Chapter 8 A Week of Trying

Chapter 8 A Week of Trying
The bus to Thorne Empire was more crowded—commuters in suits, everyone on their phones, the smell of coffee and perfume thick in the air.

I stood holding the rail, swaying with the movement, watching the city transform as we moved from my neighborhood to downtown.

The buildings got taller. The people got more polished. The distance between my life and theirs grew wider with every block.

By the time I walked through Thorne Empire's doors at seven-forty-five, I'd left Elena the mother behind and become Elena the assistant.

Professional. Capable. Ready.

"Morning, Miss Moreno," the security guard said.

"Morning, James."

The elevator carried me up. The doors opened to the fifty-third floor.

Jenna was already at her desk, phone to her ear, looking frazzled.

Victoria's office light was on.

I set down my bag, logged into my computer, and got to work.

Day two.

I could do this.

Tuesday

"Elena, I need the Morrison file."

I didn't hesitate this time. Went straight to the cabinet, third drawer, found it under "Morrison Consulting"—not Morrison, not under M. Corporate name. I'd learned.

"Here."

Victoria took it without looking up. "Thank you."

Two words. But they felt like a victory.

The phone rang. Line three. I answered on the second ring. "Victoria Thorne's office."

"This is David Chen calling for Ms. Thorne."

I checked her calendar—she had fifteen minutes before her next call. "One moment, Mr. Chen."

I buzzed her. "Mr. Chen on line three."

"Put him through."

I transferred the call smoothly. No fumbling. No wrong buttons.

Jenna glanced over, impressed. "You're getting faster."

"I wrote everything down last night. Stayed up till midnight memorizing the phone system."

"That's dedication."

"That's desperation."

She laughed, but it was true. I couldn't afford to fail.

Every mistake was a step closer to losing this job, and losing this job meant losing everything I'd built for Leo.

At noon, Victoria emerged from her office. "I'm meeting a client for lunch. I'll be back by two."

"Your two o'clock with the board is confirmed," I said. "Conference room A."

She paused, actually looked at me. "You confirmed it?"

"This morning. And I had facilities set up the room—coffee, water, the projector you requested."

Something shifted in her expression. Not quite approval, but close. "Good initiative."

She left, and I exhaled.

"See?" Jenna said. "You're figuring it out."

Maybe I was.

Wednesday

The crisis came at nine-fifteen.

Victoria was on a call with Tokyo when her next appointment arrived early—a Mrs. Caldwell who apparently didn't believe in waiting and looked at me like I was furniture.

"I'm here for my nine-thirty," she announced.

"Ms. Thorne is on an important call. If you'd like to wait—"

"I don't wait. Tell her I'm here."

"I can't interrupt—"

"Then you're not doing your job very well, are you?"

My face heated, but I kept my voice level. "Ms. Thorne will be with you as soon as possible. There's coffee and water—"

"I don't want coffee. I want to see Victoria. Now."

Jenna was on another call, couldn't help. Victoria's office door was closed, the red light on—do not disturb.

Mrs. Caldwell moved toward the door.

"Ma'am, please—"

She ignored me, reached for the handle.

I stepped between her and the door. "Ms. Thorne is on a call. If you interrupt, you'll jeopardize a merger worth fifty million dollars. Is your appointment worth that?"

Mrs. Caldwell stopped, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

"You can wait fifteen minutes, or you can reschedule. But you're not interrupting that call."

We stared at each other. I didn't blink.

Finally, she stepped back. "Fifteen minutes. Not a second more."

"Thank you."

She sat, radiating irritation. I returned to my desk, heart pounding.

At nine twenty-eight, Victoria's door opened. She ended her call, saw Mrs. Caldwell, and her expression didn't change.

"Catherine. Come in."

Mrs. Caldwell stood, shot me a look, and swept into the office.

The door closed.

I sat down, hands shaking slightly.

Jenna hung up her call. "Did you just face down Catherine Caldwell?"

"I didn't let her interrupt the Tokyo call."

"Elena, she's on the board. She could have you fired."

My stomach dropped. "I was just—"

"Doing your job exactly right." Jenna grinned. "But still. That took guts."

At ten-fifteen, Mrs. Caldwell left. She didn't look at me.

Victoria called me into her office.

I stood in front of her desk, prepared for the worst.

"Mrs. Caldwell said you were rude to her."

"I prevented her from interrupting your call."

"I know. I heard the whole thing through the door." Victoria leaned back in her chair. "She told me I should fire you for insubordination."

My heart stopped.

"I told her you were doing exactly what I'd trained you to do—protect my time." She picked up a file, done with the conversation. "Well done."

