Chapter 3
It was a Friday, the last day of Emma’s trial period. By 3:00 P.M. she was called into Mr. Limerick’s office. This time, there was no need for her to sit in the waiting room. Mr. Limerick was already at the door, to welcome her.
“Please come in.” He said, his voice sounded deeper than usual.
Emma followed him in and sat down on the same red chair.
“Coffee?” He asked.
“Actually. Yes. That would be great.”
He nodded and grabbed a cup off the back counter, and handed it to her.
Emma took a sip and forced herself not to grimace. It was bitter and tasteless. Still, she drank it, she desperately needed the caffeine boost. If only she had a decent coffee maker at home. She could just make herself a coffee in the morning and bring it in. Maybe she should consider investing in one…
“I’m sure you’re aware of why I called you in here today.”
Emma nodded in response. “Unfortunately, we won’t be able to offer you the marketing job that you originally applied for. However, after seeing your organization, attention to detail, and painstaking commitment we would like to offer you a job as a personal assistant –”
“A personal assistant?” Emma spat out before she could stop herself. The title alone seemed like an insult to her skills. She did not spend six years in college to become someone’s assistant. She looked ready to barge out of the room.
“Yes, Mr. Matthews is looking for a personal assistant. As you may know, he’s the owner of the company and the CEO. His last assistant retired about a month ago.” He explained.
Emma sat back in her seat, floored. Why would the CEO want her, someone he had never met before, to be his personal assistant? It seemed a bit fishy.
“Your salary would actually be higher than what it would’ve been had you gotten the marketing job. You will, however, be obligated to work outside the normal working hours. All of this will, of course, be compensated at an overtime rate.” He added in to sweeten the deal.
Emma sat there, her posture rigid, her fingers dug into the flesh of her knee. She bit the inside of her lip, while she went through her options.. “Can I have some time to think about it?”
“While you don’t have to give us an answer right now, Mr. Matthews would like to be informed by tomorrow morning.” Emma nodded. “If we don’t hear from you by then, we’ll assume you forfeit the opportunity.” Mr. Limerick’s words sounded robotic and scripted, almost like an answering machine. Emma felt a sense of déjà vu flood her body as she nodded once again.
“Okay. You’ll have my answer in the morning.”
“Not a problem. Please send me an email by 9:00am tomorrow. If you do agree, we hope to see you back here on Monday.” He told her. Emma gave another nod before she got up. She shook his hand for what felt like the last time before she left the room.
◆◆◆
When Emma got home, her mind was in a rush. Throughout her bus ride, all she could think about was Mr. Matthews. From what she had read about him, he was supposedly a genius. He had graduated summa cum laude from Harvard Business School. He had various published books under his belt. And now in his mid-thirties, he successfully orchestrated a multi-billion-dollar company. A lot of online sources had described him as brilliant, but no matter how much research Emma did, she couldn’t get a sense of who he was as a person. She didn’t even know what he looked like. Most of his pictures obscured his face, it made it hard to find a characteristic to define him. It was like he was a different man in each article, he was impossible to pin down.
To push these thoughts from her mind, she plopped onto her couch, and let eyes close. She was exhausted after a long day at work and all she wanted was to go to sleep. Her mind, however, worked overtime, as it tried to understand all her options. In the end, she grabbed her phone and called her mom.
She heard the dial tone echo in her ears as she laid down, her long curly hair fell along the side of the couch, it nearly brushed against the green carpet that desperately needed to be vacuumed. Emma kicked off her heels, and let them drop to the ground as she dangled her feet off the edge of the couch.
“Hello?” Her mother’s sweet voice came through the line.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh! Emma! I thought it was you.”
“Mom, you have caller ID, my name comes up on the screen.” Emma chuckled at her mother’s constant struggle with technology.
“I didn’t have my glasses on.”
“Are they on top of your head?”
There was a pause followed by a muffled noise on the other end of the line.
“Well, what would you know? They were.” She laughed. “Heavens, I’m losing my mind.”
“Don’t say that,” Emma whispered. The thought of her mother’s advanced age bothered her at times. Her mother was her best friend and the thought of her aging was one of her biggest fears. She didn’t even want to think about the day when she might lose her forever. “You’re still as strong and healthy as ever!”
The older woman laughed through the line, the sound was sweet and pure. “Sure. Sure.” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth before she continued. “So is there a particular reason why you called?”
“Actually… I have something I wanted to talk to you about. Or rather I want your advice on.” Emma felt a little anxious as she lay on the couch. Whenever she was nervous, she couldn’t sit still. So she got up and moved into the kitchen. She rummaged through the cabinets for something to dull the knot in her stomach. She wasn’t sure whether she was hungry or if the weight of her decision caused her to stress out.
“Go on, dear.”
