“And this,” he adds, pointing to the office behind me, “is the CEO’s office.”
My breath stutters. “The CEO?”
He finally looks at me then, brows lifting slightly. “Is that an issue?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I just…I didn’t realize I’d be assigned directly to—”
“You’re his assistant,” Howard cuts in. “That’s the role you accepted.”
My pulse picks up. “I tried to look him up beforehand, but there wasn’t much information.”
“There isn’t supposed to be,” he says flatly. “Mr. Popov values privacy.”
There’s something in his tone when he says the name. Respect. Caution. Maybe even irritation.
“Oh,” I say again.
“He arrives around nine,” Howard continues. “He expects punctuality, accuracy, and discretion. He doesn’t appreciate unnecessary chatter or excuses.”
I nod, my throat tight. “Of course.”
He hands me a file folder. “This is your onboarding checklist. IT setup, badge, security briefing, required reading. Complete as much as you can before he arrives.”
I glance at the clock on the computer.
Eight-twenty.
“Yes, sir.”
Howard watches me for a beat, eyes flicking over me like he’s cataloging weaknesses. “This is a demanding position,” he says. “Not everyone is suited for it.”
The implication hangs there.
“I work hard,” I say quietly.
“We’ll see,” he replies.
He gives me a cursory tour, pointing things out without slowing down, correcting me when I step slightly too close to a restricted door. By the time we’re back at my desk, my nerves feel frayed.
He pauses, looks at the closed door of the CEO’s office, then back at me. “Don’t touch anything in there unless instructed,” he says. “And don’t assume familiarity. Mr. Popov prefers professional distance.”
“Yes sir,” I say.
He gives me a solemn nod and walks away without another word.
I sit down slowly, exhaling only once he’s gone. The office suddenly feels heavier.
I open the checklist and begin working through it carefully, double-checking every step. I don’t rush. I can’t afford to make any mistakes here. Again.
I’ve lost count of how many positions I’ve left behind because of accidents, misunderstandings, moments where my body moved faster than my brain. Grandpa says I’m not careless, just…uncoordinated, but I think that’s just him putting it nicely.
I am clumsy as hell.
And the thought of losing another job due to my clumsiness makes my chest tighten with a familiar feeling of anxiety and I can feel the words on paper blotching up.
Breathe, Mila—you’ve got this.
I glance at the clock again.