The Billionaire's Assistant

Chapter 10

After waiting at the desk for several more hours, bidding time, writing notes, and eventually doodling, the clock at the corner of the password protected desktop she was unable to access read 6:30. She had no idea of what her actual schedule was, no idea of her responsibilities beyond what Jove had told her, but at this point she stood uncertainly, feeling sure that there was no way she was intended to stay this late. She grabs her things and heads down to the lobby, noting with mild interest how few other people she's seen working in this building.

When the elevator doors open she sees Courtney standing directly in front of security, her eyes narrowed.

"There you are," she exclaimed huffily, grabbing Kat's wrist. She sidles up alongside her and brings her mouth close to Kat's ear, an overtaxed smile now plaster on her face. "You need to sign the new hire paperwork," she hissed, steering Kat back towards the elevator.

After a terse session of signatures where Kat learned that she'd be making more per year than she'd ever made in her life, she was back in the now dim lobby, striding towards the revolving door she'd entered what felt like a lifetime before. She stood on the sidewalk in the cool night air, the city's lively thrum humming gently around her. She felt like throwing her head back and taking it all in, a precinct sense of demarcation arising similarly to the way she'd felt when she met Emma. Things would be different now. She wasn't sure how, but this job, this building, she thought as she gripped her new badge tightly, running the tips of her fingers over the raised letters of her embossed name. This would change everything. Now all they needed was a plan.

She began down the street in her typical hurried manner, her legs feeling a hint of chill despite the tights. She took a left, initially intending to head back to the den to let everyone know she was alright despite her multi hour absence, but then doubled back, rationalizing that her mother was likely even more worried.

Kat had grown up in an apartment just a few blocks from here, a two bedroom far too nice for Kat's mother to afford on her restaurant manager's salary if it weren't for the rent control. The apartment was gorgeous, with high airy ceilings and ample windows, a reading nook tucked into the largest of them that Kat had spent countless hours snuggled into as a child. The story of how it came to be their home was one of Kat's mother's favorites, and she told it often, her kindly eyes aglow as if she were recounting it for the first time.

Kat's mother Martha had been working at a locally owned diner, Spatchy's, for as long as Kat had been alive, and from what she knew, a little before that as well. She'd gotten the job at Spatchy's straight out of high school, the first place that would give her a chance with no serving experience when she moved to a large and unfamiliar city. The owners of Spatchys, a crotchety married couple who bickered like siblings and prepared the best Greek food on the northside, took an instant liking to her, doting upon her in their childlessness. After a few months of service they promoted her to shift lead, then assistant manager, and now as general manager she basically runs the diner, allowing Mr. and Mrs. Protgolio to turn their attention towards their true passion, arguing. They were wonderful people, kind and quick witted who loved Kat even more than they loved Martha. Her favorite picture of her mother, a picture of the four of them, beamed down from the mantle, the proud smiles of Mr. and Mrs. Protgolio threatening to split their faces as they posed next to Martha in a hospital gown holding the bundle of blankets that swaddled her new baby.

Kat's mother never talked about her parents, and obviously paternal grandparents were out of the question, so the Portgolio's were a surrogate of sorts, loving Kat, cheering her on at academic decathlons, taking her to the lake when her mother was covering shifts, and supporting her at her college graduation with maybe a bit too much confetti. She loved them deeply and she and her mother owed them much. Including, in an indirect manner, their rent controlled 2 bedroom.

When Kat's mother had first begun working at the diner she had just moved to the city, still only 18 years old. She'd responded to an ad searching for a new roommate and subsequently found herself living with 4 other women in a one bedroom apartment, the light from the singular dusty, caged off window the only glimpse of brightness. Kat's mother was sleeping on a couch with 4 women with completely different schedules and hadn't had a full night's sleep in months, but she still made every shift at the diner, paying her bills and saving up for a deposit on a place that was truly her own. Everyday of the first few months of her shift a small, silver haired woman in a brown fur shrug with a matching pillbox hat would come in, sit at the leftmost barstool, and order a black coffee and a poached egg.

The diner certainly had its regulars but the woman (who Martha began to mentally refer to as Mrs. Hepburn due to her small, elegant face and swan-like neck, still regal despite burgeoning wrinkles) was the most consistent. Martha would bring this woman her meal everyday with a smile, never engaging in much conversation with the quiet senior, and didn't think much of their interactions, gratefully accepting the 20% tip the woman left in cash before making her silent exit each day.

"We never said more than 4 words to each other," Kat's mother would say constantly, still marveling over 20 years later. "I mean, we never had a conversation, never."

Kat's mother became pregnant with her and began to work even harder, taking as many shifts as she could in a desperate vie for independence before her daughter was born. Her meager savings seemed slated for disaster no matter what she did; she could either try and raise a newborn in a one bedroom with 4 strangers who wouldn't be keen on nightly screaming, or she could put down enough for a deposit and the first month in her own place only for she and her newborn to sleep on the floor, a luxury like furniture being far out of the question. She worried constantly, her hand rubbing her growing stomach as a nervous tic instead of a loving caress.

One unsuspecting day at the tail end of a double, Martha's swollen feet aching, the woman entered at her usual time and sat in her usual seat. Martha smiled at her in acknowledgement, heaving herself cumbersomely from the stool behind the counter where she sometimes perched to rest her back. She turned toward the window, preparing to call in the woman's daily breakfast fare, when a small voice stopped her. She turned back. The woman, who she wasn't aware even knew her name, had called it, looking at her expectantly.

"Yes?" Martha had replied, confused and thrown from her routine.

"You don't sleep," the woman had informed her.

Martha had stuttered, the truth behind the woman's words causing her to stumble groggily over her own. The woman held up a hand, silencing her.

"You don't sleep, you work too much, you have baby," the woman said with a gesture towards her stomach, an eastern european accent she'd never spoken enough for Kat's mother to notice ringing through clearly. "You need sleep, you need house for baby."

Tears sprung to Martha's eyes unexpectedly and she swiped at their quick flow.

"I take you to house for baby," the woman had said as Martha stared at her, befuddled and still weepy. "Breakfast, then house for baby."

The woman ate her meal, waited for Martha to finish her shift, then walked her the short two blocks to the beautiful space Kat would be brought home to just a few weeks later. The woman, a professor's widow of Hungarian origin, had lived in the space for over 30 years, and brought her own daughter home to it nearly 27 years prior. She was now moving in with that daughter, a granddaughter on the way, but she was at a loss with what to do with her apartment, a gem that cost less than a fraction of what it should've. She'd watched Martha's belly grow, watched her stress and toil, and decided that she and her new baby should be the home's next occupants.

The lease remained in Mrs. Szabo's name while Martha paid the rent, and the older woman got to enjoy the growth of her granddaughter and now her great granddaughter, still emailing Kat's mother pictures of her smiling family 22 years later. Martha had been able to both afford what she needed for her baby and provide her with much more than just a warm place to sleep, she provided her with beauty and security, with a home. Mrs. Szabo had left all of her furniture, her kitchenware, she'd even left old clothes from her own daughters upbringing that Kat would grow into. It was a beautiful gesture, the kind with the power to change lives, and it had, it had wholly changed their lives.

"I want to be able to change lives like that someday," Kat's mother would always end the story wistfully. "I want to be able to give someone with no hope a true path forward, make a difference."