Her new employer had delivered a thick packet to her on Friday, and she had skimmed through it. But, like college had been, Sophia assumed she was smart enough to sort of skate through the first few days and then supplement her knowledge with the reading material as she progressed. She had the packet in her bag, though, just in case.
The expensive, shiny-tiled lobby inside the building was all busy-busy. She noticed women dressed like herself—women with power haircuts and horn-rimmed glasses who seemed to have important jobs that needed lots of important attention—and was pleased with her wardrobe.
Everyone was in a rush. Sophia had to take a moment to familiarize herself with the layout—there were three different sets of elevators, all going to specific ranges of floors. Her floor was the sixtieth.
Inside the golden elevator, she was alone, free to close her eyes and try not to think about how very high up she was going. Heights didn’t give her trouble, but anyone traveling more than five hundred feet up had to start considering the long fall down.
The elevator doors opened right into the office of Sand Enterprises. She stepped out and was immediately greeted by a matronly redheaded woman behind a blue, circular receptionist’s desk.
“Hello!” she said with a smile. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” said Sophia. “I’m starting my new job today.” She shrugged. “I’m uh, not quite sure what to do or where to go!”
She put on what she hoped was a disarming smile. The receptionist reacted warmly, standing up.
“You must be Sophia.”
“That’s me. Hi. Are you Julie?”
They had talked on the phone. Julie had been the one, in fact, to inform Sophia that she had gotten the job.
“I am!”
Sophia liked Julie immediately. From the just-put-together bun of her hair, the easily-worn lines on her face from her smiles, and the casual crocs she had on her feet, everything about her bespoke a sort of hearth-like comfort. She walked around the desk to shake Sophia’s hand. Her grip, while firm, was softened by comfortably well-moisturized hands.
“It’s so nice to meet you, dear. We’re so glad for the help. Mr. Sand is very happy to have someone besides poor old me doing all his work for him.”
“Oh, I see,” said Sophia, wanting to make sure that she actually did see. “I’m splitting your work up?”
Julie smiled and shook her head. “Not at all. He had a personal assistant a while back, but she took maternity leave, and then decided to quit to raise the child. He offered to pay for daycare and so on, he can be so generous like that, but nothing doing!” She laughed. “In any case, we’ve been scrambling around trying to find someone to fill the gap ever since.”
“So I am...I'm going to be the personal assistant to Gerald Sand?”
Pangs of anxiety suddenly attacked Sophia’s heart. No way.
“Yes, dear.”
“Gerald Sand, the billionaire Gerald Sand?”
“Of course, dear. Didn't they tell you?”
Slowly, Sophia shook her head.
“Oh my. Well,” Julie shrugged. “You know now, don't you?”
With wide eyes, Sophia nodded. “May I ask...how long ago was it? That the old personal assistant left?”
“Oh dear.” She put a finger to her mouth. “Something like six months ago, I suppose?”
Sophia raised an eyebrow in surprise as Julie beckoned for her to follow. They moved through the office at a reasonable clip, Julie calling out various segments of the office as they went—accounting, sales, site management, and so on.
What Julie wasn’t saying, Sophia got the feeling, was that Sophia was not the first personal assistant trying to do this job. Six months was too long of a time for her to be the very first person to have applied—too long for her to even be the second or third person to have been given a chance!
How long did it take Sand to decide that someone was any good or not? Weeks? Days?
Her thoughts latched on, instantly, to the barely-touched packet of information stashed in her bag that had apparently been critical for her to know.
Okay, she resolved. Read the whole packet tonight. Keep. This. Job!
She had no choice, really. She needed this job—to get rid of her debt, to start her in the professional world, to prove to herself that she could hang in a setting that wasn't academic—for an endless list of reasons, she needed to do well here. Her whole life needed it.
They approached steadily toward something that seemed unreal in the brisk business-oriented affairs of the office—a sort of black dome in the back-center of the whole open floor. In its front was a small door—a tall man would have to duck under the frame—and a simple nameplate, reading “Sand.”
