A humanized copy of Bambi looks at me with frightened eyes bulging. Light, slightly wavy hair just below the shoulders, a doll face with blue eyes and moderately plump lips.

She continues to be silent, only clapping her eyes. No, he's trying to say something. The key word here is "trying". In fact, he nervously opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water.

Yeah ... What do they say, Monday is a hard day? You haven't seen my Tuesday yet. The situation starts to piss me off, which is why I shrug my hands in annoyance:

- So you will be silent? Or maybe finally introduce yourself and explain who you are and what you are doing here?

Blinking a couple more times, the girl dies. Shaking his head, causing the hair to fly off his face behind his back, he lifts his chin and begins to mutter:

- I ... I ... today is the second day ... more precisely, even one and a half ... sorry, - as she tirade, her raised chin sank sullenly again, - and Rose ... she is in the hospital ... I didn’t know what kind of coffee you drink ... sorry ...

- Stop! My head is going to burst now, - I lean back in my chair, unbuttoning the button on my jacket. - Let's go in order. I ask a question - you answer. All clear?

A slight nod is my answer. Well, that's nice.

- Wonderful. Name?

- Ashley. Ashley Lewis. Rose is in the hospital, and here I am...

- Stand! I have to raise my voice again. No, it's just not possible. - Again. I ask - you answer. Short and to the point. Ashley? - you have to call her, otherwise she will be loaded with something. At the same time, I will make sure that I remember her name correctly from this verbal diarrhea.

- Yes.

- What are you doing here? - and before she starts talking, I warn you. “I already knew that Rose was in the hospital, so don't repeat it.

- I am your new secretary, - at this word she barely perceptible draws herself to attention. Apparently proud. “But if they do decide to fire Rose, then permanently. Maybe - well, the girl is again blown away right before our eyes. - I hope so. Sorry, I talk too much again.

With a deep, probably too loud sigh, I close my eyes, squeezing the bridge of my nose. I'm trying to figure out what's what, but nothing comes out. So my secretary fell ill, I was not informed about it, and this miracle was hired, again forgetting to ask me? What kind of nonsense? Where is Sergio with festive pipes, jumping out from around the corner, yelling that this is all a hoax?

Regrettably, but I have to agree that without the help of Ashley I can not cope. You have to listen to her chatter.

- And now in more detail. Why should Rose be fired? She was excellent at her job.

- I can not say exactly. They didn't let me in on the details. All I know is that it has something to do with drugs. Whether used, or something else.

Lord, thank you! She learned to speak clearly and concisely. Right now, looking at her, tiny glimpses of a professional are noticeable. Quiet, measured speech that attracts listeners; a calm and even look directly at the person, showing who is now in charge.

From positive news, that's all. I can't believe Rose was on drugs. Maybe I would still believe in trading, but to hang around. Although, given her absent-mindedness over the past few weeks... Maybe this Miss Innocence is hanging noodles on my ears? Trying to slander Rose? Karen should be shaken, she won't lie. In the meantime, the only thing I can say in this situation:

- Fuck.

- Yes.

- How did you even get here? - I ask another question that interests me. “I mean, how did you get on?” I'm the CEO and I don't know anything about the fact that I have a new secretary.

“Mrs. Cheng took care of me.” She rolls her eyes, as if I don't know who she's talking about. - Oh, sorry, that's wrong. In general, she took the necessary documents from me. I sent you my resume a long time ago. So she contacted me, said what needs to be brought, and already yesterday afternoon I am here.

There is such bedlam in the head that the hands involuntarily reach for the temples, wearily rubbing them.