I blinked. "That's... it?"

"Did you expect something else?"

"I thought—"

"Elena." She looked up. "The Tokyo call was critical. You protected it. That's your job. Never apologize for doing your job correctly."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Victoria."

"Yes, Victoria."

I left her office, dizzy with relief.

Jenna gave me a thumbs up.

I'd survived another test.

Thursday

"Elena, I need you to run something downtown."

I looked up from organizing files. Victoria stood at her office door, holding a sealed envelope.

"Where downtown?"

"Law offices on Fifth. Deliver this to Michael Reeves personally. No one else."

"Now?"

"Now. Take a cab, bill it to the company. Be back in an hour."

She handed me the envelope—thick, heavy, marked CONFIDENTIAL in red letters.

"Don't lose it. Don't open it. Don't let it out of your sight."

"I won't."

I grabbed my jacket, called a cab from the company account, and rode downtown with the envelope clutched in my lap like it might explode.

The law offices were intimidating—mahogany and leather and people who looked like they charged a thousand dollars just to say hello. A receptionist with perfect hair directed me to the fourteenth floor.

Michael Reeves was exactly what I expected—silver hair, expensive suit, corner office with a view.

"You're from Victoria?"

"Yes. She asked me to deliver this personally."

He took the envelope, checked the seal, nodded. "Thank you."

"Is there a response?"

"Tell her I'll call her this afternoon."

I rode the cab back, returned to the office fifty-two minutes after I'd left.

Victoria glanced at the clock. "Reeves has it?"

"Yes. He said he'd call this afternoon."

"Good." She went back to her computer.

That was it. No praise, no acknowledgment. Just the expectation that I'd do what I was told, and I had.

But I'd done it right.

And somehow, that was enough.

Friday

By the end of the week, I was exhausted but standing.

I'd learned the phone system, memorized Victoria's preferences, stopped making stupid mistakes. I'd handled difficult clients, run errands, managed schedules, and survived.

At five o'clock, Victoria called me into her office.

"Sit."

I sat, too tired to be nervous.

She studied me across her desk. "Your first week is over."

"Yes."

"You made mistakes."

"I did."

"But you learned from them. You didn't make the same mistake twice. That's rare." She paused. "You're still on probation, but you're doing better than I expected."

Coming from Victoria, that was high praise.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just keep doing the work." She closed her laptop. "Go home. Be back Monday at eight."

"Yes, Victoria."

I grabbed my things, took the elevator down, and stepped out into the Friday evening crowd.

My phone buzzed. Mrs. Chen: Leo made you cookies. He's very proud.

I smiled, exhaustion melting slightly.

The bus ride home felt shorter. The stairs to Mrs. Chen's apartment felt less steep.

When I knocked, Leo opened the door—Mrs. Chen right behind him—holding a plate covered in plastic wrap.

"Mama! I made these!" His face was smudged with chocolate, his smile huge.

I took the plate, saw the lumpy, misshapen cookies—some burned, some undercooked, all perfect.

"These are the best cookies I've ever seen."

"Try one!"

I took a bite. It was too sweet, slightly crunchy, and absolutely delicious because he'd made it.

"It's perfect."

He beamed. "I saved you the biggest one. See?"

There it was—a cookie twice the size of the others, more chocolate chips than cookie.

"I see it. Thank you, baby."

Mrs. Chen handed me Leo's backpack. "He was good today. Helped me clean up without being asked."

"Really?"

"I'm a good helper," Leo announced.

"The best helper." I ruffled his hair. "Ready to go home?"

"Yeah! Can we have cookies for dinner?"

"Nice try. But we can have one after dinner."

"Two?"

"One."

He considered this. "Okay."

We said goodbye to Mrs. Chen, walked to the bus stop hand in hand. Leo chattered about his day—the cookies, playing with Mrs. Chen's cat, drawing pictures of dinosaurs.

I listened, letting his voice wash over me, grounding me.

When we got home, I made simple dinner—pasta with butter, the cheap kind, but Leo ate it like it was gourmet. We had cookies after—one each, though his disappeared in three bites.

Bath time was quick, bedtime stories were long, and when he finally fell asleep, I collapsed on the couch with the leftover cookies and let myself feel everything.

One week down.

I'd survived Thorne Empire. I'd survived Victoria. I'd proven I could do this.

And Leo had cookies to show for it.

I ate the biggest cookie—too sweet, slightly burned, absolutely perfect—and let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, we were going to be okay.

Monday would come soon enough.

But tonight, I had chocolate chip cookies and a sleeping toddler and the quiet knowledge that I'd made it through.

That was enough.