“Your desk is here,” said Julie, stopping in front of the dome.
The desk was a small thing, maybe four feet across with two feet of depth. Not room for anything but a small tablet with an even smaller keyboard—placed there already—and an in/out box that was already overflowing with papers.
“As you can see, there’s quite a bit for you to catch up on.” Julie patted her on the shoulder. “Later on, I’ll make sure to show you how to enter everything into the database properly.”
Right behind her desk was the ominous dark cloud of Mr. Sand’s office. Sophia had to take a long, slow gulp just from looking at it. Her mind was still reeling from the fact of being the personal assistant to a billionaire. It reeled even more from the eccentric nature of his office.
Sand’s office was like an enormous opaque hemisphere inside the middle of the office. Sophia quickly reasoned that he could look out at any angle, and thanks to the tint of the windows, no one could look in. And still, no one was placed behind him, exactly, as he was in the very rear. Everyone was either just to the side or in front. It was the size of an entire floor of a lesser building all by itself, almost, taking up half the space of the floor they were on now.
“Come on,” said Julie. “I’ll show you around before we meet the big man.”
She led Sophia around to meet the other members of the small office—accounting, led by Bill and Carla; filing, led by Morgan and Kerri; sales, led by Fernando and Trent.
Everyone was very friendly. Sophia began to feel some measure of confidence as the day progressed and she met more people. But still, the way that everyone held such nervous caution in their eyes when she brought up the idea of being Sand’s assistant gripped her strangely.
She heard over and over: “Oh, you’re going to work with him?”
Or: “He’s certainly a particular man.”
Or: “I do hope it all works out.”
Not exactly heartening messages for the new employee to take with her! She felt like a soldier thrust into the front lines, all the lieutenants and captains chuckling behind her as she was tossed out into No Man’s Land.
Julie walked Sophia back to her desk in the maze-like office, and then suddenly, the door to Sand’s office opened.
“Coffee!” he demanded.
The door slammed. Sophia barely got a look at him—a suit and a dash of blond hair, and that was all.
Putting on a warm smile, Julie led Sophia over to the break room. There was a large black refrigerator built into the wall. All the appliances were, as a matter of fact—microwave, a toaster oven, a juicer and a sink, all intricate inlaid to match the dark, futuristically shiny surface of the small room.
“You seem nervous, dear,” said Julie.
Sophia nodded, smiling. “I am a bit.”
“Try to hide it, if you can. He doesn’t...respond well, to nervousness. He takes it as a sign of incompetence.”
Sophia half-smiled, half-frowned. “I appreciate you trying to help, but...that sort of just makes me more nervous.”
Julie gave her a knowing look. “Just imagine if you heard that from him instead of me.”
“Right,” said Sophia, beginning her search through the drawers for a cup. “Good point.”
Julie leaned in and opened th
e shelf behind Sophia, pulling out a plain black mug.
“This is his. Wash it regularly. He takes three cups a day, four hours apart.”
“He works twelve hour days?”
“Yes, dear. And from now on, you work twelve hour days, unless he sends you home early.”
Sophia’s eyes were a bit wide. “Right.”
Sheesh, she thought. No wonder the guy was a billionaire.
Julie held up a metal pitcher with an odd plunger inside of it.
“Do you know how to work a French press?”
“No,” said Sophia quickly. “Once, I learned how to work a Russian one, but that was a long time ago and I was a bit drunk.”
Julie looked puzzled. “A Russian press?”
Sophia grimaced. “Sorry. Bad joke.”
“Ah. I’ve had my share.” Julie smiled now, laughing a bit. “’Russian press.’ Of course.”
Over the course of the next ten minutes, Julie showed her the process of adding the grind, the water, and setting the temperature just right. It was not so hard—and made much better-smelling coffee than what Sophia was used to.
“Can you take it from here?”
