Page 3 of His Assistant

“Because it has the correct date,” I tell him as patiently as I can manage.

He flushes and nods. I realize I should stop talking.

“There are supposed to be twelve,” the woman says, finally crouching beside me.

“There are eight here,” I tell her. “Four are correct, four are wrong.”

“Four missing,” she mutters.

“Where are the files?” I ask.

“Saved, but the conference room printer is down, and Anthony has the signed addendums.”

“Use another printer for the four missing packets. Pull tabs from the wrong ones. Print the addendums separately and slide them behind the agenda. No one will notice.”

The woman snatches up the wrong packets.

“Bruce, copy room. Now,” she snaps at the young man standing there with his mouth open.

Bruce runs like his life depends on it. I hand her the correct folders, then reach for my résumé. The top page is already in Mr. Vieri’s hand. He reads the top line.

“Sofia Bellini,” he reads out.

“Yes,” I say, standing. I smooth my blouse because I need something to do with my hands. “Again, I’m sorry. I should get to my interview.”

“What position are you interviewing for?”

“Junior administrative assistant. Hospitality division.”

He looks behind me, toward the elevators that still have not opened. “You’ll be late.”

“I’m aware,” I answer, flushing.

“Do you have executive support experience?”

“Some,” I admit. “Scheduling, vendors, client communication, basic office management. I’ve filled in where needed, but I haven’t had the title.”

“Why not?”

Because titles go to people who already know someone. Because I spent years taking whichever job kept the bills paid instead of building the kind of résumé people here would respect. Because my life has been one long exercise in being overlooked.

“Most companies want you to have three consecutive years of C-suite experience,” I answer honestly.

The woman beside me makes a sound like she is trying not to laugh. Dominic Vieri studies me. I force myself not to look away.

Finally, he says, “Come with me.”

My grip tightens around my folder. “I have an interview.”

“Not anymore.”

My stomach drops again.

“Please don’t cancel it. I know I overstepped, but I was trying to help.”

“You did help. Come with me, Ms. Bellini.”

He turns before I answer.