- Okay. I'll talk to Mrs. Cheng. And I'll honestly tell you that you're not here for long, - fear begins to splash again in the eyes that have just cleared up. “Just don’t look at me like that. Rose was perfect for me. She at least knew what kind of coffee I drink. Well, while you're here, let's talk about everything right away. My name is Theodore Barrett. CEO and founder of Barrett's Metal. And your immediate supervisor. I can’t stand being late, but if you really need to go somewhere, it’s better to ask me. If the reason is valid, then I will allow it. I don’t particularly care for tricks in the workplace either, but if this happens, then at least don’t be grumpy. I catch cooing during working hours - a reprimand. I rarely drink coffee, but when I do, I drink latte. Take this bitterness. Further…

They won't let me continue. Ms. Lewis rushes to the cup, pulling too hard on herself, causing the cup to topple over and spill the contents onto the floor. Plus, a few drops get on my shoes. Instinctively, I took off from my seat, but fortunately the coffee was no longer hot and the trousers remained intact. Another tired sigh escapes his lips. I'm trying to finish my sentence, but Ashley throws another "sorry" and runs out of the office, leaving me dumbfounded by the table. She returns ten seconds later, but not alone. With a rag. He squats down and starts wiping the light laminate.

‍​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‍ How much I then wanted to shout at the ceiling from the realization of this whole situation. A walking failure, honestly. How was she even able to live to ... And by the way, how old is she?

- Ashley, it's time to stop this circus. - Oh my God. Ashley! - they continue to ignore me, diligently dipping brown puddles. - Miss Lewis, your mother! Stop it! - in order to somehow draw attention to myself, I have to pull out a rag with my foot. – With these hands you will work with documents! You will greet people at the reception. Go ahead, get comfortable at work. And call the cleaner. This, - I poke my finger on the floor, - is her work, not yours.

Ashley nods and bows her head as she walks out the door. And I remember what I was talking about before this coffee disaster.

- Something else. This is an office space. And you are a secretary, albeit a temporary one. So dress appropriately.

The girl freezes in bewilderment. Oh, again. Why are you so clueless, huh? At least dictate to her in syllables.

- No jeans. Pants with torn knees, T-shirts with slits and chains, and the like - also by. Classic outfit: a light blouse - the color is up to you, but not poisonous, moderately closed, but not under the throat, we still live in the twenty-first century. Pencil skirt. Skirt, but no belt. People work here, they have no time to be distracted by women's legs. Although, it would be there for something ... It doesn’t matter. Or office dresses. Pants, as you are wearing now - you can, but in cold weather, until which you will not stay here. Well, different situations from the category of downed knees, in this case they are even mandatory. Heels are up to you. If you want - wear it, but just keep in mind that running around the floors in them is not an easy task. Nod if you understand.

Ashley nodded briefly.

- Excellent. Get to work.

Ashley.

Petty tyrant. The center of the world. You see, he doesn’t drink strong coffee! Wow!

With these and other unflattering words, I reproached the boss in my head, sorting through the documents on the table. Why is he so pissed off? It's like he's never been wrong. I strongly doubt that when he founded the company, he did without cones.

By the way, how old is he, if he has already managed to create and develop such a company? Looks like no more than thirty. Okay, maybe a little over thirty. But still, to develop to such a level, people spend decades.

Nothing, I'll do it. Any person can be approached. Let's find this. Work hard, Ashley, and the place will be yours. Mrs. Cheng was so atrocious about Rose yesterday that if her word is of any use, this dealer will not be here.

By the way, the day went well. I saw the chief only once, somewhere in the afternoon. He left his office, didn’t even look at me, as if I didn’t exist at all, and I didn’t see him again until the end of the day.

At lunch I got to meet some of the staff. In general, the team here is not toxic. Not without ulcers, of course, but for the most part everyone is friendly. The coolest IT guys here. That's where people are without problems. The least pleasant are the comrades from the accounting department. Always busy, gloomy. Some do not hesitate to express their dislike for the work and the people around them. But you need to be friends with them if you do not want to be left without a salary.

The next day I was going to the office, taking into account all the claims of the management. A black pencil skirt to the knee, left over from the days of school, a light beige blouse with a scoop neckline and the same black ballerinas. She pulled her blond hair into a bun and, almost bumping foreheads with a neighbor in the corridor, went to the bus stop.

Mr. Barrett was already there. He didn’t demand coffee anymore, he didn’t ask to come into the office. I gave all orders exclusively by selector.

Close to eleven o'clock, when I was printing a large amount of documents, the printer yelled that it had run out of ink. I already knew where the new, refilled cartridges are located on the first day, but I have never come across a replacement. After suffering for several minutes and pressing buttons on everything, I finally found the right one, opening the compartment for the cartridge. Only this beast did not want to get out of there! I'm afraid to pull hard, but he doesn't move at all.