“Yes,” said Sophia, hands on her hips. “Yes. I can make his coffee, at least.”
Julie smiled and left her to it.
Within short order, Sophia was walking across the office with the coffee in her hand, careful not spill a drop.
Inside of Sand's office it was cold—easily ten degrees cooler than it was outside. Right beyond the door was a long, wide sort of lounge area with couches and a few ornately carved cabinets—full of liquor, perhaps, or whatever else billionaires might have. Jokes about millionaires, maybe. Incriminating photos of politicians. Fifth century coin collections.
At the far end of the office was Sand's desk—which appeared to be the stump of a redwood tree, sanded down and carved so that he could sit in the middle of it.
It was clearly a desk meant to inspire awe—and that's certainly what Sophia felt, looking at it.
Sand stood behind his enormous desk, his jacket lounging on the rack behind him, with his sleeves rolled up. He paced as he spoke into a cordless phone.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. No. No. Yes. Yes. Take it out, then. No. Yes...no. Maybe. Check with Dan.”
A staccato of responses, like he was keeping rhythm with some kind of dancing machine.
Sophia had to take a moment to absorb just how handsome he was. Even in the cold environment of the office, she felt a strong heat flowing up through her young body from looking at him. He was perhaps forty—maybe a little older or a little younger. His form was neat, compact—his face handsome and severe. His nose was bent in places, as if it had been broken in the past, but it only added to the rugged lines of his face with his square jaw and burgeoning dark-blonde beard. His eyes, dark and blue, hotly punctuated the enjoyable story of his face.
This is what a billion dollars looks like, though Sophia. Lots and lots of billions of dollars. She didn’t know how many exactly, but she knew he was listed in the top twenty billionaires regularly.
Wow. She could barely even process the number of one billion.
The only way that she could even begin to conceive of how many dollars he had was to imagine every grain of salt in the ocean, piled up in a wall...stretching, maybe, from one end of the continent to the other. Maybe even a few times.
Running through responses on the phone, he looked as though he had not smiled in a long time, and strangely Sophia felt herself wanting to make him smile. She could not help but want, impulsively, to make his mood improve.
He stopped for a moment, clearly roaming his eyes over Sophia’s figure as she stood in front of him. She felt very aware of the curve of her generous breasts, the tightness of her pants and how much of her hips and ass were hugged by the fabric. He grabbed the coffee nonchalantly and took a sip, made a face, and swallowed.
He covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “I take my coffee with one sugar, no cream.”
“Okay,” she said brightly. “I make sure to do that from now on. I can take it back and make you another?”
“No.” He sipped at it again, clearly not enjoying it. “You’ll do it right the first time, or nothing. I don’t want second attempts at anything, yes?”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“There’s a report on your desk—it’s labeled the October Entrance Project. I need you to look at it for any errors and then bring it back to me.”
“Errors?”
He had been about to respond to something on the phone, removing his hand from the mouthpiece.
“Proofread it.”
Sophia nodded.
“No, Alan, not you. I’m dealing with a new girl. Yes, another one.”
Oh, god. Even Alan knew he had a lot of assistants rolling through—whoever Alan was, anyway. Sophia felt like she was the only one not in on the joke.
It didn’t matter. Soon enough, they would all accept her. It just took time and effort, and she could give both.
Outside the all-seeing office, she searched her desk’s in-box for the document he had requested. It took her only a moment to find them. After five more minutes, she had finished proofing them, and brought them back in, please with her results. She felt well-fitted for the role of proofreader—if a degree in liberal arts had taught her anything, it was to read often and read well.
Standing up in front of his desk now, Sand took the papers with a frown immediately forming on his face.
“This is paper-clipped,” he said calmly. “Why?”
She didn’t understand the question. “I’m sorry?”
“Why is this paper-clipped?”
Resisting the urge to explain that what he said was the same question in a different form, she stumbled out an answer.
“Oh. I thought they needed to be together. So I paper-clipped them.”
