P.S. You’re Intolerable (The Harder They Fall)

QUESTIONING HOW OR WHY I was hired would be looking a gift horse in the mouth, and I wasn’t about that life.

Three days after my interview, someone from human resources called to inform me I was to show up promptly at eight a.m. on Monday and would be shown the ropes by a woman named Davida.

I spent the ensuing three days gnawing on my nails and watching Liam walk in circles while claiming to be working on the kitchen.

He was always working on the kitchen. I’d witnessed this man erect an entire house in a matter of days, but when it came to the house I’d sunk my life savings into, he had no sense of urgency.

By the time Monday rolled around, I was crawling out of my skin. Nothing had changed in the kitchen except the piles of material shifting from one side to the other. Liam wouldn’t let me help, not even with the light stuff. I had never been someone who did well with being told what to do, but the bean in my belly required me to take a step back and at least try to relax.

I had a feeling I wouldn’t be doing much relaxing once I started working for Elliot.

Davida was a British woman in her fifties with a stunning silver bob and thick, dark-framed glasses. Her no-nonsense approach helped me slip into my own professional mode. I’d filled out paperwork over the weekend, so the only thing I had to do when I arrived was to get my picture taken by security for my badge before I was shown to my desk.

My desk sat outside Elliot’s door. It was so pristine I was afraid to touch it.

Davida ran through the basics of the computer system Levy Development used and showed me where to find my email address and calendar.

“Jeffrey and Elliot use the same calendar system. When I get back to my desk, I’ll email you Jeffrey’s so you can see an example of how it’s done right.”

Davida had informed me she had been working at LD for five years as Jeffery Meyers’s executive assistant, though she was familiar with Elliot’s needs since she’d helped out when he’d been between assistants.

“Is he often between assistants?” I asked.

Her shoulders tightened, and she hesitated to respond, which made my shoulders tighten. “Elliot is extremely exacting. He doesn’t tolerate anything half-assed. As long as you do things the way he wants, you don’t have to worry about your longevity.”

I smoothed my hair away from my face. “Well, I wasn’t worried about him firing me. I asked because I was curious about the turnover rate. Do people often leave—”

She held up her hand. “All you need to concern yourself with is the job you do. What other people have or haven’t done doesn’t affect you.”

She moved on without waiting for me to comment, making the switch to explaining Elliot’s schedule when something shifted in the air.

A hush fell over the already quiet space.

I raised my head from the computer, finding the cause coming toward us. Davida straightened as Elliot approached, his long strides eating up the space.

My new boss moved with efficient grace. His height and lean build had something to do with it, and the sharp cut of his tailored, charcoal-gray suit only added to his sharklike aura. He homed in on me behind my desk, and I was overcome with the sudden need to wipe my fingerprints from the gleaming surface.

“Good morning, Elliot,” Davida said with more cheer than she had shown me.

“Davida.” He nodded once. “Thank you for greeting Ms. Warner. I’ll handle the rest of her training.”

Davida smoothed her hands down the sides of her pencil skirt. “Of course. If there’s anything else I can do to help, I’ll—”

“I’ll let you know,” he stated.

At his clear dismissal, Davida gave my shoulder a perfunctory pat and made a swift exit to the opposite side of the executive floor.

Elliot waited until she was gone to shift his attention back to me. His assessing gaze raked over me, and I had to stop myself from tugging on the cuffs of my shirt to ensure my tattoos were fully covered. I knew they were, but the way he examined me ramped up my insecurities.

My button-down was black today. I’d ironed it at five this morning when I couldn’t sleep. Then I’d smoothed out the kinks in my rabidly unruly hair and painted my nails professional pink. I’d felt good about my appearance. Until Elliot Levy had stared me down.

Now, I just felt grubby and unkempt.

“Come into my office. We’ll talk about my daily expectations for you.” He swiveled around without waiting for a response. Scrambling to my feet, I followed, bringing a notepad and pen with me.

I took the same seat I had last week, poised to write down his instructions. I had to get this right not only for myself but for Liam and the bean.

