Not In Her Job Description

THE PROMOTION

INDIRA The silence stretched between us for exactly three seconds before Ms. Emilia spoke again. "I see you have nothing to say. I understand, of course. This is rather sudden." She leaned back in her chair with the ease of a woman who had delivered life-altering news so many times it no longer stirred her. "If you'd rather remain in sales, I won't fight that." Is she serious? Wild horses couldn't drag me back to that desk. "I'm more than happy to accept, ma'am. I'm merely in shock." "Good. Though I should clarify something." She tilted her head slightly. "I never said you'd be *my* Administrative Assistant." I blinked. "But you said—" "I said you were the new Administrative Assistant to the CEO," she interrupted smoothly. "I am no longer the CEO of Worthington Corp. At least, I won't be by Monday." "I don't understand, ma'am." "I'm retiring." She said it simply, the way someone might announce they were switching to decaf. "I've given fifty years of my life to this company. It's time to hand the reins to the next generation. My grandson Kyle will take over as CEO on Monday. Since your promotion takes effect the same day, you will be his Administrative Assistant. Not mine." I let that settle. Kyle Worthington. I'd heard the name in passing — everyone at Worthington Corp had. I just never imagined his name would become this personally relevant to me. "This is a great deal to take in, ma'am, and I am truly grateful for the opportunity." I paused. "I just—" "I sense a but." "It's not a but. I'm merely curious. Why me? I'm not undermining my own abilities — I know I'm a good employee. But there are others with more tenure, more experience at this level. So why me?" She studied me for a moment with those calm, unreadable eyes. "One thing you should learn, young lady, is that you shouldn't always question the good things that happen to you. Learn to simply go with it." "I wasn't questioning it," I said, before I could stop myself. "I'm merely curious." Something shifted in her expression. Then she laughed. It was such a startling sound — not because it was unpleasant, but because I had spent a year and a half building an image of Ms. Emilia Worthington in my head, and that image had never once included laughter. It didn't fit. Like seeing a marble statue blink. "You talk back," she observed, her eyes glinting with something that looked almost like approval. "I have a spine, ma'am. I see no reason to hide it." "I doubt my grandson would appreciate that quality." "If he can't respect someone with a spine, then he must be a terrible person." The words were out before my brain caught up with my mouth. Oh God. The blood drained from my face. I had just called the incoming CEO of one of Britain's most powerful corporations a terrible person. To his grandmother's face. On the same day she promoted me. "I — I'm so sorry, ma'am." My voice came out smaller than I intended. "I didn't mean to—" "Don't apologize." She waved a hand, unbothered. "I like people who speak their mind without flinching. It's a rare quality." A beat. "I would, however, strongly advise you not to say that to his face." I pressed my lips together and nodded. "As for why I chose you — my AA had to leave unexpectedly a few days ago, and I intend to leave my grandson a full and capable staff. I happen to remember reading one of your reports last month. It was, frankly, one of the best to cross my desk in quite some time. The decision wasn't difficult." Something warm bloomed in my chest. "Thank you, ma'am. I won't let you down." "I know you won't. You'll find yourself without a position otherwise." Her tone was matter-of-fact rather than cruel. "My grandson can be an extraordinarily demanding boss. The corporate dragon type, if you will. On your way out, speak to Althea. She'll brief you on your new responsibilities and your benefits package." With that, she dropped her gaze back to the papers on her desk. Dismissed. I rose, smoothed my blazer, and made my way to the door — already doing quiet, desperate mental arithmetic about what four times my current salary might look like — when her voice stopped me. "Oh. And Indira." I turned. Her eyes did a slow, deliberate sweep from my collar to my shoes, and the verdict was written plainly on her face. "Trash that suit. It's utterly dreadful and does nothing for you — or for the Worthington Corp image. My Kyle will not hesitate to say as much, and considerably less politely than I just did." She had already looked away before she finished. "Do better by Monday." The door clicked shut behind me before I could formulate a single response. --- Althea's briefing was thorough and efficient, delivered with the brisk energy of a woman who had no patience for dramatics. By the time she finished, I was gripping the arm of the chair to keep myself grounded. My new salary as Administrative Assistant to the CEO was four times what I currently earned as a Team Lead in Sales. There was a company car. And a quarterly wardrobe allowance that made me go temporarily speechless. I floated back down to the sales floor in something of a daze. By the time I reached my desk, the day had already wound down, the office emptying in that Friday-evening rush. Ginny — my one true ally on this floor, the only colleague I'd willingly call a friend — appeared at my side before I'd even set my bag down. Her eyes were wide with barely contained curiosity. "What happened? Why were you summoned?" "Later," I said softly. "I'll tell you everything later." She took one look at my face and didn't push. "Okay. Let's just go home." It was only as we stepped out of the building together, into the cool London evening, that it truly hit me. I had walked through those doors this morning as a Team Lead in the Sales department of Worthington Corp — ordinary, overworked, quietly struggling. I was walking out as the Administrative Assistant to the incoming CEO. *How impossibly, terrifyingly unpredictable life could be.