We call ourselves admins, but most people call us secretaries. Trust me, as a male admin I had heard every joke. I worked in an ad firm, and while the Mad Men days were long gone, it still attracted a lot of rowdy bros. I had about three years of experience, enough to shake off my naiveté and develop a thick skin.
Very few things could shake me. I had been working for the VP of finance for almost three years, when it was discovered she had steered printing work to her husband's company, who may, or may not, have been wildly overcharging our firm. She had been allowed to resign in lieu of being fired.
I had nothing to do with that, as far as the company knew, but many saw me as guilty by association. I was reassigned to work the front desk, a humiliating step down. Since then, I spent my days getting coffee for vendors and clients, ordering lunches and tidying up the conference rooms. I had the feeling they wanted me to quit, but my stubbornness ran deep. It was almost five o'clock, when one of the what we, admins, referred to as, Brossociates came strolling by on their way out.
"Most firms have a hot piece of ass working the front desk. Instead, we have you," an associate named Kyle said, as he passed the desk. "What do you think that says?"
I had long ago learned not to engage every idiot who wanted to bait me. I could hear the footsteps of a man in dress shoes as someone exited the elevator.
"Kyle, did I hear you disparaging another employee? Because we don't do that here. We respect every person that shows up to work."
"Yes, Mr. Jones, I mean, no sir, I wasn't, it was a misunderstanding," Kyle stammered out.
"Good to hear. Are you headed home already? It's barely five PM."
"Oh, uh, just checking on something before heading back to my desk," Kyle said, looking around for an excuse and not finding one.
"Here's that document you printed, Kyle," I said, handing him some meaningless papers from my desk. He grabbed them, nodded, and went back the way he came.
Mr. Jones came to a stop in front of my desk. A little over six feet tall and clean-shaven, he was immaculately dressed in grey pants, a sport coat with button down, no tie and dark brown dress shoes. Just a hint of grey speckling his luscious head of hair as it parted down the middle.
"You didn't need to do that for me," I said.
"And you didn't need to help him out with those papers. Why did you do that? He was being an ass," Mr. Jones asked, with a curious look.
"I've been banished to the front desk. I can't afford to make enemies," I said.
"Shrewd move. You were Trish's admin, right?"
"Yes, sir. And no sir, I wasn't involved in her misappropriation, since that's everyone else's second question," I said, having been through this a few times.
"I'm not everyone else. You don't strike me as the kind of man to get involved in that. But you're also not stupid enough to have been completely unaware either," he said, his blue-green eyes assessing me. "Why did you keep her secret?"
I stared back at him, motionless for a moment. I had known, and I warned Trish, begged her to stop, told her she was going to get caught, but she never listened. "She was my boss. And she was good to me. I had to choose between her and a faceless company. I chose her."
"Do you regret that decision, now that you're here?" he asked, with genuine curiosity.
"The smart answer is yes," I said. "But the honest answer is no."
He stared at me a moment longer, then turned and continued on his way. I assumed this was the end of my employment here. Mr. Jones wielded a lot of power in the company, and I'd just told him I failed to report fraud. When an email from my boss cc'ing HR landed in my inbox, I had already packed most of my things in anticipation. But upon opening it, I was surprised.
The next day around seven-thirty, I got off on the eighth floor carrying my box of belongings. Down the hall, I found a large corner office with a desk out front and ROBERT JONES - EVP stenciled on the glass. I placed my box on the desk and began unpacking. I could hear the distinctive clack of Mr. Jones' shoes coming down the hall, and I was glad to be so early.
"Good morning, Devon, good to see you settling in. Join me in my office for a moment."
I nodded, grabbed a notebook and pen, in case there were tasks to be assigned, and followed him in.
"Do you know why I requested you as my personal admin, Devon?"
I took a minute to think. This was clearly a test, and I didn't want to lose this position before I even got settled.
"Loyalty," I said, after a moment. There was the slightest curve of a smile at the edge of his mouth.
"That's correct. Ancient Roman soldiers had a term called sacramentum, or loyalty unto death. You were loyal, even at great personal risk, and that is a quality I require. The second quality is discretion. I am a very private person, and you're an intuitive man. I'll never put you in the position that Trish did, where your job is in jeopardy. That was disrespectful of her. Trust needs to go both ways. But I do expect that what happens here stays between us."
"Of course, sir. I wanted to say that I am extremely grateful for this opportunity. I honestly thought my career was over, and you've given me a second chance. I am in your debt," I said, feeling confident it was true.
The hint of a smile grew ever so slightly before fading quickly. He was clearly practiced at keeping his emotions in check. "Let's start with the basics, then," he said, and began to walk me through his routine, his expectations, and his upcoming calendar. I took furious notes on everything. He told me who the power brokers in the company were, how they operated, and what their strengths and weaknesses were. More importantly, what they wanted from him and how he planned to navigate the situation to his benefit. I was fascinated by him.
It was as if he were a great general, not merely thinking through a single battle, but preparing for an entire campaign, willing to lose in certain places to ensure victory in the war.
When it came to a natural conclusion he said, "Any questions?"
"How do you take your coffee?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood a little from this onslaught of information.
