The Billionaire's Assistant

Chapter 16

She smiled at the guard as she approached, a different one than her first day but outfitted identically, and tried to zero in her focus, her goal to take in all the information she needed without looking suspicious. The guard smiled in return and she placed her briefcase in the gray basket, sliding it toward the x-ray machine.

Her lily pin was affixed to the inside of the briefcases lining, a better way to carry it to work, she'd decided, after setting off the alarm on her first attempt. Despite the innocuous (if outdated) habit of wearing a pin or broach, the last thing Kat wanted was to be known by security as the woman who always sets off the alarm. The less attention she called to herself, the better, which meant the comfort of her fathers presence would have to be symbolic instead of tangible.

She studied the machine as discreetly as she could, feigning like she was struggling with the fussy dull brass latch. There were no distinguishable markings or features on the black box into which her belongings were about to slide, and as she relinquished the gray bin and turned to the metal detectors she was about to step through, her stomach sank to see the same rang true of the nondescript, sleek gray doorless frame. She stepped through and retrieved her belongings, her eyes straining for details of the guard's gun as she passed him, its holster covering much of its body.

It was black, but she'd known that much. It seemed small, obviously much smaller than the long barreled guns Connor and Brent had described as rifles, but even as she stared at it she still felt incapable of a description beyond the one she'd already provided. It was a gun, a gun was a gun. She could barely see it, only the handle was visible, and it looked almost like a toy, small dots of texture on the handle's top side. The holster was attached snugly to a utility belt that contained other objects she'd yet to discern, but she knew she'd loitered too long and hurried on, hoping the guards eyes weren't at her back.

Her first task on the mission and she'd failed it, failed miserably. She hadn't gotten the names of the machines, hadn't had the chance to look behind the security desk again, and worst of all, had stared directly at the object she was supposed to be describing and walked away with no better idea of how to identify it, truly unhelpful efforts. She knew that her team was relying on her in a way that was born both of trust and of necessity, and it was the latter that concerned her. They had to depend on her, had to believe that the person that they'd known for the least amount of time, the person who they knew to be a bundle of nerves, would hold her own and complete a task James Bond himself might've deemed too risky. It was too risky, she knew that.

She'd realized it herself, after Andy had, but still on her own, the realization descending upon her brow like a haunting as it came to her. He would kill her, if he found out. These people were billionaires, they operated above the law, firing wouldn't do. An arrest wouldn't do. She'd disappear, she and whatever information she may have learned, never to be seen or heard from again. Was it the stuff of movies? She thought. Maybe. But money and power tended to plant roots where it landed, history had always proven that true. Landed and rooted, or was shot down and clenched in fists white with effort? Regardless it stayed where it was, through means she knew to be less than dubious.

As she rode the elevator to the 55th floor, its steady dinging unceasing, she mentally reviewed the rest of her checklist. She had her login credentials which meant that she would now have access to the desktop she was assigned, but until they were aware of what was on the desktop, she had no idea what to look for. The main task of her day was to determine if there was any technology to be hacked and snooped within in Mr. Tillibenton's office. Jove's office, she mentally corrected herself, then blushed lightly despite the only reflection in the elevator's mirrors being her own.

She found herself wondering if he'd be there, and with creeping horror, found a small part of herself hoping he might. She didn't like him, she didn't know him, and more than that she was well aware of what he thought of her, Courtney had made it more than clear. And then he'd backed it up with his actions, she reminded herself, the internal dialogue stinging a bit. He has a problem with assistants, if he thought you were attractive he'd be here right now.

The elevator doors dinged open and Kat stepped onto the empty floor, her eyes shooting straight to the imposing doors of Jove's office, which were closed.

Maybe he is here, she thought. Maybe it's like the first day with Courtney, maybe I should knock. She frowns, hating her mind for where it instantly went.

I sound like her. I sound desperate to go see a man that doesn't want me, she chided herself. That I don't want, she added pointedly, for whose benefit she was unsure.

She turned toward the desk then paused, another train of thought occurring. If she were here snooping on her computer and Jove was in his office and suddenly came out, how would she be able to explain herself? Today her briefcase also contained an old fashioned number 2 pencil and a spiral notebook, and her plan was to manually rewrite as much information as she was able to find each day. If he caught her copying down company secrets that would be it, her desk sits squarely in front of his door, meaning her screen would be in plain view.

She did need to know if he was there. She would have to enter his office. Kat took a deep breath and changed course, heading towards the gold handle adorned door just as she had the first time she'd been on this floor. Unwilling to eke out a timid knock, she paused for a second before grabbing the handle and throwing the door open, rationalizing that she could argue ignorance as it was her first day. She winced, waiting for the admonishment for her improper entry, but none came.

The office was empty, still perfectly clean and perfectly, if sparsely, decorated as if staged. She ignored the flare of disappointment in her chest and went around to check his desk, noting that, as she'd predicted, the laptop wasn't there. The other side of the desk was as uninformative as the first, with only two paper-crammed drawers on its left side. She peaked at the top few but there were rows of numbers and acronyms. WGL, TTSG1Y, entirely unintelligible to her and useless at this stage.

Likely insignificant on top of that, she thought, turning in a circle as she gazed around the rest of the office quizzically. Nothing that could help her. She took another step towards the bookcase. No good books either. Every muted hardback had titles like Money, Power, and the Formula to Growth, Leading People for Leaders, and War and Money: a Tale of Parallels. She wrinkled up her nose. Of course, even the art that he engaged in, even what was supposed to be beautiful and introspective, even that was marred by an incessant need for more wealth. She turned heel and left his office, vowing to return to the papers in his drawer as soon as she could make sense of them.