I shake my head. Because if this goes the way it’s supposed to, Caleb won’t wind up happy about anything.
He’ll be heading straight to jail.
4
JULIET
Monday is here before I’m ready.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready, but between visiting my mom at Meadow View and psyching myself up to be Super Spy, I’ve hardly slept a wink.
Not to mention all the brain cells that I’ve wasted, thinking about Caleb Sterling.
The kiss.
The body.
The smirk.
The every last little thing.
I was tempted to wear my own clothes on my first day, just to show Mr. High-and-Mighty that contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t own everyone, but that would be putting the mission in jeopardy. I need to fly under the radar, and to do that, I’ve got to be in Sterling’s good graces.
So I arrive at the Sterling Cross headquarters bright and early at 8 a.m, even though the packet Victoria sent me said the workday doesn’t start until 8:30. The early bird gets the worm, and all that. I’m wearing a gorgeous heather gray sweater dress and pumps that does wonders for my self-esteem.
The price tag was a thousand dollars, so it’s no wonder I feel like a million bucks.
That is, until Victoria meets me in the atrium. She gives me a once-over and says, “I see you got the clothes I had ordered.”
Oh. It was her.
I should be relieved, but instead, I can’t help feeling a little disappointed. “Thank you.” I say quickly.
“Mr. Sterling didn’t want your attire to be an issue.” She sneers. “We have a standard here at Sterling Cross. You understand.”
I understand that Victoria clearly doesn’t like me. Eyes on the prize. I reassure myself. What’s that they say in all those reality TV shows? I’m not here to make friends.
I trail behind her through the office, keeping up as best I can as Victoria gives me a whistle-stop tour. “This is the corporate office—PR, marketing, product distribution, retail,” she says, whisking me through a bright, open-plan office floor, with tons of glass and stylish brick. “The workshops and design studios are downstairs, but there’s a lot of running back and forth. Keep sneakers at your desk,” she adds. “You’ll be the one doing the running.”
“Got it. Sneakers.”
We arrive at the corner office, which has its own reception area, complete with two desks flanking the impressive double doors.
“This is mine.” Victoria points to one meticulously organized one. Then she points to the much smaller one, like a child’s school desk, which has the misfortune of being in the middle of the floor, open to attack by anyone walking by. “That’s yours.”
Fantastic. So much for privacy to snoop.
I set my things down on the mini-desk and she hands me my credentials and shows me how to access my computer and calendar. Or rather, she rattles off a string of instructions so fast, I can’t keep up.
“Wait. Can you explain that again?” I ask as she’s reading off Caleb Sterling’s ridiculously packed daily schedule.
She lets out a sigh. “Forget it. It’s not important. I’m the one who’s going to be in charge of his schedule, for the most part. You’ll only have to fill in when I’m not available.” She nudges my hand away from the mouse and pulls up a grid that’s a sea of appointments. “Here it is. You hit that tab if you want to see it. Got it?”
I nod, noticing he’s in an appointment all morning, downtown. He won’t be in all day.
I feel relieved. This is good. Now, I’ll know when he’s around… but more importantly, when he’s not. I’ll have plenty of time to get a look at his computer files. The sooner I get Olivia the evidence she needs, the sooner I can pay my mother’s nursing home bills and get far away from Sterling Cross.
“What else will Mr. Sterling need from me?” I ask, taking notes.
Victoria snorts.
“Think of yourself as my assistant. Doing what I tell you.”
“But Mr. Sterl—”
“He’s my responsibility. You shouldn’t have much in the way of dealings with him, at all.” She checks the time and says, “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the office.”
The next two hours are a whirlwind. She introduces me to about a hundred people, in various departments, none of whose names I remember, since she’s going at breakneck speed.
Somehow, we wind up back at Caleb’s office, where a messenger hands her a folder. Victoria glances at it, then hands it off to me. “These are the proofs for the new collection. Mr. Sterling has annotated everything with his comments. I need you to deliver this to Design.”
She waves me off as her phone rings. Reaching over, she picks it up and mumbles, “Sterling’s office. Vicki.” Suddenly, her tone changes, honeyed and sweet. “Oh, hi, Olivia! Yes, definitely! Right here!”
Olivia. Olivia Cross? From the way Victoria’s kissing up, it’s got to be.
Meanwhile, I stand there, gripping the folder. We visited the design department?
“Oh, it’s going all right. Just trying to get my new assistant up to speed,” Victoria continues. Her eyes trail to me, and she frowns. She covers the receiver with her hand and snaps, “What are you waiting for? Design!”
She points vaguely.
Fine.
I check in with a friendly looking security guard and get directions for the design department. It’s the basement Victoria mentioned, but instead of being a dark, dim dungeon, this basement is surprisingly bright: funky and fashionable, all bare brick and steel girders. I pass cozy-looking design nooks, pinned with magazine tears and fabric swatches, and find myself wishing I was stationed down here instead. It’s definitely more welcoming than all the polished metal and glass upstairs.
I make my way through a rabbit warren-like collection of hallways until I reach a big, airy studio space, where several people are huddled around a light table, in the midst of a heated discussion. They’re all talking over one another and pointing, as if negotiating a prisoner release.
“Umm, hi?” I interrupt. “I have the notes from Mr. Sterling?”
“Oh dear.” They all look grim. Then one of them smiles. She’s a smiling woman with choppy hair and funky horn-rimmed glasses. “Don’t worry, it’s not you,” she says. “It’s the late nights we’re going to have to spend fixing everything.”
She takes the file from me. “I’m Mara.”
“Juliet. The new assistant.”
“Ouch.” She smiles. “And I thought my day was bad.”
I relax, watching as she opens the folder and spreads the pages on the table. I see hand-painted designs for new jewelry—all covered with red ink scribbles and corrections.
The guy groans, “Fuck. He does know we’ll never get this line off the ground if he keeps nitpicking us to death?”
Mara shrugs. “How long have you been at Sterling Cross? You know he’s got to sign off on everything.”
“Yeah.” He claps his hands. “Listen up, guys. It’s going to be a long week. Long hours. Be prepared to come in this weekend if we don’t get it done.”