Sunday and Monday pass without incident. From time to time, I can hear Michael walking around upstairs, or his voice through the ceiling. I can never make out words, and I wonder if he talks to himself. It bothers me to think of someone else there with him.
I am waiting for him to show up at my door, or in my apartment when I'm not expecting it. Except at this point, I am partially expecting it. Looking forward to it, even.
My alarm blares through the room at seven a.m. Tuesday morning, anxiety attacking my stomach in waves of colorful butterflies. Today I start work with Dana Hawksley, and although being someone's assistant is not exactly taxing work, it has the potential to be. And starting anything new is intimidating.
I've been told to dress 'business casual,' and that jeans are acceptable, so long as they are not torn or baggy. Still I go with black slacks, just to be safe. I need to make a good impression.
I lock the deadbolts behind me, checking twice to make sure. Michael's paranoia from the other day has crept into my mind and now I double check every time.
Out in the apartment building's parking lot, a familiar sleek black car is parked next to mine. It hasn't moved from its spot in a couple of days, and I wonder if Michael is even in town right now. Why wouldn't he tell me if he was leaving?
Wait, no. Why would he tell me? I keep having to remind myself that he owes me nothing, that we are only friends, and just barely that. I sigh, shaking off the thoughts and trying to regain some professionalism. I have barely put the car into reverse when a few colors catch my eye, and my heart immediately jumps into my throat. I put the car back into park and unbuckle my seatbelt, stepping out again.
Four pink post-its are stuck to my windshield, one word written on each. Side by side, the message says 'good luck today Katherine' in messy handwriting that I already recognize.
I can't help but smile to myself.
So he is here.
...
"You'll have your own little office," Dana says, walking me down the hall. In the five minutes that I've been here, I absolutely adore her. She is funny, witty. She thinks fast on her feet. "You're right next door to me, and we have an adjoining door. We can keep it open if you want, but if you ever want your privacy, just close it. I won't mind."
We step into a small room, presumably my office. It really is small, but it's big enough for me. There's a desk against the left wall, a comfortable looking office chair, and plenty of wall space. Dana has provided me with everything I could possibly need, organization wise. Files, file folders, cabinets, paper clips, post-its, staplers. The room looks like a picture perfect advertisement for Office Depot.
"I'm not sure exactly how you keep things organized," Dana says, "But I've given you a variety of options. I don't really care how you do it, just it get it done."
I nod, wondering exactly what "it" is. Dana hands me a piece of paper with a list written on it. It is all shorthand, small things like 'reschedule dentist for Henry' and 'Aaron's birthday reservations' mixed in with 'CEO of Mass Marketing meeting' and 'SS charity event RSVP."
"What is all this?" I ask faintly.
"This is, essentially, your to-do list," Dana says. "I know it seems overwhelming, Kate, but you'll pick up on it. Every day I brief you on what I need, the list is just something extra to give you reminders. So you'll come in, I'll give you the rundown of the day, and you'll get to work. Throughout the day, I'll need you for other things. You just have to make yourself available. The list never really stops," she laughs. "It gets busy around here."