Quietly swearing under her breath, she did not hear the door from the corridor open, letting in a visitor. I only found out about his appearance when he spoke to me.

- Mamma mia! What is this beautiful creature?

I jump up and down in surprise and turn towards the sound.

The male. Dark-haired, brown-eyed, with a sparse mustache and goatee. All in black. And the devils are dancing in the eyes.

- Oh, Jesus, I'm blind. Let me introduce myself, Sergio Rodriguez. For you, exclusively Sergio, - measuredly steps towards me and, bending down, kisses my hand.

I feel my face flush with color, but I myself can’t utter a word. Do they have an aura or something? One ignores the second day, the other, on the contrary, falls asleep with compliments. Maybe there is some kind of radiation here?

- What's wrong with you here?

Apparently he noticed my attempts while I was poking around in the printer. It's embarrassing to ask, but I feel like I can't do it without help. And if the documents aren't ready by lunchtime, I'll get another scolding from Barrett.

- Oh, yes, here's the cartridge. Stuck, - in confirmation of my words, I pull the unfortunate replaceable block.

Sergio looks behind me. Smiling, he nods and looks back at me.

- Well well well. It is necessary gently, - the intonation speaks for itself - he clearly does not mean the cartridge.

All the same imposing gait bypasses me, and easily gets the right part. Turning it over in his hands, he holds it out to me, while taking a step forward, hanging over, and depriving him of personal space.

- Here you go. Hold on. New help to put?

- Didn't interfere?

The voice of the CEO sounds like a bolt from the blue. Although, I am very grateful to him for this unexpected appearance. It is not known what this heartthrob would have reached if he had not appeared. I jump back sharply towards the box of cartridges, pulling out a new one.

- Eh, prevented, my friend, prevented - what? I just want to start making excuses, but I hold back, because I have nothing to make excuses for. “Let’s talk some more, bellezza.”

He winks at me and enters the boss's office, leaving him standing in the waiting room. He stares at me for a few more seconds with his green eyes, and then abruptly throws:

- Bring us two coffees. And print yesterday's letter from the post office. From "Machine Service" or whatever they are.

- Well, - I can only squeak.

Coffee. Coffee. With Mr. Barrett, everything is clear, but about his friend, the situation is more complicated. Oh well, it wasn't! I start the preparation of latte on the coffee machine, and I myself look for the right letter in the mail.

I press the printed document with my elbow to the side of my body, and, taking a tray with cups, I go into the office.

- Not a small one, - a fragment of a phrase uttered by the leader reaches me.

Rodriguez notices me, breaks into another smile and winks again. Maybe he has a tic?

- Oh, you're right. Not small. Not even very small.

Against my will, I begin to blush again. Yes, what is it! I put coffee in front of the men and give the letter to Mr. Barrett. I'm waiting for a few more seconds. Thanks, perhaps, or at least a short nod, but then I remember who is in front of me and turn around to the exit.

- Thank you, dear, - I think it’s clear from whom I heard words of gratitude, - only ...

- What?

It turns out I'm a little exhausted.

- I drink espresso. Double.

Your mother. So, who is this frequent visitor to Rose's mini-coffee shop?

- I apologize. I'll replace it now.

I reach for the cup, but Sergio moves his coffee hand away, but with his free hand he grabs my wrist.

- It's not worth it, piccola**. Anyway, I don't want coffee now. I mainly drink it in the morning. Right after waking up. Remember this.

Fat hint of coffee in bed? If only with a laxative and in the evening.

- Okay, I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Rodriguez.

Under the boss's gaze, I pull my hand out of the firm grip. You can kill with that look. Quarter, burn at the stake, cut off the head. Brr, creepy.

- Just Sergio, baby.

Please stop the compliments. Feeling like you're being poured with syrup. As I open the door, I hear:

I like this one more than the previous one.

I cling to my foot and literally fall out of the office. Biting my lip at my own awkwardness, I nervously shut the door behind me.