Chapter 23

Kendall was seated at her post. The secretarial post was basically the entire area in front of Lucien’s office, once someone exited the elevator and walked through the hallway.

The floor was made of sparkling white tiles, and her table was heavy, brown oak, placed on a thick rug to keep her feet warm.

Not that she took her shoes off. As stiff as a board, Kendall sat in her chair and glanced around at the things in front of her. This table was as neat and sparse as Lucien’s one was inside his office. Besides a telephone, a computer and an empty calendar, the table was empty.

Sighing, she brushed her fingers over her skirt in boredom.

Curiously reaching for one of the drawers in her table, she pulled it open. It was filled with stationery. New pens, pencils, a calculator and other stuff she might need. She opened more drawers and found new notebooks.

Opening the drawer closest to the bottom revealed a mysterious black book. She paused and, glancing around like she expected someone to be watching her, she slowly reached in for it.

It had no label on the cover, so she flipped open the first page.

In the middle of the page was scribbled, Surviving Sinclair.

Her brows rose, her interest piqued by the mysterious words.

Kendall quickly flipped pages, reading all the scribbled notes she could find. She sat there in silence for about five minutes, quietly reading.

As she read, she slowly figured out what the notes were. Pointers on how to handle Lucien Sinclair. How to be his perfect secretary, more like. Was it a gift for her, left by his previous secretary? That was so kind of her, but…

Despite her current bad mood, a crooked smile moved her lips. There was no way she really believed everything she’d written here.

Kendall sighed, shaking her head. Poor woman. She’d read him all wrong.

If he’s frowning and giving short answers, back off. He’s annoyed. Needs space. DO NOT SPEAK.

Kendall tilted her head. That wasn’t right. Not always.

Half the time, Lucien acted like that when he was hungry. Really hungry. And if you gave him space instead of food, he’d just stay grumpy all day because what he wasn’t going to do was stop his work to go and eat. Workaholic to the bone.

She remembered once, years ago, during Winter, when she’d been staying with the Sinclairs. The house staff had left for the weekend. Lucien was working from his home office, the doors wide open, papers scattered across the table as he paced like a storm cloud in dress shoes. She knew he’d been pacing because she’d been listening to the slow, rhythmic thump of his steps with every step he took from a nearby couch where she’d been reading. And then she’d heard Sabrina had waltzed into the office, demanding his opinion on some designer dress.

He’d snapped. Sharp, irritated, utterly uninterested. “Sabrina, not now. I’m busy, bloody hell.”

Sabrina had shrieked back, “Omg, why are you always in such a mood?!”

In a moment, they’d started a yelling match, going back and forth. Kendall hadn’t meant to say anything, but she’d rushed over and stood awkwardly in the doorway as Sabrina shoved past and stomped up to her room.

Standing there and watching him rub his temple like the stress physically hurt, Kendall calmly realised that he hadn’t eaten all day. He’d been pacing for a while now, trying to ignore his physical needs to get more work done.

Sabrina was also extremely moody when she was hungry. Like father, like daughter. She’d cautiously approached. “Mr Sinclair? Would you… like something to eat?”

He’d looked over and stared at her like she was the first human on an alien planet. Then sighed like the weight of the entire world had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Chicken sandwich,” he said quietly. “And sparkling water, please.”

Not space.

A chicken sandwich.

Her lips twitched now as she recalled the memory. Another note caught her eye.

He doesn’t like small talk. Get straight to the point.

Hmm, that wasn’t completely accurate either. Reaching into the drawer full of stationery, Kendall pulled out a red pen. It would be fun to grade these notes based on what she knew about Lucien Sinclair, seeing as she had nothing else to do.

He pretended not to like small talk, but he always lingered when someone mentioned books, incredible economic strategies, or obscure art. He liked thoughtful small talk. Surface-level chitchat? Nope. Kendall had observed him socialising enough times to know.

Don’t bring him hot drinks after midday. Makes him irritable.

Kendall’s pen swiped a big, red X on the page. He had coffee only two different times during the day. At seven a.m. for the day ahead and, if he would work into the night, another cup at four p.m.

Coffee offered at any time outside those two would probably earn a flat stare from him.

He hates being corrected.

No, he hated being corrected by fools. If someone pointed out something worth his while and they were right and tactful, he actually listened to them.

Hates colours; wear blacks and greys.

Her red pen flashed across the page. He didn’t care what colours others wore, as long as they dressed professionally. His preference for blacks and greys was only because he couldn’t be bothered with clothes and fashion, much to Sabrina’s annoyance.

She sat there for nearly half an hour, flipping through the notebook and correcting the notes the former secretary had made. There was still a lot to read through, but she gave up, accepting that she probably wouldn’t find any helpful tips in there anyway.

Shutting the book with a sigh, she slid it across the table and melted into the chair, losing her posture to boredom.

“Who are you?”

She bolted out of the chair, standing upright.

Blinking, Kendall looked at where the hallway from the elevator opened into her secretarial area. A woman stood there, staring at her.

“Oh…” She frowned. Who was this? An executive? “Good morning. I’m Kendall McCarthy, I’m—"

“And what are you doing here?” the woman demanded. Her eyes narrowed as she walked slowly toward Kendall, her shiny, black heels so high, her feet nearly looked vertical. “What are you doing outside Lucien’s office? You one of the little whores who won’t leave him alone?”

Kendall opened her mouth to deny it, but the woman leaned over threateningly, her pink blouse low enough to show the edges of the black bra holding up her large breasts.

“Aren’t you ashamed?” she muttered, glaring. “You look nineteen, he’s over forty. You got daddy issues?”

“Ma’am, I’m the secretary,” Kendall muttered tiredly.

There was a pause. The woman straightened and crossed her arms under her breasts. “A secretary? Dressed like that? Your entire outfit, accessories included, is over twenty thousand dollars.”

Kendall sighed. “Ma’am, do you have an appointment with Mr. Sinclair?”

“I’m his girlfriend. I don’t need a bloody appointment.”