This is the first time in a long while that my schedule hasn't been perfectly followed. I'm a hardworking businessman, and ever since my mother fell ill and I decided to step up, I haven't had the time—or the luxury—to irritate myself with trivial matters. That's why I need a secretary—my secretary. But today, I gave her the day off. And though I still need someone to manage my basic necessities in the morning, I suppose I'll survive.
Drinking this early is usual. Yet it calms my nerves after the nightmares I battle every night—monsters chasing me through dreamscapes so vivid I wake drenched in sweat. Because, I always end up waking up barricaded in my closet, as if it were a fortress. By the time my secretary arrives, I've already been awake since three, fighting off the echoes of whatever those things are. If I stayed asleep long enough, maybe I'd discover what they mean. But I'm not ready for that. I'm not ready for another disruption in my carefully laid schedule. Still, I did give Marcie the day off. So, I should give Ms. Fallon a try.
I send a short email:
Fabrizi: Ready to put your skills to the test. Carry out the morning schedule Ms. Andrews instructed you on, and you'll earn extra points.
She arrived right on time. Different. Not bad—just different. Marcie is usually here a bit earlier.
As I waited for my gnocchi from Il Fornaio and my chilled Pinot Grigio, I heard her footsteps pattering through the kitchen. She soon appeared in front of me again—but empty-handed.
"Where's the gnocchi I have to make?" she asked.
"Where? At the restaurant."
We exchanged a long, awkward silence.
"Forget it. Caffeine pills," I said, holding out my hand. "And have my suits ready for selection."
She hesitated, scratching her head as she shuffled through drawers in my closet.
"I'd gladly show you my collection of finer things—if you're ever hired permanently. For now, let's try the kitchen for the pills."
"Sorry, Mr. Fabrizi."
At least she remembered Thursdays require three light-gray suits in rotation. I was content that she had my schedule ready, though I disliked that it was stored digitally and not written by hand. I could overlook it—for now.
"Ms. Fallon," I said, "review whatever Ms. Andrews taught you."
"I'm sor—"
"That is all. Thank you."
Like all my past secretaries, she was a bit too naive to my habits. They all eventually learn though.
When it was time to leave, I lingered by the door, waiting for the usual send-off. Marcie always adjusted my tie and tightened my laces before we crossed Rodeo Drive to the office. Ms. Fallon just stood there smiling—unsure of what to do.
"If you're confused about what to do, ask."
She didn't ask. She simply stepped forward and fixed my collar, fumbling but determined.
"Sorry, Mr. Fabrizi."
To my own surprise, I felt a flicker of admiration. Still, disappointment lingered.
At Sera Elganza, the lobby is empty of course, due to how early it is. When we arrived upstairs, I glanced instinctively toward a certain desk. Ms. Fallon interrupted my thoughts as she tossed her bag down on it and looked up at me brightly.
"Can she leave officially before you dump your things there?"
The words slipped out sharper than intended. She froze. I regretted them instantly.
"Forget I said it. Just have my schedule written out—by hand, not sent by your phone."
By seven, the building came alive. Designers clocked in and began laying out drafts on my desk. The office buzzed with energy, yet to me, it still felt oddly—empty. I found myself watching the clock, waiting for each hour to pass, eager to knock out the day's tasks one by one.