The Plan by Qwen Salsbury Read Free Book Online

well. Surely oxygen will play an important part in performing my new job satisfactorily.
    She manages to wipe the confused look from her face and sits on the edge of her desk. “Go gather up what you need at your new desk and meet me back here in twenty minutes. I will officially introduce you to Mr. Canon then.”
    8:20 a.m.
* Hair : Pinned back.
* Buttons : Top only undone.
* Bladder : Empty.
* Shoes : Killing feet slowly.
    T HIS W AS N OT M Y P LAN . I’m not under the radar at all now. The plan has changed from generating a blip to being directly in his sights.
    “Ready?” Rebecca asks as we approach Canon’s door.
    “No.” I wanna hurl.
    She laughs and knocks once.
    “Come in.” His deep voice pierces the door. The last of the free air fills my lungs.
    Rebecca walks ahead into his office as if a 2x4 is strapped to her spine. I stay behind her, plotting how to use her as a human shield.
    “Mr. Canon, this is Ms. Baker.” She steps to the side and exposes me. “Your new assistant.”
    He’s standing at the window, his back to us. Without turning, he sighs loudly and gestures toward a chair.
    I sit and hear the door click; Rebecca has already abandoned me.
    Coward.
    “Tell me.” He continues to look out the wall of windows. His arms are crossed and long fingers drum his sleeve.
    I wait for a moment. I wait for him to clarify. His jacket is draped over his riveted-leather desk chair. His pants are light gray, and I force myself not to focus on any portion of them. The slope of his broad shoulders is also not a safe focal point. Light from the window catches golden strands in his hair; that is off-limits too. I don’t know where to look.
    I become acutely aware of the silence.
    “Pardon me?” I really feel at a loss, as if I have walked into a conversation midstream.
    He huffs and continues to stare out the window. “Tell me everything. The who, what, when, where, why, how. Who you are. What you think this job entails. When you think your workday ends. Why you took this position. How long you think you will last.”
    My throat is a desert. I’ve already exhausted his patience. It never occurred to me that he would ask me anything about me. I’m an expert on him, not on myself.
    I launch into a dissertation on my education and credentials. Masters in English. Intern and job experience.
    Scholarships. I omit any mention of my current law school scholarship or enrollment; I doubt he’s the type to be receptive to divided priorities. I make sure all this takes no longer than thirty seconds. I skip right over anything that relates to why I think I can do this job—I don’t think I can pull off confidence.
    “The job expectation is that I make you available to perform your job at optimum level. I need to learn and anticipate your needs in order to ensure this. Any distraction or delay has a negative impact. My workday began when I walked into this room, and it will end when I leave your employ.” I keep talking, but I notice a shift in his demeanor. His fingers still. A few moments later, he moves to his desk chair. I know I’m in. Maybe, just maybe, I’ve even impressed him.
    Words continue to spill from my mouth. I explain that I’ve been with the company for a year. I’m flexible and a good observer. Performance stats.
    “Finally, Mr. Canon, I understand there’s a critical contract on the line, and there is no time to prep a new employee. I bring to the table a solid understanding of this company and am committed to its success.”
    My speech has taken under two minutes. Brevity. I feel good about it. My face is hot, but I’m still breathing.
    The win column gets a tick.
    “Ms. Baker, I have no illusions about my reputation. That being said, I consider myself fair. I do not expect miracles, but I will not tolerate mistakes.” He leans back in his chair and levels his gaze at me. His eyes are a gray-green. If he ever blinks, I miss it. I’m caught in their pull.
    “It is my understanding that