Chapter 14 THE FIRST DAY II
Constantine's POV
'What is this?' My voice comes out barely above a whisper.
'I had them moved. Your mother is now at Rosewood Manor. It's a private care facility, top-rated in the state. Your father is at Presbyterian Medical Center in their cardiac intensive care unit. They have the best doctors, private rooms and everything has been paid for a year in advance.'
I stare at the papers, the words blurring as tears sting my eyes. 'Why would you—'
'Because damaged goods are worthless to me,' he interrupts. 'If you're distracted worrying about them, you're useless. This way, you can focus entirely on your job. Both of them.' His eyes get dark, staring at me.
Both of them. Day job and night job. Secretary and whore.
'Thank you,' I force out, even though I don't want to say them.
'Don't thank me. You're paying for it with your body every night. Consider it part of your compensation package.' He closes his laptop and stands. 'Now. For your actual job. You'll sit at the desk outside this office. Answer phones, manage my calendar, handle correspondence. Accompany me to business dinners and meetings. James will show you the systems. Any questions?'
I shake my head.
'Good. One more thing.' He walks around the desk and stops in front of me. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. 'At work, you are my assistant. Nothing more. You don't speak to me unless I ask you a direct question. You don't look at me unless necessary. You certainly don't mention anything about our... arrangement. To anyone. Ever. Do you understand?’
'Yes,' I whisper.
'Yes, what?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Good girl.' The words are mocking, cruel. 'Now get to work.'
I actually got the job. I have gotten it, but at what cost?
James shows me to my desk, and it's practically just glass right outside Wyatt's office and spends thirty minutes explaining systems I can barely focus on. He's nervous the whole time, his hands shaking slightly as he points to different icons on the computer screen. He keeps glancing at Wyatt's closed door like he's afraid he'll burst through it at any moment.
'Mr. Gorshkovsky is... exacting,' James says carefully. 'He expects perfection. Like…he hates mistakes. So on no account should you try to ever make a mistake with work. Ever. If you're unsure about something, ask me. Don't bother him unless it's urgent.'
I start doing my work… making, phone calls and sending emails. Answering calls for people calling for meetings… Every task feels impossible under the weight of exhaustion and humiliation pressing down on me.
At 11 AM, Wyatt emerges from his office with a stack of files.
'I need these organized alphabetically and summarized. Two-page summaries for each. It should be on my desk by 2 PM.' He drops them on my desk without looking at me.
I stare at the stack. There have to be at least twenty files, each one thick with documents.
'That's three hours,' I say before I can stop myself.
'Then you should start now instead of wasting time talking.' His voice is cold enough to freeze. 'Or is the job too difficult for a Harvard graduate?'
My face burns. James is standing nearby, pretending to examine something on his tablet but obviously listening.
'No, sir,' I force out.
'Good. Get to work.'
He walks away, and I want to throw the files at his head. Instead, I open the first one and start reading and working on them.
By noon, my eyes are burning and my hands are cramping. At 1:50, I finish the last summary and compile everything neatly. I carry the stack into his office, where he's on a phone call.
He holds up one finger and I stand there like an idiot while he finishes his conversation. When he finally hangs up, he holds out his hand without looking at me. I give him the files.
He flips through them, his expression unreadable. Then he looks up.
'File seventeen. You misspelled the client's name in the summary.'
My stomach drops. 'I—I'm sorry, I'll fix it—'
'In front of Mr. Patterson.' He gestures to a man sitting in one of the chairs I hadn't even noticed. An older gentleman in an expensive suit, watching this exchange with uncomfortable interest. 'This is the level of competence my new assistant brings to the table. Misspelling client names.'
'Sir, I can correct it right now—'
'You can leave,' he says coldly. 'And don't let it happen again. I don't tolerate sloppiness.'
I take the files with shaking hands and retreat to my desk, my face burning with humiliation. Behind me, I hear Wyatt apologizing to his client, making some joke about the difficulty of finding good help these days.
Soon, we aee done and the day is almost over and I just dread what will happen in the night. The office empties out until it's just me and Wyatt.
He emerges from his office soon.
'Come here.' He says coldly.
I take a shaky breath and stand and walk into his office, my legs barely supporting me. He closes the door behind me with a soft click.
'Tonight,' he says. 'My penthouse. Nine PM. Don't be late.'
My whole body rebels at the thought. I'm exhausted. Emotionally drained. Every muscle aches. The idea of letting him use me again tonight makes me want to cry.
'Please,' the word slips out. 'Can I... can I not come tonight? Just tonight?'
His eyes narrow. 'Excuse me?'
'I just—' I swallow hard. 'You moved my parents. To those facilities. I haven't seen them in days. I just want to... I need to see them. To make sure they're okay. Please.'
The silence stretches. He stares at me, his expression unreadable, and I'm sure he's going to say no. Going to remind me that I don't get to ask for anything, that I'm his to use whenever he wants.
Pleasepleasepleaseplease
'Fine,' he says finally. 'You have tonight. But tomorrow, you come to my house directly after you get back.’
Relief floods through me so intensely I almost collapse. 'Yes. Thank you. Thank you so much—'
'Get out.'
I don't need to be told twice. I grab my things and practically run to the elevator. The moment I'm outside, I gulp in fresh air like I've been drowning.