Elliot took his time settling behind his desk then turned on his computer and maneuvered his mouse around, clicking several times. When he began typing, I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from reminding him of my presence.

Obviously, he knew I was there.

If this was a power play, it was silly. We both knew he held every drop of power in this room—this building—this city block. If he chose to make me sit here all day while he ignored me, at least my chair was comfy and the pay was decent.

After two or three minutes, he looked up. “Should I call you Ms. Warner, or will Catherine suffice?”

“Catherine’s fine. And you? Elliot or Mr. Levy?”

He threaded his fingers together on his desk. “Mr. Levy was my father. I prefer Elliot.”

I nodded. “Okay, Elliot.” I wobbled my pen between my fingers. “I’m ready when you are.”

“I want to be clear with you, Catherine. Working for me is not easy. I keep long hours, travel often, and won’t stop to check on your feelings.”

I remained unruffled. Professional Catherine never let her emotions show, even if it felt like I’d swallowed a bag of angry vipers on the inside.

“I have friends who care about my feelings.”

He huffed an almost laugh. “Good for you. I do as well.”

“That’s nice. Should I expect them to stop by the office?”

He paused midmovement and stared at me, his mouth partially open. “That’s interesting. None of my former assistants have ever asked me something like that.” He scratched his forehead. “Weston Aldrich and Luca Rossi. They stop by for lunch occasionally. Don’t be charmed by Luca. That’s a dead end.”

“I’m immune to charm,” I informed him.

“That must be helpful.” He moved his mouse, glancing at his computer screen. “Every morning, you’ll write my schedule down on paper. You’ll find the notebook I prefer you to use in the top drawer of your desk. Black ink, never blue.”

I scribbled down his instructions, self-conscious of my blue pen. What was wrong with blue ink?

“Should I not email your schedule? Davida said—”

“Email too,” he said shortly. “You’ll do better not to take advice from Davida on how I like things run. She knows how Jeffrey likes things, but she’s his assistant, not mine. And for a reason.”

“Does that mean I’m free to ask you questions if I need to?”

His jaw rippled. “We’ll meet like this every morning. If you have questions for me, this will be the time to ask them. My schedule doesn’t allow for deviation.”

No questions. Got it.

“I understand.” I nodded. “Just to be certain, you want me to handwrite your schedule as well as email it to you?”

“Yes. Is that too much for you?”

He asked this with such a cutting edge it was all I could do not to flinch. Just great. I was already getting on his nerves, and it was only day one.

“It isn’t. I don’t have a problem doing that.”

“What a relief,” he intoned. “Are you aware of what we do here at LD?”

“Yes.” I understood his business more than most probably did since my father was in the same line. “You develop properties and flip them or rent them.”

“To put it simply.” He clicked his mouse twice, and I wondered if this was his tell when he was annoyed.

I’d definitely oversimplified his company. According to the articles I’d read, Levy Development owned skyscrapers in nine countries and their profits were in the billions. They often acquired their properties by sliding in and purchasing in foreclosure auctions after the original developer went bankrupt.

“We’ll be traveling to Zurich next week. My travel arrangements have been made, but you’ll need to book your flight and room as soon as possible.”

This time, I wasn’t able to school my reaction. “I’ll be traveling with you?”

“Of course. You’re my assistant. Do you think I won’t need you assisting me simply because my location changes?”

I shook my head. “No. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You do have a passport, don’t you?”

“Yes.” My passport was one of my most prized possessions.

“Do you have a fear of flying?”

“No. Flying isn’t a problem.”

His chin lowered. “It’s settled. You’ll travel to Zurich with me. Make the arrangements.”

He turned away from me, his full attention on his computer again. I guessed I was dismissed, even though I had a thousand questions about what I was supposed to do.

I closed my notebook and stood, pausing to ensure he was truly finished with me. When he didn’t look up, I walked to the door.

My hand was on it when he called out, “Catherine.”

I turned back. “Yes, Elliot?”

His gaze swept over me. “Don’t forget to write down my schedule.”

“Got it. Black ink only.”