Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I can’t help but think I drew the short straw ending up here. The CFO is based in New York, and one of my counterparts is doing his stint as project manager there and has his own office. The director of compliance is based there too. Why I got shuffled halfway around the world remains to be seen. I’m sure some people would think working so closely with the CEO is a better gig, but it feels like the stakes are too high for comfort.
“How’s the hotel?” Gail asks from where she sits opposite me. I’ve only known Gail, executive assistant to Mr. Jenkins, for a day, but I like her already. She’s in her mid-forties, and both today and yesterday wore a headband color-coordinated to her outfit. You gotta respect someone who matches their headband to their shoes.
“Good,” I reply. “They upgraded my room, so that’s nice.”
“So nice.” She pauses, but I get the impression she’s got more to say. Frankly, I’m here for it. Anything to take my mind off my meeting with the boss at eight. “Am I right in thinking there’s a convention on there at the moment?”
I laugh. “Daniel De Luca. Yeah. Can’t miss it. There are life-sized cardboard cutouts of him everywhere.”
Her eyes grow wide like she wishes she had a life-sized cardboard cutout of him next to her right now. “Are you a fan?” she asks. “I do hope so. I read about the conference, and when it came to booking you in somewhere close by, it seemed like a good idea. Less so if you hate him.”
Honestly, if I’d known about the convention before I arrived, I would have probably tried to get the booking transferred to another hotel. There are so many memories of my mom wrapped up with him and his movies. To stay on track, moving forward, I’ve spent years avoiding things I thought would bring me pain. But now? I’m pleased I’m there. Remembering my mom so vividly and often isn’t as painful as I expected.
“Yeah, I’m a fan. I’ve got a lot of happy memories of watching his movies,” I reply. “I was totally in love with him when I was a teen.”
Gail gives me a goofy grin. I’d put money on that she’d be squealing right about now if we weren’t at work. “Me too. Except I still think he’s wonderful.”
I smile at Gail, getting giddy.
“You know, we have a very important client who looks a little like Daniel De Luca.” She looks wistfully into the middle distance, like she’s traveled back to a time where women swooned. Maybe it’s an English thing, and she has a ready supply of smelling salts stashed in her drawer for when she actually faints. “He actually owns the building and has offices on the top floor. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of him crossing the lobby, and every now and again he pops in to see Mr. Jenkins.”
Is she talking about Ben, or is there more than one Daniel De Luca doppelgänger in this city? Before I can ask her more about the object of her swooning, the elevator doors ping. In a Pavlovian response, Gail pulls her shoulders back and straightens in her seat.
“Gail,” a man yells as he rounds the corner, waving a folded-up newspaper.
“James,” Gail responds, leaping to her feet as he reaches her desk.
Mr. Jenkins, I presume.
“Bloody traffic is a nightmare on Piccadilly. I’ve had to walk and it’s just starting to rain.” He sweeps a hand across his balding head as Gail rounds her desk and helps him out of his coat.
“We’ve got Tuesday with us today,” Gail says.
I stand and feel suddenly awkward and very American. How do Brits greet each other in the office?
He turns to me, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Gail obviously catches his bewilderment and adds, “The new project manager from the New York office, Tuesday Reynolds.”
I hold out my hand and he shakes it firmly. “I’m very pleased to be here and excited about being able to be of assistance.”
“Very good, and what do I call you?” he asks.
I smile. “I answer to most things, but Tuesday is what most people settle on.”
“Like Wednesday?” he asks. “Just a day earlier?”
“Exactly.” I press my lips together to stop myself from smiling. I don’t want to offend anyone on my second day, but Mr. Jenkins is funny and I’m not sure if it’s intentional.
He narrows his eyes like he’s not sure whether he’s entirely convinced. “Righty-oh. We have a meeting.” He thrusts out his arm, revealing his watch, sharply bends it at the elbow and takes in the time. “Gail, please get us some coffee. We’ll start early. We have a lot to get through. Follow me, Tuesday.”
In my experience, the more senior to you the person you’re meeting with is, the longer you’re kept waiting. But things with Mr. Jenkins don’t seem to work like that. Maybe it’s a British thing. Maybe this is why he’s the CEO. I scramble for a pen and my notebook and follow him into his office.