“No, I’m afraid not. We’re an international trade company with holdings…” His voice trailed off as his jaw went slack. “Wait… Are you saying you have no idea who I am? No idea at all?”
“I’m sorry.” She could barely speak with her tongue sticking to her bone-dry mouth. “The recruiter just said you were in the Town Center Economic Tower, on the top floor.”
“Yes,” he said, shaking his head with obvious exasperation. “That’s because we, or I, own the tower. I’m the chairman of Gherring Inc.” He sat back as if waiting for the information to sink in.
She wondered how she should respond. He was obviously waiting for her to fawn on him. He must be accustomed to the attention and adulation that came with his position. Strangely, she felt more in control when she realized he wanted something she could choose to give or withhold.
“Nice to meet you, again, Mr. Gherring.” She gave him her best sarcastic smile. “You’ve probably heard of me as well. Anne Best? Sole owner of a 2,500 square foot home in Weatherford, Texas?”
Gherring’s eyes opened wide as he considered her.
“You’re not what I expected, Ms. Best.”
“Neither are you, Mr. Gherring!” She clapped her hand over her mouth. What was wrong with her today? She’d lost control twice. Something about this man rubbed her the wrong way.
She remembered the advice she’d gotten about speaking when you’re nervous—imagine your audience in their underwear. She gave it a try. Ohmygosh! Bad idea! This man would look amazing clad solely in underwear. The image filled her mind and refused to go away. Immediately, Anne felt flushed. She grabbed the water glass and gulped rapidly, but choked and started coughing.
Gherring’s stern expression changed to concern. “Are you alright, Ms. Best?”
She nodded furiously, her eyes watering. She tried to think of Steven Gherring in an Eskimo suit, so the underwear image wouldn’t sneak back into her head.
“Let’s talk about your qualifications for this job. You have a B.A. in chemistry, and you worked part time as a travel agent. Hmmm….” He stared at her resume. Then he flipped the single page over to see the blank backside. “You don’t seem to have any actual experience as a personal executive assistant. Am I missing something, Ms. Best?”
Again, her temper flared, and she glared at Gherring.
“If a personal executive assistant is someone who organizes someone’s life and work, acquires all the needed tools and supplies, keeps the person’s schedule, finds calm in the midst of chaos, and works countless hours in a thankless job… what you really need is a mother, and I have twenty-three years of experience!”
A painful silence fell on the room. She attempted to maintain her fiercely confident expression, but her eyes quickly fell away from his surprised scrutiny. She thought of all the things she could have said—should have said. Why hadn’t she pointed out that her research w
ork demonstrated her independent thinking and aptitude for learning? Why hadn’t she explained how her education and work experience made her more than qualified to be an executive assistant? But once again, she’d let her temper rule over her common sense. This was not like her. She was always calm, always a rock. No one and nothing got her flustered. There was no emergency she couldn’t handle. Why was she losing her composure now?
Finally, Gherring broke the silence.
“Ms. Best,” he spoke in a deliberate voice, while the corners of his mouth hinted at a smile. “You make an interesting argument. Perhaps you’re just what I need. It might be an absolute disaster. But somehow, I think I’d always wonder what would’ve happened if I didn’t give you a try. You’ll begin in two weeks on Monday at eight a.m. sharp. There will be a three-month trial period. Please talk to Ms. Carson about the details. Thank you.”
Gherring immediately turned his attention to his laptop as he began to read and answer emails. Anne stood up, staring at him in shocked muteness. After several moments, Gherring looked up, his eyes locked with hers in a powerful gaze. He stood up unhurriedly, moving almost in slow motion. He leaned across the desk and reached out to touch her hand.
“Did you want to say something else, Ms. Best?”
Anne’s heart fluttered in response, and she jerked her hand away as if it’d been burned. “No… just… thank you. You won’t regret it!”
His chuckle followed her as she fled the room. She barely registered his last words.
“I hope you’re right.”
Weatherford
“Gandalf!” yelled a delighted voice amid the noise of a slamming door, falling backpack, loud barks, and strangled giggles. “Hey boy!” gasped the girl, who tussled on the floor with a huge, grey wolfhound. “Did you miss me? I missed you too.”
“What about me? Did you miss me?” Anne asked the girl who was still hugging the dog enthusiastically.
“Of course I missed you, Mom,” she laughed from the floor, “but you were too slow. Gandalf got to me first.”
“No fair,” exclaimed Anne. “He’s got better hearing than I do. And somehow, I think he knew you were coming. He’s been excited all day.” She gave the girl a hand up and pulled her into a bear hug. “Oh Charlotte, I’ve missed you so much. And I’ve got so much to tell you.”
“It’s ‘Charlie,’ Mom. You know everyone calls me Charlie.” Charlotte had changed her name to the more masculine form during high school. Now at twenty-two, she still preferred Charlie as her moniker.
“Sorry, sorry—it’s just so hard for me to remember. Although you look more like a ‘Charlie’ than a ‘Charlotte’ with your curls stuffed up into that baseball cap.” Anne snatched the cap from her head and playfully held it up over her head, while Charlie pushed back the loose brown curls that fell past her shoulders.