* --- KYLE My phone screamed to life at 4 a.m. I stared at the ceiling for one long second, jaw tight, before I reached for it. Whoever was on the other end of this call was about to deeply regret their decision. "Hello, Kylie." Of course. Only one person on this earth called me that and lived to tell the tale. "Gran." I exhaled slowly through my nose. "You are aware that London is five hours ahead of Toronto. It may be nine in the morning where you are. It is four in the morning where I am, and normal people are asleep." "But we aren't normal people, are we, Kylie?" I could hear the smile in her voice, unbothered as ever. "What are you working on?" "The Monaco acquisition. It's proving more complicated than anticipated," I said, rubbing a hand over my face. "Delegate it. You'll have new duties soon." "Last time I checked, as Head of Acquisitions, it is my duty to see this through personally." "Last time I checked," she replied without missing a beat, "it isn't the duty of the CEO." I went still. What exactly is she saying? "Just be direct, Gran. I don't have the patience right now." "Fine. The board voted yesterday. You're the new CEO of Worthington Corp, effective Monday. I'm retiring." I set down my pen. Triumphant. Not surprised in the least — but triumphant nonetheless. "It never occurred to you to ask whether that's what I wanted?" I asked, purely for the pleasure of hearing her response. "It's what you've wanted since you were eight years old and told your grandfather you'd run the company better than he did." A pause. "You resume Monday." She hung up. I leaned back in my chair and let the silence of the Toronto night settle around me. CEO of Worthington Corp. It had only taken me my entire adult life. I still wasn't going to delegate the Monaco acquisition though. I don't delegate. It's not in my nature and it never has been. --- The 7-hour flight from Toronto to London was productive — acquisition paperwork, three board calls, and a string of congratulatory messages from my parents and siblings that I worked through methodically. My sister Kayla had already texted to announce she was taking me shopping tomorrow. It was, transparently, an excuse to test the limits of my credit card. But she was my little sister, so I would suffer through it with dignity. I pulled up to my penthouse in Mayfair just after 6 p.m. London. Home again. Time to get to work. --- # INDIRA "A promotion?” Anika's scream ricocheted off every wall of our flat in Marylebone. She launched herself at me with the full force of someone who had been personally waiting for this news, her arms locking around me in a hug that threatened my structural integrity. Anika has been my best friend since we were children — same neighborhood, same secondary school, same university, same terrifying leap into adulthood. We'd moved out of our family homes together and into this flat, splitting the bills and the wine and the bad days with equal measure. There was no one on earth I'd rather have told first. "You're smothering me, baby girl," I said into her shoulder. "I'm so sorry" She pulled back, gripping my arms instead, her eyes bright. "A higher salary, a company car, *and* a wardrobe allowance? Indi, do you understand what this means?" And then her face crumpled, just slightly. The joy still there, but something softer and more tired underneath it. "I've watched you run yourself into the ground for years," she said, her voice quieter now. "Working twice as hard as everyone around you, never complaining, sending money home for your sister, drowning in those loan payments — smiling through all of it." She shook her head slowly. "It's been killing me to watch, honestly. You deserve this more than anyone." Her eyes were glassy by the time she finished. She blinked it away, lifted her chin, and promptly switched back to chaos mode. "Right. Shopping. Tomorrow. We are throwing every single grey and brown suit you own into the nearest bin and we are starting fresh. Greens, blues — those deep jewel tones that look incredible against your skin. Silk blouses. Proper tailored blazers. Shoes that show off those legs. Bags. Scarves. The works." She was already pacing, gesturing wildly. "I have to be at the store early, I'm covering an opening shift at Belgravia, but you can meet me there later and we'll spend the entire afternoon destroying that wardrobe allowance." Anika managed one of the most coveted high-end fashion boutiques on Belgravia Square — a*****e I had walked past many times and entered exactly never, because my salary had always had the audacity to be finite. Not anymore. "That," I said, grinning for what felt like the first time all day, "works perfectly."

We both squealed like we were fifteen again.