“All right.” He reached for a legal pad and flipped it open. “You didn’t survive the admin office just to sit there and spiral.”
“Who said I was spiraling?”
His brow lifted, that almost-smile threatening again.“Sit back,” he said. “You’re here to work.”
I obeyed, this time with marginally more dignity. I hated that I was still grinning a little.
“Your assistantship isn’t ceremonial. I don’t need someone to fetch coffee or alphabetize footnotes.”
“I can alphabetize if you?—”
“That won’t be necessary. I need someone who can think.”
My stomach clenched.
“You’ll help manage my correspondence, vet sources, and cross-reference archival material. There’s a backlog I’ve been meaning to hand off.”
I nodded.
I could do that.Easy.
“You’ll also be assisting with my next manuscript.”
I’m sorry…what?
“Your… book?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him, then dragged a breath into my lungs and held it there a second too long. “I thought assistants usually just graded papers and answered emails.”
“They usually do. Which is why most of them are interchangeable.”
Oh.
My mouth went dry, and my lips parted. I snapped them shut before I made a sound that would definitely embarrass me.
Act normal. Act normal. Act normal.
“You’ll be working directly with primary material. Draft reviews. Structural feedback. It’s research heavy. You’ll be dealing directly with people’s lives.”
“That’s—” I cleared my throat. “I guess I assumed I’d quietly exist in your periphery and try not to ruin anything.”
“Rabbit, if I wanted quiet, I wouldn’t have hired you.”
Christ. That escalated quickly.
I shifted once in my seat, fingers curling around nothing as I tried to appear as unaffected as possible.
“This book,” I said carefully. “It’s not… theoretical, right?”
His gaze flicked up.
“You’re not just cataloging symptoms. You’re looking at what happens to people after. When the worst part is technically over.”
“That’s a fair assessment.”
“So it’s…” I exhaled. “A study of aftermath.”