The Billionaire's Assistant

Chapter 17

Kat settled into her desk chair and typed her overly complex login, rolling her eyes as she carefully pecked out the code that required thirteen characters and two different capital letters. Once inside, a blank screen greeted her, entirely unyielding of any pertinent facts beyond the revelations that skies can be blue. She stared at the screensaver, heart sinking once more. She'd discovered nothing so far and now the computer had also produced no results? She was surprised to feel hot tears of frustration suddenly press urgently against her lower lid and she bit her lip, feeling foolish.

There had to be something she could do, some piece of information that she could return home with that would make this worth it, that would actually serve as good news among the bad she would have to report. She clicked the mouse aimlessly, no icons available on the screen for her to actually select.

A nature fiend, Kat wasn't as unfamiliar with technology as she was wary of it, untrusting. The feeling was the same instinctual one as her love of the outdoors. She couldn't put a name on it, she couldn't quantify it, but she avoided it, and it rewarded her in turn with constant confusion. She was terrible with her phone, computers, even the cash register, and despite her smarts, the ancient Mr. and Mrs. Protgolio had leaned over her shoulder more than once to help her stumble through an assignment's online submission.

Kat sat up straighter. She suddenly remembered that poor Mrs. Protgolio, flustered with being forced to provide technical support for a teenager who should've been doing it for her, had sat with her and shown her how to pull up the computer's menu, repeating the action over and over again Kat was vaguely offended, having understood the first time, but after sheepishly asking for a refresher the next week she'd never forgotten what Mrs. Protgolio had yelled, the one time the wrinkling surrogate grandmother had spoken to Kat in a tone softer than a coo.

"The button! My love, my sweet child," she'd cried, gripping Kat's face in both hands. "The button I show you, the button with 4 squares, looks like flag! O Theós" she muttered, "oh tóso éxypno allá san gáidaros pou prospatheí na skefteí." Her voice slipped into a pleading tone. "You are too smart Kat, please, please, do not ask me, not again. Run outside and bellow to all, ask the very world itself, but if you ask your Yia-Yia again you will kill her, you'll kill her."

Kat smiled, thinking of the many things she'd done over the years that Mrs. Protgolio had claimed would kill her, including swimming after dark ('You'll kill your Yai-Yai of stress') and sleepovers with unknown friends ('they kidnap you, Yia-Yia will die to bring you home'). It was less of a manipulation than it seemed, hardly a threat even, but instead an expression of love, of care. "I love you so much," she said without saying, "that if something should happen to you, death is what I expect for myself."

Kat studied the keyboard, found the quartered flag she hadn't forgotten since Mrs. Protgolio's outburst, and pressed it, fingers mentally crossed. A menu popped up and she all but cheered, thrilled as she scanned through the icons and realized the apparently blank computer was anything but. She knew this was hardly a moment to celebrate, that properly using a computer was a basic skill to be expected, but after the lobby and Jove's office she needed a win, and this felt like it.

She clicked the email icon to find a blank inbox save the welcome email sent by Courtney then clicked out, her mouse hovering over photos. Blank, as she'd more or less expected. The document finder caught her eye and she selected it, discovering it contained only one existing pdf. She examined the title more closely, hoping for a clue on some of the acronyms in Jove's desk drawer.

NFR,GAEmployeeHB, All Sections.

She squinted at the jumble of letters as she clicked the document, its central most portion instantly clarifying itself as the white page loaded into view. The employee handbook. Her eyes fell to the subheading.

The following documentation outlines the guidelines, details, stipulations, and best practices of roles slated to be served at the headquarters of Tillibenton inc. and its subsidiaries. Consent to the adherence of these specificities in their entirety is implicit with the acceptance of a role at Tillibenton inc., and failure to adhere to these stipulations serves as grounds for termination and/or legal action depending upon the severity of the infraction. The rights of this documentation are reserved as propriety to Tillibenton inc. The distribution or recreation of this document is a violation of the 1998 DMCA Act and punishable by fines of up to $200,000 in addition to imprisonment. All rights reserved ©.

Kat scrolled to the next page, her eyes skimming across the thick block of text.

HR. management staff master copy, full role list, operational responsibilities breakdown by department...

She scrolled a final time, revealing the first page of a table of contents crammed with hundreds of job titles in tiny text. Kat sat back, triumphant. She'd found a master list of all responsibilities, rules, and considerations of every role at Tillibenton, clearly one that the company would prefer to keep private. Taking a quick glance to her left and right, Kat pulled out her notebook and pen, prepared to copy down the list. She'd take what she found back to the den and the other members of FES would help her decide what was worth reading and what was worth skipping.

Each position's section was at least 30 pages long, and a peek into the section for her role, C-suite executive assistant, revealed a thick and unyielding block of text so crammed with corporate speak and technical jargon it verged on the unintelligible. They would need to be strategic about the roles they choose. Intake armed security officer was obviously one, but Kat also saw potential in roles like resource allocation engineering analyst, figuring that if an engineer was involved in resource allocation the resources in question were more than just funds.

She copied titles in the otherwise empty lobby for hours, unperturbed by the rumbles of her stomach of the dull ache that spread across the base of her neck as she all but hunched over the desktop. At 5:30, the floor still as empty and silent as it had been for the totality of the day, Kat stood up cumbersomely, stretched, and began to pack. She had a planning session to attend.