detail, so nothing gets forgotten. She scans her most recent notes and taps her long, painted finger on her chin.
“I got a message that he’ll be in around eight-thirty,” she informs me.
Letting out a sigh I’m not aware I am holding, I smile and thank her before heading to my desk. Mine is, of course, right outside the door of the boss’s enclosed room.
I set down all my stuff and then arrange it the way I prefer. Carefully sitting down in my swivel chair, I boot up my desktop and sync my phone to the calendar so nothing gets lost from any work I finished on my own last night.
I have a bit of time still until Mr. Hurst shows up, so I click on my email and log in, hoping to get to work. As soon as my email is loaded up, I see the little red icon indicating I have a new unread message.
Narrowing my eyes, I click on it, only to see an email from Mr. Hurst’s previous assistant at his old office over in London.
As I look closer and scrutinize the words written on the screen, it becomes clear that she created an entire profile on Mr. Hurst for me, including a list of all of his likes and dislikes.
Bless her heart! This will make my life as his new assistant so much easier.
I scroll down and commit every little detail to memory as best as I can.
Heaven knows how much time she saved me by forwarding this.
Now I won’t need to figure out his preferences the hard way—trial and error.
I try my hardest not to wince when she notes that he can be disorganized sometimes and that he likes to close himself off when he gets too stressed out.
Being an assistant is not always an easy job.
I’ve learned that business moguls can be high maintenance and can switch moods at the drop of a hat.
It is always a good thing when you know exactly what they like and don’t like or how they respond when the stakes are high.
After working for Mr. Peterson for so long, I had his entire personality down pat.
I could tell when we would have a good day versus just an ‘okay’ day, based on the way he would saunter down the hallway to his office.
And on those ‘okay’ days, I took it upon myself to find ways to turn it back into a great day.
But now, I’m starting all over again. Thankfully, this cheat sheet will give me a bit of a head start, but I know I still have a lot of work to do.