“We use staples in this office. Paper clips are extraneous tools for fools who cannot do things correctly the first time.”
“I see.”
“And...” he raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?”
He pointed a finger at the tail-end of a sentence. “This. Here. What’s this?”
Sophia peered at where he pointed. “An oxford comma?”
She hadn’t bothered to really consider it—there were no other instances in the forms where it might have been needed, and she had always judged the usage of the mark on consistency.
“Yes. I want none of them in my office. They are extraneous wastes of ink. Do you have any idea how many commas we’re asked to print every day?” He paused, clearly a bit exasperated. “That’s three things you’ve gotten wrong already. This information, all of it, was in your introductory packet. Didn’t you read it?”
A blush, long and red, had started its crawl up Sophia’s chest to her face. “I did. I mean, you know, some.”
“Which is it? Some? Or did? They are not the same.”
“Oh, well—”
His voice picked up in intensity. “Because if it is some, that means this job is not important enough to you for you to be prepared. And if you did read it, and still do not know these simple procedures, then you are not really of the ... intelligence, if that’s what we can call it, that your test scores might suggest. Which suggests to me that you’ve obfuscated the truth somehow on your resume.”
For some reason, Sophia suddenly imagined Julie behind her, shaking her head and whispering, “Oh, dear.”
Sophia brought her hands together. “Mr. Sand, I’m so sorry, I really am. I—”
She could see already that her apology was only making him angrier. He wanted results, not words.
Changing tactics, she said, “I’ll spend all of my lunch today reviewing the packet. I should not have come in unprepared. I had pressing responsibilities at home that affected the amount of time I was able to dedicate to it, and I had thought, incorrectly I realize now, that there would be a longer
sort of orientation period. But now that I understand your expectations, I will rearrange my priorities accordingly.”
It was impossible to tell if the answer pleased him. It seemed to, at the least, not to continue his wrath. He turned away from her, walking back behind his gargantuan desk.
“Very well. See that you do. I do not tolerate mistakes, here. You are lucky that you are new, and that you have plenty of other...” he paused, obviously looking her up and down once more. “...other aesthetic qualities, of which I am sure you are aware. They may have gotten you far in life this far. Do not expect them to give you much more in the way of grace here.”
Chapter 3
Elle was completely aghast. “He didn’t!”
“He did,” said Sophia. “He absolutely did. He just sized me up like a piece of meat and commented on how I had soooo many 'aesthetic qualities,'” she made the quotes in the air, “and that I was lucky I did, otherwise I wouldn’t have a job.”
The two friends were at lunch in a small diner across from the Johnson Chrome Building. Sophia had a whole hour to catch up with Elle, and then study her packet—thankfully stashed away in her bag.
Elle’s big blue eyes were wide. “I mean...he’s not exactly wrong about you being totally hot, but still. Ew.”
“No, he’s not wrong, that’s not the point.”
They both shared a quick laugh at Sophia’s admission of her looks. It was a joke between them, sometimes, tracking how many men were staring, and at what. Sophia's face, beautiful as it was, rested in a naturally sultry manner, and her legs went on for days.
Meanwhile, Elle's dance-ready fae-like body was tiny, though her eye-popping proportions meant her thick hair and curvaceous hips and bust stood out even more than they would have on a larger woman. So, were men trying to catch a peek down Elle’s outrageous bust, or were they filing away Sophia’s sultry expressions and hot legs in their to-jack file?
Elle was Sophia's best friend, and had been since they started rooming together at college. Elle had pursued a career in dancing, and had a position with a local company since her junior year—for which Sophia was endlessly jealous.
Still, Sophia was open about her envy of Elle's steady job with her friend, and she certainly never thought Elle didn't deserve the job. Sophia certainly didn't want to have to perform on stage for a living. But steady, regular creative work! What a dream that would be for someone who worked as hard as Sophia!
In Service To The Billionaire Page 2
