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.
"I take tea, oolong, hot with two sugars," he said, completely deadpan.
"Of course. Noted." I said, all hint of playfulness gone.
To be honest, I struggled a little at first. It was a demanding job. When I would get something wrong or make a mistake, he would tell me it was part of the learning process and was a complete professional about it. But there was something else there. I could sense he was holding back, controlling himself. I was beginning to pick up on his tendencies, trying to get a deeper understanding of this man I was spending most of my time with.
I began to get adept at not just recognizing his moods, but at anticipating them as well. And that was why I started making connections in my head. Simple ones, at first-- his mood changes after meeting with certain company officers became predictable, and I rearranged his schedule accordingly. Every time he met with our marketing department, I made sure it was before his scheduled lunch so he could recompose. I put finance first in his day, so that they had ample time to respond to his numerous requests.
I began to notice that he grew increasingly frustrated through the week, but he had an off-the-books meeting on Wednesday afternoons. He would leave the office around four in the afternoon, and be gone for exactly an hour before returning in a much better mood. Then, he would slowly grow increasingly impatient until the following week and the cycle would repeat. It was impossible not to be curious. I thought about asking him, but the word 'discretion' popped into my brain. Whatever this was, it was private, and it was none of my business.
A few months went by, and we had fallen into a rhythm together. I rarely, if ever, saw his repressed disappointment directed at me, but I could spot it coming before it even happened in others. It occurred to me that I was the only one who even noticed. If you didn't spend months shadowing him, you'd never notice the slight twitch on the corners of his lips, or the furrowed brow when he was calculating all the possible outcomes of a decision, or the flared nostrils when he was surprised, something I had only seen a few few times in my six months in this man's shadow.
It was a Tuesday, sometime in September, and I was busy preparing some documents when I saw the regular Wednesday invite disappear from his calendar. Oh no, I thought to myself. I knew better than to ask him, so I stayed silent and watched. He grew increasingly irritated through the week and into the following. I was looking forward to Wednesday again, so that it might help regulate his emotions, but once more, the appointment disappeared. Worse, the standing invite disappeared as well. Whatever it was that gave this great man the self-control he needed was gone. It was weeks before anyone other than me noticed he had changed, but eventually they started to. Heather, one of the other admins, asked me if he was having marital troubles.
"He's a very private man, he wouldn't want us discussing this," I said.
"Jeez, Devon, loosen up, it's just us. You know you're starting to sound a lot like him, right?"
"It's called discretion. It's part of your job, too," I said, a bit more harshly than I intended. Her eyes went wide and she backed off, never mentioning it again.
But something was wrong, and problem-solving was part of my nature. Things were going to keep getting worse, I could see that. I didn't want to let my general down. It was clear he needed something, and there was unfortunately only one way to find out what it was. I took a deep breath, and for the third time in a year, wondered if I was about to be fired. Either way, I felt compelled. I waited 'til Wednesday at four o'clock, and I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to steel myself for what was to come. I entered his office.
I immediately saw the displeasure on his face. If this was a mistake, I had already made it, no point in going back now, I thought. "Mr. Jones, I have some concerns I wanted to discuss with you."
"Did we have a meeting?" he asked, barely covering the irritation in his voice.
"No, sir. I thought a meeting on your calendar might raise questions and I wanted to be discreet," I said, noticing he wasn't surprised by this approach. Maybe he'd been expecting it? "I noticed that your mood has been... inconsistent lately. Ever since your Wednesday afternoon meetings were cancelled. I don't want to intrude, I know you are a very private man and I respect that. But at the same time, I feel compelled to inform you that the change in your behavior has been noticed, and it is affecting others' perception of you. I know that is important to you, and I wanted to offer my services to resolve this issue if I can."
"You can't," he said, matter of factly. "You don't even know what you are suggesting."
"You're right. But I do know that you are not the stone-cold executive you present to the world. I know you spend a lot of energy controlling those emotions, tailoring that presentation, from your clothes, to your work, to the way you carry yourself. I know whatever you were doing every Wednesday gave you the ability to be the best version of the man you are. And... I know it inspired me," I said, not realizing it was true until after I said it. I could see his nostrils flare.
"So, you need to pull yourself together, and let me help you."
