“It’s more about fearing failure, and losing my job would be failure. It would mean I’ve let down customers, employees, and the board of directors. Those are big demands, and I feel the pressure like everyone else.”
I’m blown away by his confession, especially his use of the word “fear.” I’ve known men I would have thought were like him, but none of them would share vulnerability with someone they knew well, let alone just met. “Do you enjoy that kind of pressure?”
“I’m sure it’s similar to you getting a big story as a journalist. We are both chasing success. Sometimes—often—that means getting past a problem. The positive outcome is the high. I need someone who isn’t afraid of the pressure or of me. And, as you have already guessed, some people are afraid of me.”
“Do they have a reason?”
“Why don’t you judge for yourself? And I do mean yourself, Ms. Miller.”
“I have a mind of my own.”
“You’ll have to if you want to stay in this position.”
That part of me craving security demands I confirm what he has just inferred. “Can I? I mean, is there a chance I can become more than a temp?”
“I wouldn’t have hired you if there wasn’t.”
“Circumstances forced you into hiring me.”
“I don’t let circumstances force me into anything,” he counters, and it’s much more comforting coming from him than from Terrance. “If I hadn’t been impressed with you,” he continues, “I would have insisted Dana cover until I picked a replacement.”
“I impressed you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That’s why,” he replies.
“What’s why?”
“You might fear being without a job, but it doesn’t stop you from being you or asking questions. And questions are good. They lead to answers. In fact, I’m interested in finding out what you think of the staff once you get done with the inquisitions I know are coming. We can compare notes when I get back.”
“To judge them or me?” I ask, the entire idea opening a barely sealed nerve ending. I’ve been judged, and I don’t like it.
“I simply want to know how our thoughts come together.”
“To assess my judgment.”
“To assess my judgment.”
His answer is unexpected. Everything about him is unexpected. “I’m not sure what to say to that.”
“Then don’t say anything. Just be you and I’ll be me and we will see if we like where that leads us.”
I swallow hard against the thickness in my throat. “Where that leads us?”
“Yes. Where that leads us.” And when I can easily imagine there is intimacy in those words, he shifts, leaving me dazed and confused. “Call me when you get to your desk tomorrow, Ms. Miller.”
“Wait,” I say, and I mean to ask about his prior assistant, but somehow I blurt, “What will your caller ID say when I call you?”
“I’m DW and you’re KM,” he replies.
I am surprised and pleased with this answer.
“Is that what you wanted to hear, Ms. Miller?”
“Yes,” I respond simply, hoping to discourage him from asking more questions, since I can’t answer what I don’t understand. I simply don’t want to be just a number or “the temp.”