"Sir, I think you should take a look at this. . ." Ronnie, my assistant said.

"What is it?" I dryly respond, not looking away from my monitor. I hate even the slightest bit of distractions when I am working.

"It is the secretary resumes list."

"You can sort it out, whatever it is."

"You need to see it first." I raise my eyes at him. His face tells me it is something serious. Ronnie is good at handling things most of the time. He only calls on me for something that exclusively needs my attention. What could possibly require my attention in the potential secretary resumes? I leave the screening and hiring of secretaries for Ronnie to handle. I don’t personally handpick secretaries. That is below my station. I don’t see them until the day they pass his selection and begin to work for me. No one has worked for me for more than a month since this year. They get their ass fired, some in barely a month because of the silly errs of pretending to mistakenly flash their tits and playing coy. Most were disgusting, really.

I have seen more tits and bare thighs in my own office than in strip clubs. Fake, pierced, perky. One was a bit nice though. But I didn’t give in to the temptation. They didn’t pay attention to their jobs but rather, thought they could elevate their status by getting into bed with me.

Well maybe some would have succeeded if I still think with my dick and obey it like I did in my highschool days. I have had seven secretaries since my former one resigned last year after she was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. Mrs Reed. She had worked for me since the moment I took the reins of the Crimson Group almost five years ago. I had quite underestimated her intellectual competence because of her advanced age at first. But she proved to be very capable than most people I have come across. She is currently spending time with her daughter and her grandkids at the suburbs and taking care of her failing health. I had made sure to assist with her health condition by registering her on a thorough health plan for the rest of her life. Right, which reminds me, Mrs Reed’s birthday is coming up next week. What should I get her? I sit back and signal Ronnie to

bring it over. It made a light thud on my desk. My brows knitted. Why is it many? A single resume is a two piece A4 paper at most. This one is heaped up to at least 5inches on my desk. That will amount up to two thousand different resumes if not more.

Amazed, I inquire, "How many are these?"

"Five thousand, three hundred and thirty-two." He answered straightaway without having to think or recall.

Whoa.

"Is that really the number of people who applied?"

"Yes. A secretary of yours is one of the most coveted jobs, believe it or not. The website crashes everytime we post a vacancy."

"I had no idea. You did narrow it down to married women exclusively right?" I have had enough of young, unmarried ladies. A married one would be different. She would focus on her job and would be too occupied handling work and family to even glance at me for longer than necessary. It will be better if she is a mother with actual kids. Not a dog mom or a cat mom. I slowly take my glasses off after seeing the name and photo on the first resume. I thought the glasses were beginning to play tricks on me. But no. I hold it up closer, gawking at it. "Did she apply?"

"No, not really. Harriet Yates recommended her."

"Who is Harriet Yates?"

"Harriet Yates is the general manager of Bill and Julie’s Co." He explains.

"Why did she recommend her?"

"I don’t know that exactly. She casually asked if the secretary position is still vacant. I told her yes. Then she said that Ms Calloway would be a very good fit for the job despite her lacking certifications. She sent the resume this morning. I didn’t know she meant it seriously."

There is no way that Gweneth would actually like the idea of being recommended to work for me. She might not know about this. Or does she?

"Which other one do I have to review?"

"That is the only one, sir."

GWENETH

"Do delivery guys dress like this these days?" I did not know when I asked that.

"I am not a delivery guy." He responds icily. I later realized that too. He is dressed in a clean suit and holding a small gift box, looking almost every bit of a charming suitor from a chivalric coming of age British romance movie. "I’d like to talk to Anita. Is she at home?"

"You’ve got the wrong apartment. There is no Anita here."

"I know she lives here." How obnoxious.

"Hey Mr, you can’t come to a person’s place to find someone who isn’t there." I reproof. Annie’s story about that podcast was interrupted because of this.

"I saw her. She is—"

Just then, Annie excitedly appears giddily beside me, Her excitement dies when she sees the man.

"Right there." The man completed his earlier interrupted statement.

"Nate?" I note the low soft surprise that connotes hurt and sadness tinged in her voice.

"Anita." The man calls her. I glance at her, then back at him.

The way the atmosphere and vibe shifts on Annie’s side is too profound to not be felt