Emma hesitated, and grabbed her step stool. “One sec.” She put the phone down and clambered onto the counter, to grab a box of cookies. She smiled. She had completely forgotten she had bought these on a late-night binge trip to the mini mart down the street. She sat on the counter as her legs swung back and forth; she opened the box and nibbled on the end of a cookie before she turned on the speaker phone. “Okay. Sorry. I got hungry.”
“I can hear that. It’s almost six. You’ll spoil your appetite with those cookies.”
“How did you know it was cookies?” Emma asked, as she wondered how her mom always seemed to possess this sort of telepathy whenever Emma did something “wrong.”
“A mother always knows.” She laughed. “Anyways, what’s on your mind sweetie?”
“You know how I told you I was applying for a new job?”
“Did you get it?” Her mother inquired, excited.
“Not exactly. So, I applied for a marketing position and I’ve been working for the past two weeks in a trial period. But today, they told me I didn’t get it.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“But they did offer me a job as a personal assistant for the CEO.” Emma grabbed another cookie and began to nibble on it slowly, to savor the taste as the back of her feet banged against the cabinet, they maintained a steady tempo.
“And what are your thoughts on that?” Her mom asked.
“I don’t think I want to do it. I didn’t go to school for so long to be an assistant.” She pointed out.
“I can understand where you’re coming from, but have you stopped to consider what a relationship with a CEO might do for you?”
“A relationship?’
“No, not like that.” Her mom clarified with a chuckle. “I mean in the professional sense. Sometimes, it’s not the degree that will get you a job. Sometimes, it’s the connections that you make. The people you know.”
“It still doesn’t feel right. I don’t know if I can be a personal assistant. I don’t want to go around, getting some hotshot his coffee every day.” Emma was instantly reminded of her coffee thief. She never did figure out who he was. If she continued to work at Mayflower, maybe she would uncover his identity.
“Being a personal assistant is more than that I would think.” Her mom pointed out, in an attempt to be optimistic.
“Oh. Sorry. I get to bring him coffee and answer his calls.” Emma rolled her eyes.
“I think you should give it a chance. Besides, if you don’t take it, do you have any other options? Are there any other openings?”
Emma bit her lip. This was one of the main problems. The job market was practically nonexistent. If she didn’t take this job, she would find herself unemployed for god knows how long and she couldn’t risk that with rent to pay. “No…”
“Well, there you go. Take the job. If you don’t like it, you can always try to find something else. But if it does work out, you can use it to climb the corporate ladder.”
“Thanks, mom.”
“Of course. Now, I should get going. I have a pot roast in the oven that needs to be tended to. And you get some real food, you hear me?” She chided Emma playfully.
“Okay, mom.” She hung up the phone, but not before she grabbed another handful of cookies and put the box away. She padded back into the living room, and turned on the TV. Emma thought that she should shower and get out of her clothes before they wrinkled, but she just didn’t have the energy. At the back of her mind, she thought about the email she had to send before morning. She should probably send it sooner rather than later, but she hadn’t made up her mind yet. She would just sleep on it, wake up early, and send it then.
Feeling satisfied with her decision, she flicked through the channels, eventually she settled on a documentary about the Persian Empire. The narrator’s voice was dull and lifeless as he recounted various historical facts while images flashed across the screen. Occasionally, experts would show up and give their opinion on the topic. Emma wondered how someone got a job like that. Where did someone fill out an application to be a documentary expert?
Eventually, she fell asleep on the couch, her last cookie fell from her hand and onto the carpet, it only added to the crumbs that were already scattered over the thick fibers. As she slept, she eased into the world of dreams where the coffee thief had once again snatched up her precious cup of Joe.
He stood there in his beige suit. He had his back to her as he looked up at the chalkboard menu, even though he obviously had no intention to order anything. He eyed Emma who had grabbed her sugar, and waited for her coffee. He subtly admired her out of the corner of his eye, but in that moment Emma looked up and their gazes locked.
The tension between them heightened and the world around them seemed to stop. “You aren’t getting it this time,” Emma told him, determined to get her coffee and run. The man just smiled at her, his eyes twinkled.
“Don’t be so sure.” He whispered. Suddenly, the whole coffee shop was empty. They were the only two people left. Even the baristas had disappeared. They squared off, the cup of coffee equidistant between them. Their fingers flexed by their sides, ready to pounce at any moment.
“Try me.” Emma challenged. Her fingers clutched the sugar packets as she kept her eyes locked on the man in front of her. Even though he was so close, his face was cloaked in shadows; they made it impossible for her to get a good look at him.
Suddenly, a car horn sounded outside. Emma unconsciously looked up, to peer through the glass door. The moment she looked back at her coffee, it was gone and the man had flown out of the shop, but this time, Emma was determined to catch him. She flew forward to grab his suit and yank him backward. The man fell, the cup dropped. Emma dove for it, and caught it before a drop could be spilled.
Victorious, she took a sip, and finally tasted the richness of her Columbian blend.