Discipline and Accountability

Regrettably, I am not the most dangerous CEO in the world.

I am merely successful.

I have a corner office in Manhattan, a recognizable industry name, and the kind of schedule that devours entire weeks without apology. I own tailored suits that cost more than most people’s rent, drink coffee that somebody else always places on my desk, and spend so much time working that the office lights feel more familiar than my own apartment.

I am also exactly the sort of man who needs a personal secretary. Until recently, I had Linda. Then her spectacularly chaotic personal life finally detonated across the workplace hard enough to become impossible to ignore. That leaves me with a vacancy at the worst possible moment imaginable.

The Italian delegation arrives in two weeks for negotiations surrounding a patent acquisition worth an obscene amount of money. They always arrive with impossibly polished assistants and beautiful translator girls who glide through meetings like they own the room. I would rather swallow broken glass than look disorganized in front of them.

So, yes, my suddenly secretary-less office becomes a matter of pride. HR delivers six candidates. Five of them irritate me within minutes. Then there is Becky Winthrop. Twenty-four years old. Thin resume. Sparse corporate experience. Rural background. Remote work history.

On paper, she is the weakest candidate in the room. And yet, the moment she sits across from me during the interview, something about her lingers in my thoughts. Not beauty, though she certainly possesses that. It is something quieter. A softness in the way she listens. A careful intelligence behind her nervous smile. An instinct. I have built an empire by trusting instinct.

So I hire her. Now it is her first day. I arrive at the office earlier than usual, expecting silence. Instead, I find Becky already seated at the reception desk outside my office.

Morning sunlight spills across the polished floor and catches in the chestnut waves of her hair. She has pulled most of it back neatly, though a few loose strands frame her face in a way that softens her already delicate features. She wears a cream-colored blouse tucked into a dark pencil skirt, modest but flattering, the fabric hugging her slim figure just enough to suggest the graceful lines beneath.

She is staring intently at her phone. The moment she notices me approaching, she jolts upright and hurriedly sets it aside.

“Good morning, Mr. Erosapostasia,” she says.

Her smile is slightly awkward, uncertain around the edges.

I stop beside her desk.

“Please, Becky. Call me Ero.”

She blinks, visibly surprised.

“Oh. Okay.”

A small laugh escapes her.

“Thank you, Ero. That’s really nice of you to say.”

She rises quickly, smoothing nervous hands down the front of her skirt.

“I want you to know how grateful I am for this opportunity,” she continues. “Working here is a really big step for me, and I’m determined to do my absolute best.”

Her voice is warm and melodic, soft enough that I have to pay attention to hear every word.

“I mean that,” she says. “I want to support you however I can.”

As she speaks, her hands flutter anxiously at her sides. Her large brown eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment before darting away again.

“Is there anything specific you’d like me to start on today?” she asks. “I’m eager to get settled in and prove myself useful.”

I study her for a moment.

“Tell me a little about yourself, Becky.”

She straightens slightly.

“What’s your five-year plan? Do you want to be a secretary forever? What are your hopes? Your fears?”

Becky inhales slowly before sitting back down.

“Well,” she says carefully, “I don’t really have everything mapped out perfectly.”

She smiles self-consciously.

“But this job feels important to me.”

There is honesty in her expression now.

“Growing up in the country kept me pretty isolated,” she admits. “Online school, remote jobs... it was safe, but lonely too.”

Her fingers twist together in her lap.

“So I think my biggest hope is that working here helps me become more confident. More connected.”

She glances toward the windows overlooking Manhattan.

“I want to learn how to exist in the world instead of hiding from it.”

Something about the sincerity in her voice catches me off guard.

“As for the future,” she continues, “I guess I see this as a chance to expand my skills and experiences. I don’t know exactly where that leads yet.”

I nod once.

“Fair answer.”

Then I slide a stack of folders across the desk toward her.

“Here are five assignments. No instructions. I want to see how you handle yourself.”

Her eyes widen slightly.

“I’ve got a patent draft I need to finish today,” I continue. “Hold my calls. Do not interrupt me unless the building is on fire.”

To be continued in chapter 2...